Cremains of the Day

by Misty Simon

  I trailed along behind him to the car, in case he fell or fainted. He’d very vocally denied a ride in the wheelchair.

  I beeped the alarm of the car off as he neared it. I’d told him what aisle we were in before we’d cleared the front door. It was easier to let him think he was in control. He got into the passenger side gingerly. I got into the driver’s seat and started the car.

  What followed was ten minutes (make that seven, since I hauled tail) of absolute silence. He didn’t once try to talk to me. In fact, he kept his face turned toward the window and his hands in his lap.

  Fine by me.

  Pulling into the driveway of the house I used to think was my pride and joy, I broke the silence. “Do you need help into the house?”

  “No.” He still hadn’t looked at me. I didn’t know whether to be grateful or offended.

  “Fine. I hope you feel better.”

  “I’ll feel better after this whole thing is finished.” I didn’t know what that meant, but knew better than to ask. I didn’t want to know.

  “Well, see you later.” That was a lame thing to say. What else was appropriate, though?

  “Not if I can help it.”

  All righty, then.

  I watched him walk stiffly up to the front door and unlock it. There was something off with him, but I didn’t know what. Ever since we’d separated he’d been high-handed, rude, and full of himself. Now he seemed deflated. But you know what? It wasn’t my business and I was not going to get involved.

  I backed out of the driveway with little to no direction. I’d go home and do a budget, maybe. Or it wasn’t too late to start that movie. This was no more than a blip out of my life and he’d be fine.

  When his ringtone sounded on my phone in the passenger seat, I groaned. I’d thought I’d gotten away far too fast and too easily.

  “Yes?”

  “I forgot a prescription I was supposed to have filled before I came home. Can you go get it?”

  The fact that he asked instead of demanded was strange enough, but the tone of his voice was also softer. This was shades of the Waldo I had met and loved all of those years ago. My skin crawled.

  “Yeah, I didn’t even make it down the street yet.”

  “Then go now. I’m not going to be able to survive without this medication. Don’t do anything else but fill it and come right back.”

  That was more like the Waldo I had left.

  “Whatever. I’ll be back there as soon as I can.”

  “It only makes you sound ignorant to say whatever. Since you’re already on your way and I want the medication as quickly as possible, you may as well just pay for it.”

  What kind of odds did I have that he’d ever pay me back? Yeah, pretty much none. Waldo didn’t even lie about a check in the mail, he just didn’t give me anything, not even an excuse.

  I sighed. He had great insurance, so it probably wouldn’t cost me a fortune.

  As I headed over to the pharmacy, I deliberately took my time. I might be ignorant, but I didn’t have to be on his time schedule. Once there, I strolled through several aisles just to waste some more time. Looking at a magazine, I wondered what on earth the new heartthrob of the teenybopper set saw in him. I checked out the prophylactics aisle, though I had no use for them, and neither would Waldo for a while. I smelled some shampoo and considered dyeing my hair. By that time, my name had been called for prescription pickup, but I stopped in my tracks when I saw a familiar dark head over the tops of the short aisles.

  The infamous Max was coming in. What were the chances he had followed me? I couldn’t decide whether I should jump out and scare the heck out of him or run the other way. In the end, I ducked down behind the condoms, hoping he wasn’t brave enough to look for me there, if he was even looking for me.

  I totally was missing an opportunity to ask him what the heck was up with that bouquet from Darla. However, I was also missing out on possibly being stalked, which, since he was extremely good looking, could have been okay, but not after that delivery.

  He looked around, going down the aisle next to me. I snuck into the next aisle, this one filled with baby paraphernalia. Perhaps the store had set this up deliberately. Here’s what happens if you didn’t first shop in aisle 6A.

  I picked the perfect time to spring up. He’d rounded the corner and I stepped right into his space, causing him to jump back.

  “What are you doing here, Max? Do you need something to cover the goods for a fantastic Friday night?” I gestured to the next aisle, then watched him blush.

  “No. I was looking for you.” He regained his composure and closed the distance between us, talking in a low voice. “You’re in danger, Tallie.”

  “Yeah, from you,” I retorted, jabbing him in the shoulder with my finger. “You’re the only one who’s following me around. The only one who delivered a bunch of flowers from a dead woman. Whatever you think you want, or whatever you think I have, I don’t. Now leave. I talked with Monty. He said he never gave you a delivery for me and certainly not one from Darla.”

  His eyes got hard at that last statement, and I was glad we were in the middle of the pharmacy. If he tried to lay one finger on me, I would scream bloody murder. Even the bored girl behind the front counter wouldn’t be able to ignore me.

  “If you had listened to me when I dropped those flowers off, I wouldn’t have had to stalk you.”

  I made some ridiculous noise between a snort and a scoff. “Whatever.”

  “It’s true. I had hoped to talk to you then, but you blew me off, making a spectacle out of us both. I couldn’t exactly have a private conversation in the middle of Bean There, Done That after you demanded I get out.”

  “So if you listened to me then, why aren’t you listening to me now? Did I not say it slowly enough? Get. Out.”

  “No, I’m not leaving until you talk to me.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and widened his stance.

  “And I’m not talking to you until hell freezes over, or you come up with a better reason than wanting to talk to me after freaking me out with a bouquet of flowers from a dead woman. Does Jeremy even know you’re in town?”

  He ran a rough hand over the top of his dark hair. There was a twinge in some parts of me I shouldn’t mention in polite company, but I very fiercely squelched it. I was not one of those women who got all riled by a powerful man. I would not start today. I liked mine docile and agreeable.

  He lifted a hand, probably aiming to grab my arm, and I literally growled at him. He raised both hands as if in surrender.

  “What can I say to make you talk to me?”

  I didn’t waste any time thinking up a more polite answer to that ridiculous question. “Nothing.”

  “How about that if you don’t start talking, not only is the IRS going to come after you with a vengeance, but that Darla’s death might have had something to do with your ex-husband, which could bleed over onto you?”

  Chapter 5

  “What?” I said right as the overhead speaker squawked my name again. I turned to him and looked him dead in the eye. “You do not go anywhere. I will be right back.”

  I wouldn’t have said he smiled at me, but a side of his mouth quirked up as he crossed his arms, then leaned against the display of pacifiers. “I’ll be right here waiting.”

  After running to get Waldo’s meds, I hightailed it back to the aisle where I’d left Max. Would he still be there? I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d jetted out, but there he was with his severe face on.

  Where were we going to have this conversation we were supposedly going to have? All I knew was he had better come up with some damn good answers with those questions he’d just put into my head.

  I wouldn’t say I was out of breath when I got back to him, but I wasn’t exactly floating like a butterfly, either.

  “We can’t go to my house,” I said without preamble. “I don’t trust you.”

  “I don’t think you want to come to where I’m staying.”
/>
  “You got that right, buster. We’ll go to the funeral home.” I left a brief message for Waldo, letting him know he was going to have to just bite the bullet a little bit longer and to deal with it. Hey, if I was paying for it all, then we were working on my timetable. And if he had something to do with Darla’s murder, then I would brave taking the meds to his mom’s and asking her to take them to him. Or maybe I’d send Max in with them and see how that worked out.

  First I had to find out what Max knew and whether or not he was bullshitting me.

  I let myself into the side door of the funeral home as the moon rose higher in the sky, knowing today was my father’s day to have dinner with his friends at the VFW, Jeremy was out on the call for a body before a date, and my mother would be playing bunco, then going to Zumba for the evening. I wasn’t telling Max that, though.

  Leaving the door slightly ajar, in case I had to make a run for it, I led Max into the small kitchenette where I had sat with Burton last night. God, was that really just last night? How the time does fly when you’re surrounded by intrigue and a dead body thrown in for good measure.

  I didn’t offer Max anything to drink or eat and that, along with the slightly ajar door, seemed to amuse him.

  “You know, if I really wanted to take you out, I could have already done it.”

  “You could try, but you’d have failed. I’m on my guard at all times,” I blustered.

  He was out of his chair with his hand resting around my throat before I could draw another breath. I kneed him in the nuts because he might be fast, but I was a dirty player.

  I made myself a cup of tea while he regained his breath in the chair at the table. I even hummed along to myself to cover the sound of him coughing.

  “Are you ready to talk yet?” I asked as I sat down opposite him, blowing across the top of my cup to cool it down—and to get the scent to waft across the table to him. Who knew if he liked tea or if he’d gag? Regardless, I was doing my best to hide the fact my knees were knocking hard enough to rattle the table if I had been taller.

  He swallowed manly-like and cleared his throat for a second. The first sound out of his mouth sounded like a mouse squeak, so he tried again. “You pack quite a punch.”

  “No, you’d know if I had punched you. That was a knee to the groin.”

  “Yes, thanks for that.”

  “You’re welcome.” I blew on the tea again, blowing on my palms at the same time. Terror gripped me that I was about to drop the mug and shatter more than just the ceramic when I showed how nervous I was. “Now, you said you had information. Spill. And it had better be worth enduring you following me into the protection aisle.”

  “Can I at least have a glass of water?”

  “Oh, I guess.” I grabbed a cup, filled it, then set it down about a foot from him on the table, making sure to keep out of arm’s length of him. I wasn’t stupid. Fifteen years ago had no bearing on right now. Wait until I told Jeremy his old friend was a loon.

  Max had the gall to laugh. “You know, I’m not here to take you down, or out, or whatever your fervent imagination is whirling with. If you can believe it, I’m actually here to help you.”

  I snorted. “Last I’d seen you were delivering flowers late, being a general nuisance, and stalking me in the pharmacy. And if you remember, you just tried to attack me. How is that supposed to help me?”

  “Look, I’m going to start at the beginning. Try to hold yourself in check while I tell the story, then I’ll answer your questions when I’m done. Deal?”

  “No, that’s not a deal. I reserve the right to interrupt you at any time with pithy comments and scathing abuse.” Sometimes, I got ballsy when I was scared; what more can I say?

  This time his laugh was nicer and put me at least a little more at ease. “Duly noted. And for the record, I’m sorry for scaring you. That wasn’t my intention. I’ve obviously been going about this all wrong and shouldn’t have come in like a stalker. I was actually trying to protect you and I messed that up.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you on that one. I don’t know what you think you’re protecting me from, but following me around and generally making me feel unsafe is not the way to go.”

  He sat back in his chair, folded his hands over his flat stomach, and looked down at his lap. His head came up and his eyes zeroed in on me. “First off, what I’m about to tell you does not leave this room—not to Gina, not to your nosy mother, and not to your Uncle Sherman, not even your brothers.”

  “You know the players in my life. You have to remember how nosy they are, so I make no guarantees.”

  “Comments to a minimum, remember?”

  “Yeah, that’s not going to happen. So instead of starting your story with a warning, let’s start with how the heck you know all that, and what it means to you. Where did you get all this info?”

  It was a legitimate question, but he pinched the bridge of his nose and blew out a breath. “I’m an officer of the law.”

  Shock hit me low in the gut. “Shouldn’t you be talking to Burton, then? I didn’t hire anyone to follow me around, and I can’t believe I warrant the attention of an outside law-enforcement agency. I haven’t even gotten a speeding ticket in ten years.” Well, not one that actually showed up on my record. I hadn’t been the best of people when I’d been Mrs. Phillips III.

  His neck flushed a little, making me wonder about his claim. Especially when his eyes darted away for a moment as he took a quick swallow of the water.

  “What law are you an officer of, anyway?”

  He just stared. Was he trying to bluff? I should’ve probably warned him I could bluff with the best of them, and therefore spot a bluffer a mile away. I’d have no problem when said bluffer was sitting across the table from me trying to still the drum of his fingertips on the old, scarred wooden table.

  “What law? And I want to see your badge.” I thought of offering him a few choices when he just continued to sit there, but I didn’t want him latching onto something I said and running with it.

  Silence was not a problem for me. I’d learned well from my dealing with my exuberant mother.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose again and blew out another breath. “Fine. I’m an officer of the tax law.”

  I didn’t even try to help it, I burst out laughing. “Seriously?” I asked when I had composed myself while he looked pained. “You are an officer of the tax law. Does that make you a Tax Ninja? A Supreme Bean Counter? The Taxinator?” I could have gone on, but he slammed his hand down on the table. I jumped, at the last second gripping my chair so I didn’t fly out of it.

  “This is not a joke, Tallulah. You’re in danger and you are also under investigation by the tax bureau. You might not take me seriously, but you should. Something is going on here. I intend to get to the bottom of it. I’m an investigator of the tax law you’re mocking. There were rumors something big was happening in this town, so I took it upon myself to look it up. And when I saw it was you, and possibly your family, I took the assignment to come and help. I fought for it when they wanted to send someone else so that I could try to protect you and, by extension, your family.”

  “And I’m supposed to believe this why? Just because you say it? Do they often send guys in to investigate and have them pretend to deliver flowers? Follow the person around and try to make them feel unsafe? What, you think I’m going to fall into your arms and tell you all because you’re this big, strong man?”

  “You’re right and I already admitted I was wrong. Honestly, I was going to try to do this without making contact with any of you at all, but it got out of hand.”

  “Pretty quickly, I’d say, if you’ve only been here for a day and your whole plan is shot to hell.”

  “This is not how I normally do my job. I was supposed to come in, gather information about your bank records, then take it back to my superiors so we could begin an investigation into tax evasion and embezzlement. But when I saw you and heard about how you’re trying to
rebuild your life, I decided to also find information that would keep you out of it.”

  Scooting back in my chair, I sobered right up.

  “Please listen to me.” He blew out a breath. “I have to make progress soon, before something even worse happens. I don’t want you to be afraid of me, but you should be afraid. Your ex-husband hasn’t paid business or personal taxes in years and years. He stashed that money somewhere along with a whole lot more, and they want to know where it is. Darla Hackersham was connected in some way. Now she’s dead and Walden Phillips the Third is the walking wounded. My guess is someone is trying to get to that money before anyone else does. I want to know who is it and where it is. I wasn’t going to ask before, but since this is so much bigger than what I thought I was signing on for at first, I’d really like you to help me since following you around and trying to ferret out the information is not working.”

  “But—but—but—” It was all I could get out of the enormous tornado of confusion going on in my head. Dorothy’s ride to Oz had nothing on me.

  “Look, let me lay it out. If you have questions afterward, then by all means ask them. But this game-playing is not getting me anywhere. And I have to get somewhere before Walden takes it upon himself to either get killed too, or someone finds that money. Now, are you ready to listen?”

  “Yes,” I squeaked, wrapping my hands around my mug and wishing it had some hard Irish cream in it.

  “Now, when Walden didn’t pay his taxes, he was still making enough to pay for your lifestyle without breaking a sweat. That money is not in his bank account, neither is it invested in stocks. It was a ton of money, far more than he claimed. The tax bureau was given information he was somehow in league with Darla and Darla had information regarding the whereabouts of the money. I came down here to find out if there was a way to get that information. But when I dropped off the flowers to her yesterday, her maid was there, and I had no time to try to get anything out of Darla. Then she was dead. I had thought about talking to you, but you didn’t fall for the delivery-guy thing at all.”

  “Of course not.”