The Final Arrangement

by Annie Adams

  What else today? I took a deep, cleansing breath, and exhaled as slowly as I possibly could. “Okay, Nick. Let’s go call the police.”

  ###

  Nick busied himself with sweeping and taking the garbage out to the dumpsters while we waited for the police to arrive. His newly found work ethic led me to believe he might have told the truth about the accident.

  Cindy had gone home promising to wash and return my clothes the next time she worked. I attempted to get some much neglected paperwork done while waiting for the police, but I found myself staring into space at my desk, thinking about what I would say to that jerk detective when he arrived. I thought of several different ways to tell Detective Arroyo how I would be talking to his boss about the way he had talked to me over the phone. Of course I would need to get the hit-and-run taken care of before I berated him.

  When he questioned me about Derrick, I would tell everything I knew about him, which was pretty close to nothing. Just that he took over half of my business with absolutely zero design skills and the highest prices for flowers and then treated me like garbage when I saw him in person. The detective said I was the last person seen with Derrick. But I didn’t think anyone knew about our recent altercation, nobody else was there. He must have bragged to someone about it afterward. Big tough man knocking down an unsuspecting woman. He had probably changed the details of the story to whomever he talked to.

  “Quincy, he’s here.” Nick called.

  The ball in my stomach returned after I stood up and saw the navy and white Crown Victoria parked directly in front of the shop. Not exactly good for business to have the cops parked just outside the front door.

  I made a quick dash to the bathroom in the rear workroom to do a once over in the mirror over the sink. As I fluffed up my hair and checked my teeth for foreign bodies it occurred to me I was doing something my mother would do. I shut the light off and returned to the design room.

  I gasped as soon as I saw our visitor. How could this guy possibly have been the jerk on the phone? It didn’t seem karmically fair. The officer in the front of my store wore a uniform that fit just right over a body which was obviously toned and hard underneath the taut navy fabric. His physical presence alone commanded my attention, not to mention the gun in the holster at his waist, along with all of the other objects on his belt. He must’ve been six-four. Tall, even by my five-nine standards.

  “Hi,” I said as I approached and extended my hand. I didn’t know if it was proper procedure to shake hands with the police in this situation. I was on autopilot; this officer’s good looks were distracting.

  “Hi.” His return handshake was accompanied by a smile. The gesture was firm but not a bone crusher. They say you can always tell a lot about a person by the way they shake your hand. He displayed strength, along with thoughtfulness for another person, and handsomeness. I could have imagined it, but I thought his gaze lingered an extra beat as our eyes met.

  This was decidedly different than I had imagined after this morning’s phone call.

  “I think I spoke with you earlier today on the phone?”

  “Um…I don’t remember talking to you.” A look of confusion spread over his amazingly handsome face. “I’m Officer Cooper. Are you sure it was me you talked to? I’m here about a hit-and-run call that came into dispatch.”

  “Oh, sorry, I guess I spoke with a different officer this morning.” Relief. “Yes—hit-and-run. That would be Nick’s department.” I called Nick’s name toward the back of the store. He had become scarce after announcing Cooper’s arrival.

  “So, are you the manager here?” Cooper asked.

  “You could say that. I’m the owner, actually,” my cheeks heated up at this, for some reason.

  “And you were involved in a hit-and-run?”

  “No, it was my driver, Nick, who seems to have disappeared.”

  “Okay. Well, let me get your information down and then we’ll find Nick and talk to him.” He unsnapped his front shirt pocket and my knees got weak. My palms were sweaty and I think I may have drooled a little. Then he pulled a tiny notebook and pencil out of the pocket.

  “So your name is Rosie?”

  “No, my name is Quincy. The business is named for my Aunt Rosie, the previous owner.”

  “Oh, that makes sense. So, Quincy,” he looked down at me and smiled, “is that your full name?”

  Ugh, the name.

  “Quinella Adams McKay. Q…U…I…N…” I spelled it before he had to ask me to.

  Nick returned, looking furtive.

  “Nick,” I said, “this is Officer Cooper. Tell him what you told me.”

  Nick began his tale and I listened in.

  “So you’re saying that this car hit the rear driver’s side as you were getting into the left hand turn lane?” Cooper asked.

  “Yes,” Nick replied.

  “Well,” Cooper paused slightly, the pause proclaiming doubt, “let’s take a look at the car.”

  I asked if Nick needed to be present while looking at the damage. He didn’t, so I directed Nick to stay inside and stack the clean, dry buckets.

  We made our way to the back parking area. Walking next to Officer Cooper made my insides feel all fluttery. I hadn’t experienced that feeling in a long time. It was like I was a teenager sneaking outside the back door of the house with a boy.

  I led Officer Cooper to the van. The remnants of red paint disturbing the shiny white rear panel of my Chevy Astro mini-van, along with some ten-inch-long gouges just above the back driver’s side tire were still there.

  Cooper took what seemed to be too quick a glance, and then scrawled some things down in the tiny policeman notebook.

  “Okay, I think that’s about all I need,” he said.

  “That’s all?” After watching and reading so many crime dramas, I wondered if there shouldn’t be more of an investigation, perhaps the CSI squad should be called in.

  “Is there something else…?” His eyes brightened while he paused to look at me before putting the notebook back into the little shirt pocket. Maybe the pocket wasn’t so small; he just filled out the shirt so well it seemed impossible something could fit into the pocket.

  “I—no. Just—I’m really hot.” I noticed a smile quickly spread across his face.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “I meant it’s too hot out here…”

  “Yes—hot—out here. It is hot out here,” he said.

  I couldn’t stop being a moron. He had a hypnotic quality that kept me from making sense. My brain synapses were somehow being blocked by good looks.

  “Let’s go inside and maybe I’ll remember what I was going to say about you.” I gave my head a shake to try and rattle the confusion away. “I mean—what I was going to ask you.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  As we made our way back into the store, I realized Nick hadn’t told Cooper about the drivers of the truck.

  “Officer Cooper, Nick told me about two guys driving the truck; I noticed he didn’t give you their descriptions.”

  While he looked at me intently as I asked, his expression changed to apprehension after I finished talking.

  “Let me be honest with you, Mrs. McKay…”

  “It’s Miss and it’s Quincy,” I interrupted.

  “Sorry, Miss Quincy.”

  It was his turn to blush.

  “I’ll tell you what. I’ll write up the report of what Nick told me and what I’ve seen, and we’ll see if anything comes up. But I have to say…” he spoke carefully while the corners of his eyes wrinkled as if it were painful to tell me, “I really don’t believe Nick. The way the damage looks on the car, it seems like he just didn’t check his blind spot and wants to cover it up.”

  Now I know I didn’t really believe Nick at first when he told me about the accident, but something about having Officer Cooper assume Nick’s guilt just rubbed me the wrong way. Maybe because he was agreeing with my older sister.

  “Officer Cooper…
”

  “It’s Alex, and no officer—please,” he said.

  His dark brown eyes warmed as he offered the personal detail. The warmth melted my insides for a very short moment until I realized again why he was there. There was a purpose for the police being here whether I called him officer or not and we needed to stay focused on the current problem.

  “Okay—Alex. I realize Nick probably has a reputation that makes it difficult to listen to him objectively, but please base your report on fact and not assumptions.”

  The tilt of his head along with raised eyebrows indicated perhaps I had extended my boss duties a little too far.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job. It’s just—I think Nick is telling the truth about this one no matter how it looks. I feel it in my gut. Believe me—I know Nick is no saint.”

  His expression softened slightly but he rolled his eyes—I think he thought it went unnoticed. “Okay, I’ll take down a description of the guys in the car just in case. But I’ll tell you right now, it’s doubtful you’ll be anything but disappointed.”

  “Why would I have any reason to be disappointed? If you do your job I’m sure there won’t be any reason at all for me to be disappointed.”

  “Listen, Miss McKay, I don’t tell you how to do your job, so how about you go ahead and let me do mine? This isn’t my first day, you know. I was actually trying to help you out by saving you a little grief. If you stopped trying to be the boss for a minute you might be able to appreciate that fact.” His hands braced tensely on his hips, above the cop tool belt.

  “I’m sorry.” I mumbled. What had Cindy called me earlier? I guess she was right. “Please forgive me, it’s been a stressful day and I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  “It’s okay. I understand. If I ever need help interrogating a criminal, I might just give you a call. Let me give you my card. This is a direct line to reach me if you ever need anything, except if you want to boss me around.” He handed the card to me and winked.

  “Thanks Officer Cooper. I…”

  “It’s Alex,” he said softly.

  I felt my face heat up. “Alex, thank you. I hope I won’t ever need to use it. No offense.”

  “None taken. See ya.”

  He left and I felt butterflies flutter up just about everywhere they could.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The end of the workday couldn’t have come soon enough after the day I’d just had. Although, I did receive a nice reward in meeting Alex Don’t-call-me-Officer Cooper. I didn’t know what had happened to Detective Arroyo and I didn’t care.

  I pulled the van into the driveway next to my Victorian cottage on the corner. Due to a frugal choice made by my grandmother, it's a cottage rather than a gingerbread mansion like the Painted Lady houses in San Francisco. Grandma was a widow with nine children to take care of. The top levels of those brick Victorians got drafty in the winter, and being the sensible woman my grandma was, she had the second level removed from the house. Sure it would be more crowded down below, but the closer proximity of all the people inside would make everyone warmer and decrease the heating fuel needs even more.

  Grandma left the house to me when she died. She passed away just before I left my ex-husband. I had lived with her during the summer right after high school and for the couple of semesters I went to college before getting married. Everyone in the family was surprised after the reading of the will. Her attorney told me she had arranged to change it about two weeks before she died based on a premonition. I had never told her of the things that were happening with my ex-husband.

  She saved my life when she gave me that house. I had no money and nowhere to go. Home wasn’t an option. My father had moved to another state to get away from my mother. He left under the auspices of a lengthy tour with his bluegrass band, “The Salt Flat Lickers.” Frankly, I couldn’t live with her either; she refused to remove her head from the sand regarding the topic of my abusive husband.

  My usual “coming home” routine included a thorough visual security scan of the entire property. The first and most important step was to take a look around as I drove up to the house, checking to make sure nobody was lying in wait. It was a habit I learned as soon as I moved in. For about a year, chances were good either my ex or one of his many, many relatives would be waiting there or had already been there and left. Being related to polygamists held perks for the ex such as a seemingly endless pool of extra people with nothing better to do than lean over the front fence and stare at me from a few yards away or leave nasty little calling cards. Nothing specific, just a dead rat or bird on the porch or blobs of spit dripping from the back door. I liked to refer to them as the Housewarming Gifts. I kept a whistle on my key chain and a canister of pepper spray in my bag just in case someone was waiting for me with one of those gifts when I got home one night.

  Of course I had no desire to cook anything when I finally left the shop. I stopped at the Bulgy Burger drive through before heading home. I cut the security inspection short when the aroma from my burger reminded me I was ready to devour some junk and drown out the resulting malaise and grease after-burn by making my own hot fudge sundae. Somehow I always seemed to have the ingredients for those on hand.

  After a swift change into my nighttime uniform, consisting of a Han Solo t-shirt, cut-off pajama pants and knee-hi tube socks with the requisite tangerine colored stripes at the top, I sat down on the couch to eat my Bulgy Junior Burger with a side of tots and fry sauce. Just as I reached for the remote, the phone rang. The caller I.D. said it was my sister Allie’s cell phone.

  “Hey, Allie.”

  “Hi, Quince.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Oh nothing. I just thought I’d call and see what’s going on.” I knew right away something was wrong. My sister never called me just to chat, and her usual bubbly, enthusiastic voice was strained and flat.

  “Um…nothing going on here, I just got in. How about with you?”

  “I was just calling to say hi,” she said. Okay, something was seriously wrong.

  “Allie, where are you?”

  “I’m in my car.”

  “Where is your car?”

  “I’m parked in front of Mom’s house.” My heart dropped. Call it intuition or experience, but I knew she must not have wanted to go into the house because our mother would have been able to see something Allie didn’t want her to see. Allie didn’t realize I understood all too well what kind of guy she was dating.

  “Do you want to come over here?”

  Her voice cracked. “Yes.”

  “Okay, come over. We’ll watch a movie. I’m making hot fudge sundaes.” I knew right then she didn’t need me asking what was wrong, what he'd done, or why she didn’t want to go into Mom’s house. It would probably be obvious in about seven minutes when she got to my place.

  She came to the back entrance. I opened the door and became sick inside at what I saw. She had a red and purple goose egg with a cut on her left temple. Her jerk boyfriend hadn’t been as crafty as my ex. Mine always kept the blows to the head within the perimeter of the hairline—that way the bruises couldn’t readily be seen.

  I got a bag of ice and a hot fudge sundae for her. “Allie, I know how you got that, and you don’t need a lecture about it or him. But I am telling you that I’m not going to let it happen again. We’re not going to let it happen again. And that’s all I’m going to say about it right now. Let’s watch a movie.”

  She smiled and nodded her head. Then we ate too much ice cream and watched the movie. Allie crashed on the couch before the flick finished. I hated to move and wake her up, so I turned on the local TV news.

  Suddenly, a non-specific shiver chilled my spine while the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I looked up, muted the TV, and listened. I heard nothing and returned to the news. Just then, a shadow climbed up the wall behind the TV set. I turned to the big picture window behind us. Through a gap in the curtains, I could see the shadow growing
taller with every flicker.

  I shot up from the couch, knocking a spoon from the ice cream to clang and rattle on the hardwood floor. I ran to the front door, then fumbled before I unlatched the deadbolt and the lock on the doorknob. The front door opened to a fifteen foot long sitting porch running half the length of the front of the house. At the other end of the porch was a column of flames licking the bead board ceiling. My breath stopped short at the sight of the orange monster in front of me.

  I always keep a small fire extinguisher in my kitchen upon the advice of a smart lady at my bridal shower. “Have a fire extinguisher in your kitchen,” had been a lot more useful than “never go to bed angry.” Next to remaining alive and intact, it was the best thing that ever came out of my marriage.

  After retrieving the extinguisher from the kitchen, I ran back to the front door, grappling with the pin. I aimed the nozzle at the base of the fire and squeezed the handle. After the loud swooshing noise was gone and the white cloud had disappeared, the orange tower at the end of my porch had been replaced by a black, charred, stinky pile.

  I stood, arms dangling at my sides, the extinguisher still hanging from my fingers. I was too stunned to do anything else. Allie appeared at my side and gently slipped the extinguisher out of my hand. She put her arm around my shoulders and we stood there and cried, our shoulders shrugging together as the let down from the adrenaline rush set in.

  ###

  After a quick inspection and pause to sniff the air, Allie and I determined that someone had left a flaming bag of poop on my porch. We returned inside the house and both sat on the couch. Neither of us spoke for a long time. The house was still and quiet; Allie must have turned the TV off when she woke. With elbows on knees and head in cupped hands I tried to make sense of what had just happened, including trying to wrap my mind around a murder, a hit-and-run and now a fire on my porch, all in one day.

  Allie broke the silence. “This has to be Brad.”

  “The guy just doesn’t do anything subtle, does he? I mean, I guess he could be worked up enough to do something like this. I know he’s jerk enough for sure, I’m just not sure it’s his style. His MO seems to be more secretive, at least from what I’ve seen—or not seen before.”