“You got in trouble,” Jinx said with a teasing tone. “I heard him giving you heck. Do you always let him talk to you like that?”
“My father taught me to choose my battles wisely.” I added, “As did growing up with a sister, actually.” I finished removing the debris from the back of my jeans and carefully peeled away the sticky layer so it would be fresh for Logan's next use, just how he liked it. “Did you two get along when you were growing up?”
“As well as siblings in a dysfunctional environment can get along.” Her expression changed, becoming sad and distant for a moment. “He got out as soon as he could, of course.”
“Right,” I said, nodding. Logan's home life was one of the many topics he only gave one-word answers about. “I hope you'll be around here for a while,” I said. “I'd love to show you around the bustling metropolis of Misty Falls, Oregon.”
“And for me to give you the dirt on Logan's old girlfriends, right?” Jinx gave me a mischievous smile. I could see how she'd acquired her nickname.
“There's dirt?” I blinked innocently.
“Don't worry,” she said in a hushed tone. “You're not his usual type. I think he's finally broken the pattern.”
“Good to know,” I said. Was she pulling my leg or hinting at something I needed to know? Was this what Logan had tried to warn me about? Was Jinx a truth teller, or was she a troublemaker?
Logan called out that dinner was ready.
Jinx and I exchanged a conspiratorial look.
“We shouldn't make him wait,” Jinx said. “Logan gets mad when he's ignored.”
Neither of us made a move to leave the bathroom. We stared at each other without blinking.
“Girls!” Logan yelled.
We didn't move.
He yelled again, sounding more annoyed. “Come on! Your dinner's getting cold!”
“We're in trouble,” Jinx whispered. She couldn't have looked more delighted if she'd been handed a stack of birthday presents.
“I'm used to it,” I said with a giggle as we finally left the washroom.
Chapter 30
THURSDAY
I didn't want to attend Michael Sweet's funeral. Sure, nobody ever wants to attend a funeral, but I really wanted to sit this one out. Who wants to be near a mentally unhinged widow who's flinging pointy stuff around? Not me.
Logan and his sister tried to convince me it would be okay, and that I'd regret not going, but in the end, they both agreed that it might be fine for me to skip this one. I would avoid all the stares and whispers of people who wanted to talk about what I might have seen that day at the house, but more importantly, I'd avoid the angry recrimination of a mother who'd been—temporarily—separated from her children.
I was at home, alone because Jessica had gone to the service with the Sandersons, when I got a panicked phone call from Jinx. She needed me to run next door and grab her notes, then bring them to her at the funeral home so she could deliver her promised tribute to her cousin's deceased husband.
I put on an all-black outfit, like a ninja, used my landlady key to retrieve the notes, and sped off to the funeral home.
Jinx met me in the parking lot.
“You're a lifesaver,” she said, and gave me a playful knuckle rub on the side of my head through my car window. I found it oddly familiar, yet it lifted my spirits for Jinx to be so accepting of me.
The night before, we'd consumed the better part of two bottles of wine, and we'd had a great time teasing Logan about his quirks, including how particular he was about the countertops being wiped down with a specific spray bottle and a different cloth than the one used for washing the dishes.
“I'm so hungover,” Jinx groaned. “You shouldn't have made me drink all that wine.”
I laughed. “Excuse me? You were the one pouring.” I unbuckled my seat belt and leaned forward to look past her, at the groups of darkly clad people entering the funeral home. By the look of it, there'd been a huge turnout. As much as most people in town didn't love Michael, they did care for Samantha and were attending the service to support her—as it should be.
“How's it going in there?”
“Little Sophie's here,” Jinx reported. “With a social worker. Poor thing.” She scrunched her face and blinked away the beginnings of tears. “But she'll be okay,” Jinx said, lifting her chin resolutely. “Kids are resilient. She's probably better off without him. No father at all is better than a lousy one.” She leaned close to my open window. “Just between us, Michael was kind of a jerk. He grabbed my butt at their wedding.”
I didn't know what to say to that, and then I did. “Don't walk too close to the casket.”
Jinx stared at me for several seconds before she finally cracked up laughing. She had to pull a tissue from her pocket and dab the corners of her eyes before she ruined her professional quality makeup. “Thanks. I needed that.” She shook a finger at me. “You're a naughty one, Stormy.”
“Thank you.”
She glanced back over her shoulder at the funeral home. “We should be back out again in an hour. Do you want to get a late lunch with us?”
“Sure.” I didn't have any other plans for the day. We talked for a few minutes about where to meet and what time. I wasn't sure which restaurant would be best. The good spots were near the funeral home, which meant that the crowd attending might pick the same places, and we'd be in for a big wait plus staring. Finally, I told Jinx I'd just stay in the parking lot and work on my laptop in my car. “It's no problem. I work in my car all the time,” I assured her, pointing to my laptop case in the passenger seat. “Anywhere can be an office.”
She reached in through my open window, gave me another playful head rub, and then walked away, waving without looking back as she walked up to the Blight Family Funeral Home doors.
“Jinx!” I waved her notebook out of my window. “You might need this.”
She ran back for the notes, her loose auburn waves flying like flames, joking that she'd lose her head if it wasn't attached.
I waited around in the parking lot, in my car, for nearly an hour before I was distracted by a chattering sound. My teeth. The crisp autumn weather had turned shivery cold that week. My gas tank was low, so I didn't want to waste gas by idling my vehicle to power the heater. The service would be over any minute, but then we'd still have to figure out where we were having lunch, and I had to use the washroom now.
I locked up the car and casually slipped inside the funeral home to use the washroom and also linger a while to warm myself up.
While I was in my stall in the women's washroom, two women entered, talking quietly.
I recognized Samantha's voice immediately.
I froze where I was. I did not want to emerge from a stall and have an altercation with the grieving woman. Getting someone's kids taken away—even just temporarily and for their own safety—doesn't earn a person many friendship points.
Samantha called out, “Hello? Is anyone in here?”
Her voice echoed around the tiled room. I kept my mouth shut.
The washrooms at the Blight Family Funeral Home were semiprivate, with doors that went all the way to the floor. Unless she and her companion got right down on the floor, they wouldn't see my shoes under the stall door. I was reminded of a scene from the classic eighties movie, 9 to 5, plus countless other comedies. At least I didn't have to pull my feet up onto the seat like some two-bit gumshoe or office snitch.
Samantha sighed. “Thank God it's just us. I'm so tired of having people stare at me.”
I felt a twinge of guilt at hearing her repeat the same sentiment I had. She had far more to complain about than I did.
“At least you look stunning,” the other woman said. “How much weight have you lost since the last time I saw you? Ten pounds?”
“I hope not,” Samantha replied. “I should eat more. Michael doesn't like me to be too skinny.”
“You're not too skinny,” the woman said. “He'll be... happy to see you.”
&nbs
p; “Jinx, you're just saying that,” Samantha said petulantly. “My boobs are deflated. They shrunk as soon as I stopped nursing Junior.”
I nearly clapped my hand over my mouth. Samantha was talking to Logan's sister, and she was playing along with Samantha's delusion about Michael coming back from the dead.
“Ain't no thaing to worry about,” Jinx said with an urban twang. “Michael will be happy to see your boobs, and the rest of you,” Jinx said.
“Really?”
“Absolutely.”
From my hiding place, I had to admire Jinx's acting skills. I was starting to believe Michael Sweet might be coming back any minute.
Members of both the Sanderson family and the Sweet family had been spoken to by the psychiatrist who was working with Samantha. I'd learned about this the night before, over wine and stir fry. The psychiatrist, who was an expert in disassociation, had asked that family members gently go along with Samantha's delusions for the time being. Confronting her would only make her lock in harder. I wasn't so sure about the psychiatrist's methods, but what did I know? I'd gained a lot of personal experience lately with abnormal psychology, but I was only scratching the surface of what made people tick.
“When Michael does come back, he's getting a vasectomy,” Samantha said. “No more babies. That's what deflated my boobs.”
I felt a tickle in my throat and attempted to cough silently.
“Right,” Jinx said hesitantly. “Hello? Is someone else in here with us?” To Samantha she said, “I thought I heard something.”
My skin prickled. She wouldn't be able to see my shoes or my shadow, but if she tried opening all the stall doors one at a time, she'd find mine locked.
Jinx and I had bonded the night before, teasing Logan as a team. Did our bond come with a psychic element? My sister and I noticed that the more time we spent together, the closer we got in our thoughts. I didn't believe in such things as psychic powers, but I tried it anyway, mentally willing Jinx to carry on with the conversation, carry on with Samantha's delusion.
Keep talking, I thought at Jinx. Keep Samantha talking and then get her out of here. Definitely don't try to open stall number seven.
“I guess we're alone,” Jinx said with a light laugh.
I could see them through a slim crack at the edge of my door. They ran some water in the sinks, washed their hands, and then began touching up their makeup.
Jinx said, “You should put some face powder over that lipstick to set it.”
“Oh? I usually kiss a tissue, like this.” Samantha took a paper hand towel and pressed it between her lips.
“That just rubs it off. You want the lipstick to stay on your face.” There was a clicking sound as Jinx opened her purse, which was a hard case with a buckle, like a toolbox. She patted the countertop. “Sit up here and let the professional makeup artist fix your face.”
Samantha made an oof sound as she hopped up on the counter.
After a minute, Samantha asked her cousin, “Did you see the work they did on the body double? He looked exactly like Michael, lying there in the casket.”
“Could have fooled me,” Jinx said. In a less confident tone, her voice quavering and pitching up higher, she asked, “Are you sure it wasn't Michael in that casket? It sure looked like him, and I don't know if there's a makeup artist good enough to make someone look like someone else. I know I couldn't pull it off. What if your husband really is dead?”
“He'd never leave me,” Samantha said with certainty. “Can you fix my eye shadow?”
“Uh, sure. Close your eyes and I'll fix it.”
They worked in silence for a while. I could hear people milling around outside the bathroom's main door. It had been a large turnout, but most of the attendees were at the other side of the funeral home, at the post-service reception. This bathroom on the far side would be out of the way, which was I'd chosen it.
Jinx made a few comments about the makeup application she was doing, then asked Samantha, “So, if you don't mind me asking, what was it that tipped you off to Michael's big plan? Did he send you a note after the, um, staging at the house?”
“No, but I certainly would have appreciated a note,” Samantha said with a snort. “He's never been the most thoughtful husband.”
“Was he good to you?”
“Sometimes. Michael's full of surprises. And he's a tiger in the bedroom!”
“Good for you, honey! So, just between us, how'd you know he was planning to fake his death?”
I nearly stopped breathing. Jinx was relentless. She would have made a great investigator.
Samantha didn't answer for a minute. Finally, she said, “Just between us? Promise you won't tell anyone?”
“Cousin swear,” Jinx said. “I never told anyone you stole the contents of Uncle Pete's liquor cabinet at the lake house, did I?”
“True,” Samantha said. “Okay. How I know is: Michael slipped up on Sunday, the day before the whole thing. He told me that we were about to come into some money. A lot of money.”
“Did he say how?”
“Nope. He said it was top secret for now, but soon I would understand everything. He said I'd be really angry at him at first, but then eventually I'd see how everything worked out for the best in the end.”
“Are you sure he wasn't talking a business deal? Like a big sales commission on some property or business he was selling?”
Samantha snorted. “Yeah, right,” she said sarcastically. “When it comes to the listings, I'm the one who handles the business end. He'd kill me if he knew I was telling you this, but he was basically a stay-at-home dad. I do all the real estate work, which is fine by me. As soon as our big insurance money comes in, I'm going to put my feet up and keep them up for a long time. Preferably on a sandy beach somewhere with a margarita in my hand.” She giggled girlishly. “I could hire you to be my personal makeup artist.”
Jinx laughed lightly. “If you can afford my fee, I'll take the job and fetch your margaritas as well.”
There was the sound of makeup containers snapping open and shut.
Then Jinx asked, in a more serious tone, “Did you tell the police about what Michael said to you on Sunday?”
“No,” Samantha snapped. “Why would I?”
“Uh...” Jinx was stumped. There wasn't much she could have said. If she pushed Samantha about talking to the police, it would go against Samantha's delusion that Michael had faked his death.
“The police need to mind their own business,” Samantha said. “Besides, Michael already paid them all off. That's how he got the coroner to sign off on that other body. Michael took care of everything.” She gasped. “Jinx, this is all very illegal. I could get him in big trouble. You won't tell anyone about this, will you?”
“Of course not,” Jinx said. “Not even Logan.”
“Good. He keeps asking me questions, but I won't crack. Your big brother thinks that he's the smartest person living in Misty Falls, but he's not that clever.”
“What about his girlfriend? Stormy Day?”
“Oh, Stormy doesn't know half of what Logan gets up to. She should keep him on a shorter leash.”
“Oh? I don't know her well, but she seems pretty clever to me.”
“Too clever for her own good,” Samantha said. Her voice had a vengeful tone that did not surprise me.
“Sam, she just wanted to make sure your kids are taken care of. She's worried about you.”
“Whatever,” Samantha spat out. “One of these days, Stormy Day is going to get what she has coming to her.”
The skin all over my body prickled. I felt like I might explode or, at the very least, cough. I focused on relaxing my muscles and managed to keep myself quiet.
“Promise me you won't do anything you'll regret,” Jinx said. “You always did have a short fuse.”
“I'm okay,” Samantha said softly, sounding frail. “I've got everything under control. Everything's going according to plan.”
“Whose plan?”
“Michael's plan,” Samantha whispered. “Shh. It's our secret.”
“Our secret,” Jinx agreed. She sounded so achingly sad, it made my heart break.
There was more snapping of makeup containers, water running, and then finally they both left.
I took what felt like the first deep breath I'd had all day.
My feet were somewhat numb from my not-so-dignified seat on the toilet.
I walked over to the sinks with an ouch-ouch-ouch from the pins and needles of my circulation returning.
Ah, the glamorous life of a sneaky sleuth.
Next, I had to slip back out of the funeral home and return to my car before I got spotted.
But before that, I had one small task to attend to.
I had to visit Michael's casket and make sure it was him inside, and not a body double.
Just to be absolutely, positively, one hundred percent certain.
Usually, when a person is dead, they stay dead. I'd seen Michael in the tub, and he'd appeared to be dead. But thanks to the strange events earlier that year at the Flying Squirrel Lodge, I knew there were certain chemical compounds that could make a person appear to be dead even when they weren't. While stranded at the lodge, I'd encountered one such “wandering zombie corpse,” and so my suspicion about the state of Michael Sweet's body wasn't entirely unfounded.
Chapter 31
It's only because I'm a thorough and detail-oriented investigator that I find myself in compromising positions.
I've been busted in a few embarrassing situations before, but this one really took the cake.
Officer Peggy Wiggles, dressed in civilian clothes, walked into a private room in the back of the funeral home to find me standing over the corpse of Michael Sweet with two of my fingers stuck up his nostrils.
Peggy's jaw moved up and down, but no sound came out of her mouth.
“It's okay,” I said in what I hoped was a soothing, take-charge tone. “I'm just checking to make sure he's dead.”
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