by Kim Smith
I sighed. Tuesday already? Where did the weekend go? And it was the day they would bury Rick. I wasn’t at all sure I would survive such a difficult thing.
My detachment from all things funeral-like assaulted me. I’d been avoiding them since the age of ten. Funerals were terrible things to behold at that age. Hell, it was awful for everyone; who was I kidding?
I gave up the notion of sleep and wandered into the living room trying to shake off the memories rolling over me like a tsunami. I didn’t want to think about my personal losses. It would only make the one facing me even harder.
Flipping on the light over the stove, I struggled with my caffeine addiction. The desire for something hot and delicious won.
Dwayne kept his coffee maker on the 1950’s style chrome-edged Formica counter top next to the refrigerator. The counters had seen better days. They hosted burns from hot pans being placed on them, and there were a few ripples from water damage.
I hunted in the cabinets until I found a can of some off-brand java. It still smelled fresh, so I proceeded to make a pot. When it was ready, I filled a mug and carried it to the living room.
With one hand, I dug around in my purse for a pen and something to write on. Nothing cleared my mind like pouring out my thoughts and feelings, and I needed clarity in the worst way. My search netted an old envelope—the one my last paycheck had been in—so I sat on the couch and began to write.
The things I knew: there were missing items from the apartment but not normal ones that a thief would take. I mean who takes the SD card but leaves the camera? I wished I knew what else was missing from the apartment. Since I was in the murderer’s cross-hairs, he must believe I fit in all of the craziness somehow.
That gave me pause. What was he looking for?
Not money, although Rick had thrown some at me and screamed something about money. Rick wasn’t a flashy kind of guy. Looking at him, no one would know he had any funds. If Charlie was the killer, what item of interest could Rick have? His brother knew all there was to know about Rick’s wealth or lack thereof.
I became more confused as I wrote and finally laid the pen aside.
The senselessness of Rick’s death slammed me in the heart. He didn’t have enough bad traits to warrant his murder. He didn’t do drugs. He wasn’t into any evil-of-the-night activities such as prostitution. So why stab him to death?
I closed my eyes against the immediate visual, but like a movie, it played on.
Finally, I got up and paced the floor to clear my mind.
Focus, Shannon, focus.
What if I could get into Rick’s office and computer? The cops had gone there already, but I might understand something they wouldn’t. And I wondered what Sal’s suspect list was like. Did he have a profile of the killer yet? Sal had warned me to stay out of his case, and here I was considering all aspects of it.
I drained my mug and plopped on the couch again. Did the killer kill for revenge or gain? And what would he gain? If it was Charlie, he would gain a whole company. He might have done it and made it look like a burglary gone bad.
But who else? Who would kill Rick, and why? I chewed the end of my fingernail and felt the sting of torn quick. Long-term stress did that to me.
I pulled the memory of the phone call to mind. The killer’s voice had been dull and muffled. I didn’t recognize it, although my terror might have played a hand in all that.
The pipe bomb would probably give a few clues to the cops, but that wouldn’t help me. They wouldn’t tell me such information until they had the creep who was responsible in custody. South Lake PD would be closer to solving the murder, but I would still be waiting to get my hands on the missing SD card.
Fear of my personal videos being exposed across the Internet sent my blood pressure skyrocketed. In this oh-so-connected world, the killer could take whatever he had of my bedroom ballet, plaster it up on YouTube, and post links to it.
What ifs flew through my tired mind and no answer followed. I rubbed my face with my hands. Too much. There was too much that could happen with that missing card. Disaster could rain down on my head with every moment it remained out there in anyone’s hands but my own.
I tilted my head back and stared up at the ceiling. I just couldn’t take the chance. The thought of a stranger’s eyes surveying such intimate moments made me want to curl into a ball and cry. The thought of millions of stranger’s eyes watching the video sent me over the edge.
The killer knew. He’d watched them, the freak. He’d called me sex kitten. He knew. It sickened me.
If this freak wanted to hurt me, he didn’t have to blow me up. All he had to do was leak the contents of that SD card to the press. Ohmigod. If the news got out, there would be no peace from Sal Ramirez. And two little old ladies who meant everything to me would be devastated when the news media splashed it across the television. Their customers would laugh behind their hands. I could hear it being told and retold with relish, and my dear aunts, the ones who had cared so diligently for me, would be mortified.
I stood and cradled my empty coffee mug to my chest. If it meant putting my whole life in jeopardy, I had to get that card back.
The funeral was set for noon at Scott’s Funeral Home over on Waverly Avenue. The place had recently grown from four rooms to six as the town increased in size. More lives in, more lives out.
We took Dwayne’s car. I had on my darkest sunglasses and hoped my latest crying jag had emptied my body of grief. I was a total wreck.
Dwayne stuffed a handful of tissues in my purse. “Believe me, girl. You’re gonna need them. And if you don’t, I will. This shit gets to me. You know I don’t do funerals.”
I tried to explain how much his being there meant to me, especially since he was such an anti-dead people person. But I started crying again and gave up the notion. I hoped he knew anyway.
Dwayne glanced over at me. “Oh now, don’t start that yet. You’re gonna get mascara all over your face before you even give those people your condolences. Grab them tissues,” he said, waving at my purse. “And give me some, too.”
I handed one to him, as I blotted my face. “It’s waterproof makeup, it shouldn’t run. And I-I can’t help it. I just—this hurts like hell.”
He dabbed his eyes. “Well, I ain’t wearing nothing waterproof, and when you cry, it gets my waterworks all worked up, so stop it.”
We turned into the lot and parked. I took a deep breath before opening the car door.
“You okay?” he asked again.
I nodded.
As we walked toward the building, my throat constricted and I stopped. “I can’t go in.”
He took my elbow and moved me forward. “The hell you say. We’re going. If you gotta cry, go on and cry, but you gotta go in. I’ll be right here, and once this shit is over, you can go home and drown your sorrows in some strong stuff, or take drugs and sleep for two days. If we keep on like this, I’m gonna need something myself.”
I swallowed hard. I can do this. Dwayne placed a supportive hand on my back as he opened the door, and I took strength from him.
When we entered into the foyer, I spied Sal and his partner, Dan Justice, who appeared very cop-like in a dark blue suit. I nodded to them and made small talk with Dwayne as we waited in line to sign the guest book.
“What’s the deal?” I asked in a low whisper. “What are they doing here?”
“Looking for a few good men,” Dwayne said, trying to make me laugh.
I glanced around for other familiar faces, and noted the thick, sound-muting carpet and the furniture, which offered comfortable seating for the grief-stricken. Anything to avoid thinking about why I was there. Dwayne excused himself and went for the men’s room. Funeral places gave me a nervous twitch so I wandered on, completely out of sorts.
I managed to keep myself together until I saw Joe Drury sitting at the end of a dark leather couch, staring at his hands, perfectly miserable. His light brown hair had grown long, and tiny lines had begun to
show around his mouth and eyes.
His forlorn expression sent new waves of hurt crashing through my whole body. “Hey, Joe,” I whispered.
He greeted me with a quick hand squeeze. “I wondered where you were. I didn’t know if you even knew. Someone told me they thought you were out of town.”
“No, I’m here. Are you okay?” I asked as I sat beside him. “That’s the ultimate question, isn’t it? You were his best friend.”
“Yeah, he was a great guy.” His eyes misted over. “Beat me bowling so often I had to quit.”
I couldn’t contain my grief another second. We held each other and cried.
“It’s going to be okay, Shannon,” he said.
I finally lifted my head in an attempt to control my heaving breath. “Whew,” I finally managed. “This is way hard.”
He nodded, wiping his own eyes. “Have you seen the family yet?”
I shook my head.
“Better do it quick. The service is about ready to start.” He smiled, but it faded when the two detectives sidled up to the couch. “Go on now. I’ll be right here.”
“You’re not going in?”
“I’ll be in directly. Need a smoke first.”
I smiled and patted Joe’s leg, then stood and hunted for Dwayne.
He leaned against the wall outside the viewing room.
“Are you going in?” I asked.
“Nuh uh, girl. I’m keeping my distance. Dead folks don’t like me none. You know that.”
“Oh, yeah.” I peeked in. Pews lined both sides of a long aisle, church-style. The closed casket was displayed at the end of the aisle atop a raised platform. A casket cover of red roses and white mums adorned it.
Pictures sat on a table off to the side. The smell of lilies assaulted me, clinging to my hair and clothes. Someone put a hand on my back and excused himself as he moved around me.
Charlie.
Dressed in a gray pinstripe suit that swayed with his muscled physique, he moved down the aisle toward Evelyn Richards, the Human Resource manager at the office. She smiled a hesitant smile like people exhibit when they don’t know quite what to do or say. They embraced.
His very presence sent a shiver down my back. He never liked me, and the feeling was mutual. But I promised myself and God that I wouldn’t think about the past. I would ignore the possibility that this man might be the killer.
I watched for a few moments as he talked softly with Evelyn, and a man I didn’t know. People clustered around the room speaking in quiet funeral voices.
When I moved slightly inside the doorway, I caught sight of Thomas Fine, Rick’s father. He stood by the casket gazing at a floral spray, completely wretched. My heart ached at the sight of him struggling to contain his grief. He looked like I felt.
I walked over to express my condolences. He met me with a mournful smile.
We hugged and stood silently, gazing at the pictures for a few moments. Tears streamed from our eyes, and the world ceased to exist as sorrow washed over us. He put his arm around me and squeezed. For a moment, someone else understood what this loss was like. Grief counselors say this woeful feeling has a cleansing property, but at that moment, there existed emptiness and pain and a sorrowful need for Rick to forgive me for whatever it was he thought made us no longer compatible.
“I know you loved him,” Mr. Fine said, as if reading my mind.
“I just don’t understand. I thought we had something.” I took a tissue from a container nearby. “What happened? Why’d he fire me?”
“He cared for you too, Shannon. He did. I can—I need to explain-”
A woman came up the aisle, sobbing his name, and interrupted whatever he was about to say. Morbidly obese, she had difficulty making it up the two steps to the dais. He left me to help her. I didn’t know what he could explain to me about Rick, but I would have to wait. Telling me why his son fired me wasn’t going to change anything today.
I slipped away. I wasn’t family, and this was a time for them. Besides, if I stayed any longer, I would find myself drowning in what might have been, and I wasn’t ready to face that, yet.
Charlie still talked to a crowd of people gathered across the platform. He would be there for a while, so no need to keep an eye on him. I left the viewing room and made my way back to Dwayne.
He wore a strange expression on his face.
“What’s up?” I glanced around. “Where’s Joe?”
“Outside, I guess. He wasn’t being Mr. Congeniality to anyone around him.”
I searched around for Sal and Dan. They were missing as well, probably discreetly positioned, in case of trouble.
“That room makes me nervous.” Dwayne eyed the room in front of him as he lounged against the wall.
“Only because you know that we all wind up going down that road,” I whispered. “I was just going to the restroom to check my makeup.” Turning too quickly, I bumped into a man in a soft gray suit signing the guest book.
“So sorry,” I apologized.
“Miss Wallace, right?”
His musky cologne overwhelmed me. It was something by English Garden, and he’d bathed in it. I rummaged around in my overwrought brain trying to remember him.
“Yes. I know you from somewhere, don’t I?”
“Levi Green. Green Screen Productions. Sure was sorry to hear about Mr. Fine. Terrible thing, murdered like that.”
“Of course, now I remember,” I said, trying to dredge up a smile. I gestured toward Dwayne. “This is my friend Dwayne Brown. Dwayne, Mr. Green – Levi. His production company shot the Fine, Fine, Fine Furnishings commercials.”
Dwayne shook his hand. “Oh yeah? The ones where the people are all doing that yoga stuff, and screaming at the top of their lungs? Wondered what that was supposed to mean.”
He dropped Dwayne’s hand and backed off a step. “That’s Tai Chi. You don’t like the commercials? They’re supposed to echo the animal everyone has inside and is trying to tame. It escapes when you find something you’ve been missing, like good furniture. A sort of psychoanalytic approach.”
“Oh,” Dwayne said, in a small voice. “Like that. I see.”
I nudged him with my shoe. “Wonderful concept Mr. Green. Look, there’s Mr. Fine now. Looks like he’s motioning for everyone to come inside.”
Green turned to see where I pointed, and I elbowed Dwayne and frowned. He needed to watch his attitude. Green excused himself and headed for the viewing room and old Mr. Fine.
“Don’t be that way,” I scolded, wiping under my eyes, and smoothing my skirt. No time for make-up fixes now.
“What way? I don’t like how Dude does his stuff. Tai Chi and wild animals? Sounds freaky.”
I glared at him.
“I’m entitled to my opinion.”
“He’s highly recommended. Rick paid some very serious money for those commercials.”
Dwayne shrugged and we joined the line leading into the chapel for the service. I had a hand on Dwayne’s sleeve, and he tensed as we entered. We found seats close to the back so that Dwayne wouldn’t have to get any closer to the casket than necessary. I watched for familiar faces, but there were only a few.
The Fines were seated in the family section at the front of the room. Joe sat alone on the far edge of the pew to the left of the aisle, and Sal and Dan stood at the end of the last row, nearly in the corner. Sal had his arms crossed, his face stern. I wondered what thoughts were running through his mind.
Our eyes met briefly and he gave me a quick smile.
The minister stepped to the podium and began the service. I pulled out tissues and waited for the tears, able to hold off until Evelyn sniffled. When her outright sobbing ensued at the bagpipes playing “Amazing Grace”, the floodgates opened.
Dwayne’s jaw clenched, and he held out his hand for tissues, too.
After the eulogies concluded and the last hymn was sung, the family had their final moment with Rick. Then the curtain closed to dismiss us.
Dwa
yne neatly scooped me up by the elbow and began plowing through the crowd. “I’ve gotta get you outta here, right now.”
I had hiccups from crying so hard, too overwrought to argue. He kept close on the heels of the couple in front of us. We were nearly out of the room when Sal and Dan walked toward the front door escorting Joe between them.
There was nothing I could do. I tried to hurry but couldn’t run over the people in front of us. By the time we were outside, Sal opened the car door to place Joe in the backseat. I saw he was cuffed.
I grabbed Dwayne’s arm. “Oh my God! They’re taking Joe.”
He frowned and followed my gaze. “Wonder what’s up?”
I didn’t know what to do.
“Something’s wrong,” I told Dwayne as we stood there watching.
“You ain’t in no shape to go after them and insist on his innocence, so don’t even think about it. Ole Sally ain’t gonna listen to you no way.”
I opened my mouth to argue but instead the tears fell in a torrent. “It’s wrong. Stop him, D. They have the w-wrong man.”
“We’ll figure out that shit later. We have to go bury this man. Come on,” Dwayne said.
We climbed in the Mustang and got into line a few cars behind Charlie and the other mourners. When we arrived at the graveside, Dwayne parked a little ways down where no one would block us in on the narrow winding lane.
I put my sunglasses on, and Dwayne supported me as we walked to the canopy where the casket was being situated on the levers to lower it into the ground.
Everyone assembled around the Fines in a tight knot.
After a short Bible reading, and final goodbyes were said, we each passed by the Fines to offer our condolences. Charlie didn’t look up, and Mr. Fine bravely held his tears back. We kept going until we were on the other side of the canopied grave site and back out in the sun.
Dwayne said, “Let’s go.”
We stepped gingerly around tombstones as we worked our way back toward his car. That’s when I noticed someone taking pictures. I pointed her out to Dwayne. A glossy-haired brunette with the viewfinder to her face.
“Charlotte Dillon?” I asked. “Wonder why she’s here?”