Flyer

by J. L. Wilson

  “You said ‘us’. Is your mother here, too?” I was stalling, struggling to make sense of what he was saying.

  “She wanted to come but we decided that I should handle it. To be honest, her joy at attending your mother’s funeral might have been a giveaway. My mother hated your mother. She always said your mother acted so perfect it was sickening. The perfect Susie Homemaker.” Peter looked past me, where I’m sure Bob the guard was watching us. “Meet me later.”

  “I can’t. We have the memorial service then I have to be with family this afternoon.”

  “Is the burial private or public?”

  “She was cremated. It’s an inurnment. It’s private. Just me and Aunt Jane.”

  “What time?

  “Five o’clock.”

  “Perfect,” he said. “Bring it to the cemetery. I’ll meet you there.” He rolled up the window just as Bob joined me.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  I stepped away from the car. “Yes. Just an old family friend who couldn’t come to the funeral.” I walked to the house, my legs so stiff and wooden I’m surprised I could climb the stairs to the back door.

  Athos wandered into the hall. At first I thought he was meeting me, but he deftly sidestepped my ankles and went to Bob. “We’re friends. We sort of bonded last night.” Bob bent to touch Athos’ head and despite my worries, I smiled at the sight of the big, burly man and his gentle pat on the small cat’s head.

  “I’m going upstairs to change.” I headed for the living room and the stairs. “Make yourself some coffee and toast or whatever.”

  “There’s a good breakfast casserole in there.” He cast a longing look at the fridge.

  I waved a hand. “Help yourself. Good casserole should never go to waste.”

  He nodded enthusiastically and went into the kitchen, Athos at his heels. I paused at the doorway to Mom’s bedroom. It wasn’t the chaotic mess it had been yesterday. Someone had tried to make it look at least somewhat normal. The mattress was back on the bed, the drawers were closed, and the closet looked disorganized but tidy.

  There was something I was going to look for, but I couldn’t remember what. Something in Mom’s files or her papers. I shook my head. I couldn’t keep anything straight any more. Words, days, events were all getting jumbled in my brain. I felt as though I’d gone from crisis to crisis since Tuesday, when Bell met me at the cemetery. I didn’t have any time to sit and evaluate everything going on.

  I started to leave then stopped. Common sense warred with worry. Worry won. I went to the gun safe, tapped in the code and pulled out Dad’s gun. The magazine was nestled in the foam next to the handgun. I checked the weapon, which looked as clean and ready as it did back when Dad and I would go out to the woods and practice. He had insisted that all of us, Mom included, know how to handle a gun safely.

  Some lessons are never forgotten. I took the gun and the magazine and started to leave the room. That’s when I remembered I wanted to look through Mom’s files. I went to the desk in the corner and opened the bottom drawer. Neatly labeled manila folders were lined up in a staggered, orderly fashion. I pulled out the one marked ‘Correspondence’ and one marked ‘Medical’ then closed the drawer.

  I turned to go but glimpsed her address book on the desk top. I took it, too and went upstairs and into my bedroom. I put the files and address book on the bed and picked up my funeral purse, lying on the trunk at the foot of the bed. It was divided, a black bag with an open center section and two zippered side sections. I loaded the gun, made sure the safety was on then tucked it into the center section, where it was easily hidden under a handkerchief. I had no idea if I’d need it or not, but it felt right to have it with me.

  Next I checked my outfit for the day. Whoever had vandalized the house left most of my things alone. I sighed with relief when I verified the black slacks and black-and-white polka dot sweater were unwrinkled and clean.

  Well, at least one worry was put to rest. I showered and dabbed on makeup, disjointed phrases flitting through my mind. Bell had an adoptive daughter in Europe. Peter had perhaps murdered my mother. Bell was ceding all rights to an app to me. I had Money with a capital M. Peter claimed my mother blackmailed him. Bell was predictable when it came to me. Otherwise, he was unpredictable. Totts and the others had fooled us all, keeping Peter’s secret for decades.

  Thinking about secrets reminded me. I went to the bedroom and opened the file folders. The Medical folder had several bunches of invoices. I skimmed through them quickly, but they were all for Mom’s expenses, not Dad’s. I stared thoughtfully into space. Where would she keep his papers? Maybe there was another folder I missed.

  I turned to the Correspondence folder and found Christmas cards and letters from various people. I sorted through them, recognizing some names. I was bundling them all back into the folder when one caught my eye. It was a stylized Christmas card, edgy and modern looking. I opened it.

  Sylvia Barry was engraved inside under a banal inscription.

  Mom got a Christmas card from Sylvia. Why? I checked her address book and sure enough, in the B section was a notation for Sylvia Barry and an address in California. Next to the name was last year’s date. Mom always noted when she sent someone a Christmas card, so presumably she sent Sylvia a card.

  And it was just a month or so later that Mom was sick and lying in the hospital, paralyzed and unable to communicate. Were the two connected?

  They had to be. I got dressed, barely noticing what I was doing. What kind of proof did Peter want? I had no proof and as far as I knew, Mom didn’t either. What was that crack Peter made about Dad? Did Mom contact Sylvia?

  Maybe this was all bullshit and Peter was just trying to fool me into giving him whatever we had. Wait a minute. I didn’t have anything. Bell had all the notebooks and papers. Damn. I sat on the bed. I left everything with Bell.

  Was Bell a blackmailer? Good God, what was real and what wasn’t? I stood up and stared at myself in the mirror. Was I real? I felt so unreal, preparing for my mother’s funeral with this turmoil going on around me.

  I took a deep breath. Milestones. That’s the thing. Focus on one thing at a time. The funeral. That’s the next thing. Everything else will work itself out. Get through the funeral first. I left the room and stopped at the top of the stairs, remembered words filtering back to me.

  Peter was great at predictive analysis. Peter’s girlfriend died in California. Peter. It all came back to him. He had been the unofficial leader of The Lost Boys, the charismatic Pied Piper who led everyone—except Bell.

  There was something niggling at my mind, some idea or fragment that wanted attention. I tried to recall it, but as soon as I did, the idea vanished. I walked down the steps, forcing everything else out of my mind except the ordeal ahead. Everybody and everything was secondary. I had a funeral to endure.

  Bell, Jason, and Bob were all in the dining room, talking quietly. Jason and Bell wore suits, Bell’s dark gray and Jason’s black. They looked dignified and so grown-up. For an instant I felt out of place, like I didn’t belong. I had intruded on the adults, all talking so softly.

  I recognized the feeling. Whenever I came home to visit, I had that dual feeling of being mature and yet young. I could act like an adult to strangers, but to Mom I was still her kid. All that was gone now. Now I’d have to be a grown-up all the time. It was a chilling thought.

  “Ready?” Bell asked when he saw me.

  I nodded. “You’ll sit with us, right?” I asked.

  “Of course.”

  I led the way to the back door, my black leather purse slung tightly across my shoulder and pressed to my side. I paused once and looked back. Bob smiled tentatively at me, but I barely noticed him. This was Mom’s home. Everything would be different when I came back.

  I walked outside and automatically checked across the street, where the car sat just an hour or so earlier. “Where are the reporters?” I followed Bell to the Cadillac in the driveway.

&n
bsp; “I told them that if anyone showed up at the funeral I’d see to it they never work again.” Bell looked as grim as he sounded. He held open the front passenger door for me. “I think they believed me.”

  I slipped into the car and dense silence surrounded me. Bell and Jason spoke briefly outside the car then Bell got into the driver’s seat. “Jason will follow in my truck and he’ll stay in the back at the service. Bob will stay in place at the house. Jake is in place at the hotel.”

  “Do you think that’s necessary? Surely no one would try anything in public, would they?”

  “I’d rather not take any chances.” Bell backed down the driveway and we drove in silence for a minute. “Thank you for letting me be part of the family today. Your parents were an important part of my life.”

  “Thank you for helping me. I’m not sure what I’d have done without you.”

  “It’s probably because of me that things are happening.” He drove slowly, keeping an eye on the rear-view mirror. I spied Jason following in Bell’s new SUV. Like Bell, he seemed to be looking around, as though expecting someone to jump out at any moment.

  “Are you sure? Maybe I’m the bad luck magnet, not you.” I glanced at the dashboard clock. It was almost ten-thirty. I tried to swallow but my throat was suddenly dry. I closed my eyes and scenes from my past flowed by. Memories of picnics with the family, my father and mother laughing together, evenings spent roughhousing on the floor in the living room.

  You were always so predictable. Bell said that, but Mom said it once, too. I can always count on Wendy Darling, she used to say. You were always so predictable. That’s why the app was a success. You were so predictable until people made you unpredictable.

  Peter was a predictive genius. He analyzed people and predicted how they would act. Bell knew that. You were always so predictable. This was a game to them. It was personal for them, especially for Bell, if he was a blackmailer.

  I drew in a startled breath. How could I think such a thing? Even when I chided myself, I knew it was a possibility. Bell had a tough, sharp side. He’d blackmail Peter in a heartbeat if he felt it was necessary.

  “Where should I park?”

  Bell’s quiet words woke me from my trance. “In the side lot. There’s a spot there reserved for family.”

  He parked the car. I sat for a minute, waiting for him to come around to my side, using the time to gather my emotions. When Bell opened the door for me, I got out, noticing Jason had parked at the far end of the lot, near the exit. He sat in the truck, watching us and the entrance to the funeral home.

  The service was in the funeral home’s “chapel,” a large room with rows of chairs lined up. Aunt Jane was in the small receiving room at the back, seated in one of the armchairs near the fireplace with several cousins nearby. I joined her, Bell following me.

  “Aunt Jane, this is Tom Bell. I’m not sure if you remember him or not.”

  She held out her hand, looking like a queen giving permission for a knave to kiss it. “Of course, I remember you, Tom. I’m glad you’re here.” She introduced my cousins while I spoke with the funeral director, a calm, respectful man that I remembered from high school. He was my younger brother’s age and it was comforting yet odd to have him handling all the arrangements. I again had that confusing feeling of being a child at a grown-up function.

  The music I chose for Mom began to play and people filed into the meeting room in front of us. We were buffered from the crowd by bi-fold doors, but I heard the murmur of voices and shuffling feet while people were seated. Several family friends came in to see Aunt Jane or me, and so began the ritual of hugs, kisses, tears, and greetings, all overlaid with a comforting air of fellowship in the truest sense of the word. All of us had lost loved ones. We all knew how each other felt. Love and support surrounded me on all sides, especially because Bell was near me the entire time, talking quietly to people, sharing memories, and gently steering conversation away from the morbid to happier talk.

  A few minutes before the service started, my cousins filed into the chapel. Aunt Jane stood and slipped her arm through mine, clasping me tightly. “I will miss her terribly,” she said softly. “I would hate to think that someone cut short her time on this earth.” She looked past me to Bell when she said it. “It would comfort me a great deal to know that if someone did cause Mary distress, they would pay for it.”

  “I’m sure they will, ma’am.” Bell fell into step behind us, his gaze intersecting mine. “I’m sure they will.”

  “Don’t promise something you can’t deliver,” I whispered over my shoulder.

  “I can deliver.” He smiled coldly.

  The funeral director opened the bi-fold doors. Jane and I stepped out into the chapel, walking slowly down the aisle between the rows of chairs. The place was packed with every chair taken and many people standing at the back. I expected that. Mom and Dad had been a part of the town all their lives and the town would turn out to say good-bye.

  I glimpsed Totts, Dibs, and Lightly all sitting together near the back, not far from Jason, who stood near the door, looking large and somber. I tried to smile but it came out more like a grimace, I think. I moved slowly, letting Jane set the pace, and she paused now and again to nod or acknowledge someone. We finally reached the front of the room and took our seats in the “family” section. Bell followed, sitting next to me on my left.

  The minister from Mom’s church sat in front near a podium from which he would officiate. It was a compromise to have him there. Mom was adamant that she didn’t want a church service, but she liked the minister. When I asked him to lead the ceremonies, he readily agreed even though it wasn’t located in his church. I was relieved to have someone running things who knew what to do.

  Once we were all settled, the minister stood. “I welcome you all here to celebrate the life of Mary Ansell Davis, who was a wife, mother, and member of our community. Mary was active in all walks of Kensington life, serving on the library board, the PTA, and other volunteer committees.” He went on to summarize the many activities that occupied my mother through the years.

  A girl soloist from the high school then stood and sang Bridge Over Trouble Waters, a song which had me dabbing at tears. I glanced covertly at Jane, but she appeared composed, her face serene. I thought of all the funerals we had attended over the years and gathered a measure of strength from her.

  The minister next spoke a few verses from the Bible, ones which really didn’t seem very relevant to me but which apparently struck the right chord with the audience because they listened with rapt attention. After that the minister read Mom’s Summary, as she called it. She had written it herself, just a straightforward recitation of her birth, marriage, children, and life. It didn’t sum up for me all she had accomplished, but it was what she wanted so I left it alone.

  After that the soloist sang Yesterday, another song that made me teary. Bell clasped my hand and I leaned my head on his shoulder, letting tears roll down my face. It felt as though my past was being slowly peeled away from me, one teardrop at a time.

  The minister then spoke about Mom and Dad, giving little anecdotes about their life in town and their involvement in so many town events and festivals. People must have shared their memories, because we all laughed several times at the stories he told about parade floats gone awry or a car that refused to start so a tractor had to be conscripted to drive the Homecoming Queen around town. He described our Christmas holidays, when all the Lost Boys would gather and we would sing Christmas carols then the kids would go tobogganing down Dead Man’s Hill and how Dad would often be called out to haul someone to the doctor.

  His words painted the picture of a happy time, a time before mobile phones and email. My parents truly had been the ringleaders to our rag-tag group of kids, always managing to show us how to have fun on such a limited budget. I glanced back at Totts and the others and received answering smiles. They had the same memories I did. Perhaps my past was being peeled away from me, but not complet
ely. I would always have the core of it, the love that my parents shared.

  When he finished speaking, the minister stepped back. A woman from Mom’s bridge club came forward and gave a short talk about Mom’s interaction with them through the years, once again bringing forth smiles and chuckles at some of the things she said. Then the town librarian spoke, telling about Mom’s tireless work on the library board of directors.

  When she sat down the minister nodded to Bell, who gently let go of my hand then stood, straightening his suit before walking to the podium. Bell nodded politely to the minister then he turned to face the crowd, his hands gripping the sides of the wooden platform. Bell’s pale green eyes scanned the faces, a faint smile on his face, then he looked at me, and I saw the love in his gaze before he began to speak.

  “George and Mary Davis welcomed me into their home when I was a child. They treated me as though I was their son. I can’t tell you how much that meant to me. When I first met the Davis family, I was wild and undisciplined. My mother struggled to raise me correctly, but without my father in the picture, she had all she could do just to make ends meet. When I was accepted into the Davis household, I learned what it was to be part of a family.”

  Bell paused and looked around the audience, making eye contact with several people. He spoke smoothly and confidently. I wondered if he’d practiced this. If he hadn’t, he did a good job because he spoke without notes and without any hesitation.

  “They accepted me for what I was—a poor kid from the wrong side of the tracks. They treated me the same way they treated their own kids. I had rules to follow and chores to do. I couldn’t just come over to the house and freeload. Everybody worked and that was just the way it was. I wasn’t a guest there. I was one of them.” He smiled wistfully and I glimpsed several people in the audience nodding.