Funeral for a Friend

by Brian Freeman

“Excuse me?”

  “I know the look. She’s out of here. Colleen, too. I could see they were planning something. No boys allowed.”

  “Shit.”

  Brayden felt a wave of icy panic in his veins. He scrambled off the rocks and swore in frustration when he saw that Curt had pegged the girl perfectly. He’d been outsmarted, fooled, hung out to dry.

  Colleen’s Rav4 had disappeared from the parking lot. Neither girl was anywhere to be found.

  * * * * *

  “I know we talked about seeing a movie,” Colleen said, as they drove out of the beachfront park in her SUV. “But actually, I was wondering if you were up for something a little more criminal.”

  “Criminal? What do you mean?”

  A smirk crossed Colleen’s face. “I have a key.”

  “A key to what?” Cat asked.

  “Wyatt’s place.”

  Cat froze, and her eyes widened. She stared across the front seat at Colleen. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. He had a bunch of duplicates made when he moved in, and he gave me one so I could wait in his place while he was at work. He had a couple deliveries that needed a signature. He never asked for it back, and I forgot all about it. So I was thinking, if you want to search his place, well, the cops can’t do it, but what’s stopping us?”

  Cat pursed her lips. “Well, holy shit. Now that’s an idea.”

  “I know, right? What do you think? At least then you’d know if it was him.”

  “Is Wyatt home? What if he comes home?”

  “No, I’m pretty sure he should be at work.”

  Cat reached across the car and shoved the other girl playfully. “You think like me. I like that.”

  “Ditto.”

  “Okay, I’m in,” Cat said. “You be Thelma, I be Louise. Where do you live?”

  “It’s a four-story building on Third. Kinda sleazy, but I can’t afford much. I’m on the ground floor. Wyatt’s on the top floor.”

  Cat felt a flush of satisfaction, combined with a little wave of guilt at what she was doing. Guilt at the idea of running away from Brayden. Guilt at the idea of rushing into something that Stride would hate. But she was frustrated and had to know the truth. Wyatt could hide from the police, but not from her.

  “By the way, I know what you’re going through,” Colleen commented, as she headed into the city. The lakeshore followed them on the left side of the street.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was stalked in high school, too.”

  “It’s horrible, isn’t it? Did they get the guy?”

  Colleen shook her head. “The cops couldn’t do a thing.”

  “Yeah, they protect the creeps, not us.”

  “Are you done with school?” Colleen asked.

  “No, I have one more year in the fall. I lost a lot of time because of my, well, my past. I’m still catching up.”

  “We were actually in one class together,” Colleen said. “I was a junior then, and I think you were a sophomore. Math. Not that you’d remember, but I remember you. Man, you were smart.”

  Cat rolled her eyes. “That must been one of the few times I showed up. But yeah, math is my thing. My brain works that way.”

  “Art is my thing, math not so much,” Colleen said. She eyed Cat across the seat. “So what’s the deal with you and Brayden?”

  “There’s no deal.” Cat grinned. “I mean, I’d like there to be. Wow, he’s cute. But it probably won’t happen.”

  “Don’t be so sure. I see how he looks at you.”

  “You think?”

  “Definitely.”

  “What about you and Curt?” Cat asked.

  Colleen shrugged. “Oh, you know how Curt is. It’s cool that he’s a bad boy.”

  “He really likes you.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  She said it in a way that made Cat think Colleen didn’t feel the same way.

  “I thought it was serious with you two,” she said.

  “No, not really. We have fun, but it’s not serious.”

  Cat frowned, because she was pretty sure Curt would have given her a very different answer. “Well, if you dump him, let him down easy, okay? Curt acts tough, but he’s pretty sensitive, actually.”

  “I hear you.” Colleen swung the Rav to the curb. “Here we go. Home sweet home. You ready?”

  Cat craned her neck to stare up at the austere, red brick building on the corner. Rows of individual windows faced the street, all the same, and she could see bent miniblinds and a few house plants on the ledges. It wasn’t fully dark yet, but a few lights were on inside. The entrance had a faux glamour from the building’s old days, decorated with stone columns and urns.

  “Ready,” Cat said.

  The two of them got out of the Rav, and Colleen let them inside the building. The hallway carpet was worn. A wide set of wooden stairs, with carved bannisters in need of new varnish, led to the upper floors. Colleen led the way, and Cat followed, and when they got to the top floor, she stopped at the first door.

  “This is Wyatt’s place,” she whispered.

  “You have the key?”

  Colleen dug in her pocket for her key ring, and she isolated a shiny silver key from the others. “Still got it. I’ll knock. Stay on the other side in case he’s home. I don’t want him to see you.”

  Cat waited out of sight, and Colleen knocked sharply on the door. There was no answer, and she put her ear to the door and knocked again. Then, with a nervous grimace, she slid the key into the lock.

  “Here we go,” she said. “You sure about this?”

  “I’m sure.”

  She opened the door to Wyatt’s apartment, and they both crept inside. Colleen shut the door behind them.

  Cat wasn’t sure what she expected. Part of her thought that his obsession would be obvious as soon as she walked inside. That he would have pictures of her taped to all his walls. That half-written threats and green markers would be spread over his kitchen table. But there was nothing. It was an ordinary, uninteresting apartment, obviously belonging to a single man. Cookie-cutter laminate furniture and garage sale sofas and chairs. A flat screen television and a couple dozen warfare video games stacked next to it. Bose speakers. The floor was made up of checkerboard linoleum squares, and the kitchen cabinets and appliances were all white and dirty. The smell of old fast food and boy sweat made Cat wrinkle her nose.

  “What do we look for?” Colleen asked.

  “I don’t know. Open some drawers. There has to be something.”

  They checked the kitchen and found nothing, and the living room had no places in which to hide anything. The two of them went into Wyatt’s small bedroom, where a single window faced the street. He had a twin bed and a closet with bi-fold plywood doors. Cat opened every drawer in his oak dresser and found only clothes. She checked his nightstand and found a strip of condoms, a half empty bottle of hand lotion, pens, scissors, and some old electronics equipment. It was the usual junk.

  “There’s nothing in the bathroom,” Colleen reported.

  Cat opened the closet doors. Wyatt had a couple of dress shirts and a winter coat hung on hangers. Several pairs of hiking shoes sat on the shelf.

  “I must be wrong,” Cat murmured.

  “Or he’s careful.”

  “No, there would have to be something. Wouldn’t there?”

  She stood in the bedroom and bit her lip as she studied the room. There were simply no hiding places, and being here was beginning to make her nervous. “We better go,” she added.

  “Okay.”

  Then Cat thought of one more thing. She got down on her hands and knees and pushed up the blanket to look under Wyatt’s twin bed. There, she saw an Amazon parcel box squeezed underneath, smiling at her. It was medium-size, about a foot high and a couple of feet l
ong. She dragged it out and put it atop the bed. The box was light and taped shut, but the tape was loose, as if it had been done and undone many times.

  Cat peeled away the tape and opened one flap of the box. “Oh, shit. Oh, Jesus.”

  The first thing she saw was the copy of People magazine with her on the cover. When she opened the box further, she saw an expensive Nikon camera with a zoom lens inside. The camera sat on top of a stack of photographs printed on computer paper. She slapped her hand over her mouth as she removed the pages one by one.

  Next to her, Colleen stared at the photographs wide-eyed.

  Every picture was of Cat. He’d followed her everywhere. To school. To the mall. To the movies. To restaurants. There were pictures of her on the beach behind Stride’s cottage. At the Olson house, playing with her son. And more.

  He’d been outside the house on the Point. Outside her window. He’d watched her dressing. Undressing. Dancing. Singing. Laughing.

  He’d seen her in a towel, back from the shower. He’d seen her naked.

  He’d been part of her entire life.

  And when she got to the bottom, she found something else in the box. A gun.

  “I’m going to be sick,” Cat said.

  But she had to hold back her nausea. As the two girls stood in the bedroom, they heard a noise from the other room. A muffled voice came through the apartment door in the hallway. She recognized it.

  Wyatt.

  “Shit, he’s back,” Cat said.

  She shoved the photographs back in the box, carelessly retaped it, and shoved it under the bed. She looked around the bedroom for a way out, but they were trapped. The window offered no escape.

  “The closet,” Cat hissed.

  The two of them ran for the small bedroom closet and squeezed inside. Cat nudged the bi-fold doors closed, but they were warped and didn’t shut completely. A crack of light remained. Her back was against the wall, shoved in the middle of Wyatt’s clothes, and she could smell him on the fabric. Colleen was right beside her, their bodies pushed together. The air was stifled and warm.

  She held her breath.

  It was hard to hear, but she could make out the rattle of the apartment door opening, and then she heard Wyatt’s voice from the living room.

  “You want to hang out with me tonight, buddy?”

  There was no other voice to answer. Just Wyatt’s.

  The noise of footsteps got closer. He was in the bedroom now. She could hear the smallest gasp from Colleen, and she squeezed the girl’s hand, not wanting her to make a sound. They could hear Wyatt moving around. Going into the bathroom. Going to the dresser. Cat tried to remember if she’d put everything back in the box and whether she’d shoved it completely out of sight beneath the bed.

  Then they both jumped. Music filled the room. Loud, screeching music. Opera. The fat lady sang in some foreign language.

  “You like it?” Wyatt asked. “I bet you could hit some of those high notes, huh?”

  Who was he talking to? The only sounds in the apartment came from Wyatt. He was alone.

  “I’m going to take a shower, and then we’ll play some X-Box, okay?”

  The loud music offered them cover, and Cat put her lips next to Colleen’s ear. “When we hear the shower, we run.”

  In the darkness, Colleen nodded, her blond hair swishing against Cat’s shoulder.

  “Hey, what are you doing over there?” Wyatt asked.

  Cat’s mouth dropped open in horror as the closet doors began to rattle. When she looked at her feet, she saw something pushing through the crack where the doors didn’t meet. Orange fur.

  It was a cat’s paw.

  “Did you lose a toy in there?” Wyatt asked.

  The cat kept pulling at the doors, which began to nudge apart, and Cat put out a hand to stop them from opening completely.

  “You want me to see if it’s in there, buddy?”

  No!

  Then, in the other room, a phone rang, rescuing them. Wyatt shut off the opera, restoring silence to the apartment. They heard his footsteps as he hurried to the other room to answer his cell phone. Wyatt began talking again.

  “Hey, how are you, Sam? No, my shift got canceled tonight, so I went for a hike instead. I just got home. Yeah, sure, I can put in a couple of hours down there. I have to shower, but I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  Wyatt hung up.

  “Sorry, buddy, you’re on your own tonight. Looks like I’ll have to drop you back at your parents’ place. I’ve got to go out.”

  They heard Wyatt return to the bedroom, and they heard the rustle of him taking off his clothes. His footsteps went into the bathroom, and the bang of water in the shower pipes followed. A minute later, they heard the shuffling of plastic shower curtain rings.

  Cat silently pushed open the closet doors. An orange cat sat on Wyatt’s bed, watching them curiously. She could see steam gathering on the mirror through the open bathroom door. In the shower, Wyatt began to sing opera himself, and his voice was surprisingly good.

  “Come on.”

  She and Colleen tiptoed across the apartment and then silently let themselves out into the hallway. When they finally closed the door behind them, she began to breathe again.

  “Holy shit, that was close.”

  Colleen looked pale, too. “But it’s him?”

  Cat felt sick again. “Yeah. It’s him. And he’s going to kill me.”

  20

  The orange flames of a fire pit danced in the lake breeze behind the Canal Park Brewing Company. Maggie sat in an Adirondack chair as Serena arrived to join her, and the two of them had the outdoor patio to themselves in the darkness. Maggie had arrived early and was already on her second Stoned Surf IPA. Serena, who didn’t drink, brought a raspberry lemonade from the bar. Behind them, Lake Superior threw waves against the rocks on the other side of the boardwalk. Sometimes the cascading spray made it all the way to where they sat.

  Maggie kicked off her boots and propped her bare feet on the side of the fire pit, warming them. Both of them sat in silence for a while, entranced by the flames. Serena’s eyes looked far away and a little cold.

  It was awkward whenever they were together, and Maggie knew it. That was mostly her fault. They’d both been outsiders coming to Duluth, Maggie from China as a college student, Serena from Vegas as a cop. That shared bond could have brought them together, but instead, they’d ended up as rivals. Frenemies. Maybe it was inevitable because of the triangle they shared with Stride.

  “How’s he doing?” Maggie asked.

  “He says he’s calm. He acts calm.”

  “I don’t know how he can be calm. I’m not.”

  “Me neither,” Serena admitted.

  “This thing isn’t going away.”

  “He knows, but he doesn’t seem to care.”

  Maggie hesitated, then said what was really on her mind. “I keep thinking, what if he never comes back? What if this is it? He’s off the force. After all these years, he’s gone.”

  “It’s only been two days. It’s way too early to worry about that.”

  “Yeah, but does he even want to come back?”

  “Sure he does,” Serena said. “That’s crazy.”

  “Is it? Ever since the bombing at the marathon, he’s been different. Burned out. I feel like the violence did something to him. You must have seen it, too.”

  Serena stared at her, and her green eyes had ice in them now. “Of course, I have. He’s my husband. Look, the marathon bombing changed all of us. Jonny’s different now. So am I. So are you. It doesn’t mean he’s going to walk away from his job. His job is who he is. I know that better than anyone.”

  Maggie bit her tongue. She wasn’t about to tell Serena that she was wrong. That she didn’t know her husband as well as she thought. But she was wrong. Maggie could
see it in Stride’s eyes. He was at a crossroads, thinking through choices he probably hadn’t shared with anyone. Not even his wife.

  “I almost walked away myself,” Maggie said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You remember that Florida cop who was here this winter? Cab Bolton?”

  “The one you slept with?” Serena asked.

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t narrow it down.”

  “True.”

  “He asked me to go to Florida with him. Leave Duluth. Be an investigator down there. I only thought about it for all of five seconds, but ever since, I’ve wondered if I should have done it. Made a change. Started over.”

  “You still could.”

  “I suppose you’d like that idea,” Maggie said. “Me going away for good.”

  “Actually, no, I wouldn’t.”

  She scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

  “It’s true. Despite everything, I like having you around. Even when you annoy the hell out of me.”

  “Seriously?”

  Serena reached out to tap Maggie’s glass with her own. “Seriously.”

  “Well, it’s a moot point. I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

  “Good.”

  “We’re perilously close to having a moment here,” Maggie said.

  “I guess so.”

  “Want to make out?” she joked.

  “Pass,” Serena replied.

  Maggie chuckled. Then her face grew serious again. “Things are moving forward on the investigation. There’s something you and Stride need to know. Dan and I found out about Andrea.”

  “We figured you would.”

  “She made the accusation against Devin Card, right? Stride was trying to keep her name out of the press when he talked to Ned Baer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn, I should have seen that one coming. That should have been my first thought. You figured it out, didn’t you? When we talked, you already knew she was involved.”

  “I guessed.”

  “Well, the trouble is, Dan now thinks Stride has a motive on top of everything else. That means we better start feeding him some other suspects fast.”

  “I think it’s her,” Serena said. “Andrea. She did it.”