Secondhand Stiff

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  “But?” Mom pursed her lips in my direction. She looked like a fish with lipstick.

  “But, what?”

  “From the sound of it, you were about to tack on a bit of a scold.”

  “Not a scold at all. I’m just concerned about you saying too much about the murder, or at least any information we might uncover in the next day or so.”

  “I do know how to keep my mouth shut about things that are important.”

  “I know you do.” I started to point out she’d kept her mouth shut for more than thirty years but wisely decided I didn’t need to open that can of worms again. I’d wanted Mom’s visit to build a bond between us, not dredge up old pain we’d already discussed and beaten into the ground. She’d made it quite clear when I’d found her that she felt she had good reasons for leaving me all those years ago and had no regrets about her decision.

  The car filled with silence as thick as the heavy dampness outside until Mom said, “Do you still see that woman?”

  “What woman?”

  “That woman your father married. The one with the stripper name—Koko, Bambam, Tata—something like that.”

  “You mean Gigi?”

  Mom was staring straight ahead at the cars in front of us. As far as the eye could see, vehicles were lined up like lemmings waiting for a turn to jump off a cliff in mass suicide.

  “I only saw her a few times after Dad died. Gigi passed away a little over a year ago.”

  “Did you go to the funeral?” Mom stared at the bumper of the car in front of us as if it were an eye chart.

  “Yes, I did. I heard her son, J.J., died shortly after from liver failure due to alcoholism.”

  My stepmother’s funeral had been one of the few times Greg and I had disagreed vehemently. I didn’t want to go, but he insisted we should, saying it would be closure for me and the right thing to do. I told him he was welcome to go without me. The day of the funeral, he put on a suit and started out the door, ready to do exactly that. In the end I caved and went with him. I had hated my stepmother and her two kids. They had been hateful to my father until the day he died. J.J. wasn’t at the funeral because he was so ill. My stepsister, Dee Dee, a real harridan, was as imperious as ever, even in the face of her mother’s death. She made some snarky remarks as Greg and I paid our respects, but much to my surprise I had no problem letting them slide. As usual, Greg had been right. Going to Gigi’s funeral had been closure.

  Closure. That word was invading my brain a lot lately. It felt like a schoolteacher nagging me to do a task over and over until I got it right—like having Mom visit when I really only half wanted her here. Greg and I had talked about it last night behind the closed doors of our bedroom.

  “Would you come to my funeral?”

  “What?” I’d been lost in thoughts of closure and wasn’t sure I heard Mom.

  “My funeral,” she repeated. “Would you fly out for it?”

  My first response was almost this: “Don’t be silly, you’re not dying.” But in reality, Mom was in her eighties. She enjoyed relatively good health but was definitely slowing down.

  “Yes, of course I would. Greg and I would both be there. Why would you think otherwise?”

  She shrugged, not saying the words we were both thinking: that because she hadn’t been there for me for decades, why should I pay good money on travel to see her put into the hard New England earth? If the car wasn’t already at a near-dead stop, I would have pulled over for the discussion. Buck’s store would have to wait. Instead, I turned to her, keeping half an eye on the car in front of me.

  “Mom, if you ever need me to come back east to help you, just ask and I’ll be there. You don’t need to die to get me on a plane. And you don’t need to wait until Greg and I plan a trip.”

  She looked skeptical.

  “No matter what,” I underlined. “If you’re sick and need me or just want to see me, call, and I’ll find a way to get to you as fast as I can.” I reached over and covered her hands with my right one. “Just because we’re both pigheaded doesn’t mean we have to wait until it’s too late.” When traffic moved forward a few inches, I put my hand back on the steering wheel.

  “In fact, there’s something I want to talk to you about.” I did have something on my mind, something Greg and I had discussed last night, but I wasn’t sure how to broach the subject with my often cantankerous mother.

  Before I could say anything further, my phone rang. It was Clark. I answered it via my hands-free car console feature, something Greg insisted I get in the new car.

  “Hi, Clark.”

  “Sounds like you’re in the car,” he said.

  “Yes, and hardly budging. Mom’s with me.”

  “Good,” said Clark’s disembodied voice. “It will save me a call. I have two issues to discuss.”

  “Issues?” Mom asked. Unsure of where the sound was coming from, she leaned forward to speak into my dashboard. “You sound like you’re addressing bad employees.”

  “Humph,” said my brother. “If it were only that easy.” A car to my left honked at the car in front of it.

  “What was that?” Clark asked. “Someone honking at you?”

  “We’re on the freeway,” I explained, “and there is a big traffic jam. And no, the honk was not at me.” I glanced at the GPS. We still had five miles of this hell to go. “So what are your issues?”

  “I’m basically calling to say I won’t be back to pick up Mom this week. It looks like early next week is the soonest I can get to Cali. Is that okay, Odelia?”

  “That’s a stupid question,” Mom responded on my behalf. “I’m right here in the car. Do you think Odelia can honestly say no?”

  She had a point, though I was tempted to advise my big brother to tell Willie to function without him long enough for Mom to get home. In spite of the warm and fuzzy moment we’d just shared, I needed the freedom to dig into Ina’s problem without a denture-wearing encumbrance.

  “And,” Mom continued before I could answer. “What about me? What if I don’t want to stay longer? Did you consider that, Clark?”

  I jerked my head toward Mom. “Are you saying you don’t?” Me not wanting Mom around was one thing, but I had never considered that she might be tired of us—of me. Then again, maybe she simply wanted to get back to her own routine in her own home.

  Clark’s sigh on the other end was not only audible, it was palpable, like his warm, wet breath was filling the closed space of my car, turning it into a steam room. “Mom, I can’t break away from work right now. Do you mind staying longer with Greg and Odelia?”

  “What are my options?” Mom asked.

  Options? I was tempted to reach across Mom, open her side of the car, and tell her to get out and hitch a ride. There’s an option.

  “There are three options here, Mom.” I turned my head forward and tried to pay attention to the traffic. “One, you can stay; two, I can take you home myself; three, you can fly home solo. Think about it; number three might be quite an adventure.”

  The issue with number three wasn’t the flight east, which Mom was capable of handling, but what to do once she got there. Mom didn’t live in a place easy to get to from the airport. She’d have to take a plane to Boston, then travel by bus or car to the small town in New Hampshire where her retirement home was located. We’d have to hire a car service for her, which would work providing they didn’t dump her on the side of the road in frustration after ten minutes.

  “Considering my second issue…um, concern,” said Clark. “Maybe you should escort Mom home, Odelia, and as soon as possible.”

  “And why’s that?” As I said the words, I noticed that up ahead the left lanes of the freeway were starting to merge into the right lanes. Whatever was causing the traffic jam must be up ahead on the left. I craned my neck and could see emergency vehicles with flashing lights in the d
istance.

  “I read Mom’s blog,” Clark answered.

  “You read my blog?” Mom asked with surprise.

  “Odelia, couldn’t you have put your murder business on hold until Mom went home?”

  “It’s not like I planned this,” I snapped. “We went to the auction, and there was the body in the storage locker.” From reading Mom’s blog, I knew she hadn’t given out any details, especially that the corpse was someone in our extended family. “Trust me, murder was not on our agenda for the day. Lunch, yes. Murder, no.”

  At this point I half expected Mom to jump in and provide the who and what, but she didn’t. Instead, she answered, “I wouldn’t mind staying here in California a bit longer. But I don’t want to be a burden.” She looked straight at me when she said the last bit.

  “You’re not a burden, Mom,” I heard myself automatically respond. I turned and met her eyes so she’d know I meant my next words. “You’re welcome to stay.”

  “Okay, then it’s settled,” Clark announced. “But Odelia, I don’t want you getting mixed up in this murder thing, and I especially don’t want you dragging Mom along for the ride.”

  “Clark,” Mom admonished. “Stop worrying like an old biddy. We’re on our way to go shopping. Odelia’s only investigation involves getting a good deal and showing me more of Southern California. Didn’t you read my piece about the food trucks?”

  “Yeah, I did,” Clark admitted. “Maybe having you there will keep Odelia occupied.”

  I slapped the steering wheel. “Stop talking as if I’m not here.”

  Mom gave me a raised brow. “You and Clark do it to me all the time.”

  I shot Mom a dirty look—one I hope conveyed that she was a heartbeat away from being shuttled back east on her own. But Mom wasn’t interested in doing battle. Her face was relaxed, almost happy. It mellowed me considerably, at least for the moment.

  “Don’t worry, Clark,” she said, changing her scowl to a half wink aimed in my direction. “I’ll keep Odelia out of mischief. I’ll stick to her like a second skin.”

  I turned my head to look out my side window. Next to me was a silver Mercedes. The driver was on his cell. I couldn’t hear his words, but it looked like he was shouting. With his free hand, he was shaking a fist at the snarl of traffic in front of us.

  Maybe I should use Mom’s plane ticket. A quiet retirement home in New Hampshire was looking pretty great about now.

  eleven

  “So what did you want to talk to me about?”

  I stared at the bumper of the car in front of me. On it was plastered a bumper sticker touting the legalization of marijuana. In some ways Clark’s call would help ease me into the topic on my mind, but inside I was chickening out. Then I remembered the look on Mom’s face when she’d agreed to stay in California longer. I took a deep breath and jumped off the cliff.

  “Are you happy where you live, Mom?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? I picked the place.”

  Mom lived in a very nice place. It was one of those full-service retirement communities that offered independent living, assisted living, and nursing home services on one large property. It was located in a lovely part of New Hampshire surrounded by rolling hills and plenty of trees, not far from shopping and other services. It even had a van to shuttle residents to the mall and various appointments, and offered numerous activities geared for all levels of physical abilities. As residents became less able to care for themselves, they could change to a more full-service facility without actually moving off the property. Mom had a spacious one-bedroom apartment in the independent living section. She was on a plan where she could go to a common dining room for one hot meal a day, usually dinner. The rest of the time she fixed her own food. Every day someone looked in on her to make sure she was eating and active and taking her medications.

  “Yes, you did, but that’s not what I asked.” I took another deep breath and asked the question again. “But are you happy there? If you’re not, you can always move. We’ll help you find another place.”

  “Like where?”

  “How about here?” There it was, out of the bottle and unable to be taken back. “Greg and I have talked about it and wanted to offer it as an option for you.”

  “Greg may not mind my moving here, but I’m not sure you feel the same way.”

  We drove along, each encased in our own weighty thoughts on the subject.

  “I guess your silence is my answer,” Mom sniffed.

  “Not so fast, Mom. I’m mulling it over. You want an honest answer, don’t you?”

  I glanced over at her. She was turned so all I saw was her profile. Her lips were tight, her chin uplifted in defiance. She looked ready to face a firing squad, and I held the rifle.

  I cleared my throat. “Okay, here goes: the unvarnished truth.”

  Mom remained perfectly still, eyes ahead, chin still tight and lifted.

  “Do I want you to come live with Greg and me? Absolutely not. I don’t think any of us would be happy with that arrangement.”

  “I’m—,” Mom began, but I cut her off.

  “However.” I paused for effect. “However, if you want to move to California and live near us, I’d be all in favor of that.”

  Mom’s head snapped in my direction so fast I heard her old bones crackle and pop. “You would?”

  “Yes. Greg and I discussed this before we invited you and Clark out for Thanksgiving, and we discussed it again last night. We worry about you. We know Clark travels a lot for his job, and you’re up in New Hampshire pretty much on your own. Depending on how this visit went, we—I—was going to ask if you might consider moving out here. There are lots of very nice retirement communities in Southern California. There’s even one right in Seal Beach.”

  She looked at me with suspicion. “Did you discuss this with Clark already? Is that why he’s not coming to get me, so you’ll have more time to convince me?”

  “No, Mom, I haven’t discussed it with Clark, and I don’t think Greg has either. But I think if you left New England, he would relocate too.”

  Her jaw loosened and started moving in a circular fashion, like a cow chewing its cud on a sleepy summer afternoon.

  After a few moments, she said, “He’s always said he wants to live somewhere where it’s warm.”

  “But don’t do it for Clark, Mom. He’ll be fine doing whatever. Do it only if you want to. I’ll understand if you don’t want to leave your friends behind or deal with all the congestion and people here. It’s lovely where you live.”

  “It’s boring is what it is.” She nearly spat out the words. “It’s nice and all and they treat me well, but some days I feel like I’m waiting at a bus stop for Death to come fetch me.”

  Mom turned to me. “Do you think I could see a few places while I’m here? You know, just to check them out and get an estimate of the cost.”

  “Of course. And we’ll have more time to do it now that Clark has been delayed. We could even ask Ron and Renee about it. I’m sure they have lots of friends who live in such communities and who’d give referrals and recommendations.”

  “As long as it doesn’t interfere with the investigation.”

  I sighed long and deep, the frustration starting in my feet and working its way up to be expelled from my mouth in a single gust. “Mom, there is no investigation. I’m just asking a few questions that might help Ina.”

  “Uh-huh.” Mom turned back to stare out the window. “Remind me to call home in the morning and let them know I’m extending my stay. They get worried.”

  We crawled along the freeway a few more yards in silence.

  “I think I could get used to this,” Mom said, more to herself than to me.

  twelve

  closed.

  I looked at the sign on Goodwin’s Good Stuff and wanted to bang my head against the glass
door. All that time in traffic only to meet with a dead end. I probably should have called to make sure they were open, but we were well within the hours posted on the website.

  Eventually we’d made it to Torrance. It had taken twice as long as usual. The cause of the traffic jam had been a very bad accident involving a couple of vehicles. It looked like a pickup truck had slammed into the middle divider and flipped. Two cars were near it, upright but smashed on their fronts and sides. One had spun around and was facing traffic in the far lane. A fire truck was standing by, along with two ambulances and several cop cars. Craning my neck like everyone else, I studied the carnage as we passed but couldn’t tell the status of the drivers or any passengers. Once highway patrol waved us slowly past the accident, the road opened up and I hit the gas to our destination, but the damage had been done to our schedule.

  “The little clocky thing on the sign says he’ll be back a little after three,” Mom pointed out.

  She was right. The closed sign also displayed a small clock face. The little hand was on the three and the big hand was positioned somewhere between ten and fifteen minutes after the hour. I consulted my watch. It was almost three o’clock now.

  “A lot of store owners don’t bother with that, though,” I said. “But since it’s almost that time, it wouldn’t hurt to wait and see if Buck returns.”

  I looked around the strip mall. It was good sized, with lots of the usual shops and services, including a liquor store, nail salon, and dry cleaners. There was also a sub shop, a donut shop, and a mailbox place. Next to the donut shop was a weight-loss clinic. Except for a major grocery store standing alone and taking up the bulk of the lot, Buck’s store was the largest. It was located on the end of the line of stores, closest to the street. On the far end of the lineup of shops, closest to the grocery store, was the donut shop. Next to Buck’s was the nail salon. Its door was open. I stepped inside, with Mom in tow. Like the shop I patronized, it was operated by Asians.