I looked at my brother, whose brow glistened with sweat. I just couldn’t understand how a small cat could cause that kind of reaction. Still, I had to cut Richard some slack.
Brenda returned to the kitchen and resumed her salad-making.
“Any chance I can have a drink?” I asked, as much a distraction as a true request for libation.
Richard turned and stepped up to the liquor cabinet while I took my usual seat at the table and struggled to get my leg onto the other chair.
“Ja-Ja!” Betsy called and offered me her cookie.
“No, thank you,” I told her and the baby seemed confused by my refusal to accept her spit-soaked gift. “You were telling me about Alice’s survivors,” I reminded Richard.
“Yeah.”
Richard freshened his own drink and brought me mine before taking his seat. “Do we want to bother to approach people who never met the sibling that died before they were born?”
“There’s a chance they were told about Alice.”
“And if they weren’t?”
“It can’t hurt to ask. Maybe a phone call would be better than approaching them in person.”
“You said Alice’s parents were disappointed she wasn’t born a boy. There’s a chance her father didn’t talk about his first child to his second family.”
“That would be despicable,” I said, glancing to my left to take in Richard and Brenda’s pride and joy—my little Cherry Pie, Betsy Ruth—who wasn’t exactly at her best while caked with cookie goo.
“It happens,” Richard said reasonably.
“Do you have contact info for these people?”
He nodded.
I’d made cold calls, hundreds—maybe even thousands—of times when I was an insurance investigator. It wasn’t my favorite part of the job. Still, if that’s what it took….
“Hey, Jeffy, with everything else that went on today, I forgot to mention that your friend Dave called while you were out. He wants you to call him back.”
“I’ll do that tomorrow,” I said, feeling too weary to listen to yet another diatribe against Maria. “What time do you guys pick up the new car tomorrow?”
“We’re all going to get the car,” Brenda said
“I don’t need to go,” I protested.
“Didn’t we have a similar conversation a few hours ago?” Brenda asked.
“I’ll be bored out of my mind.”
“Charge your phone. If nothing else, you can play hangman or tic-tac-toe on it,” Richard said. Boy was he out of the gaming loop.
“I’d rather take your iPad.”
“That could happen.”
“Then we all agree,” Brenda said: A statement, not a question.
“I guess.” I sipped my drink and noted that Brenda hadn’t poured herself a glass of wine. Was she going to hold it against Richard and me that we did imbibe? The specter of Richard’s and my alcoholic mother seemed to hang over us far too often. I decided to ignore the disparity. “What are we eating tonight?”
“Nothing fancy. In fact, I thought it might make a change to have a cold supper.”
“Which is?”
“Tuna mac salad, deviled eggs, tossed salad, and green Jell-O.”
“Jell-O?” Richard did not seem pleased.
“It’s Betsy’s favorite.”
“Sounds good to me,” I said. I wasn’t fussy, but I bet Richard would have preferred a steak and a baked potato with sour cream.
“How soon are we going to eat?” Richard asked.
“Are you in a hurry?” I asked.
“There are a few more genealogy websites I want to check to try to track down Alice’s half-sister.”
“I’ll need to visit Alice again soon, too—if only to update her on what we’re doing.”
“Updating a ghost?” Brenda said, shook her head, and stepped over to the cupboard to grab three dinner plates.
“She might not be real to you, but she’s real to me.”
“I just never met a ghost before.”
“Well, I have,” Richard said, “and it’s weird.”
“I hope I never do,” Brenda said. “It’s just too creepy.”
“Not all ghosts are creepy. Most of them are just sad. And speaking of those of the netherworld, I’d like to go visit Sophie sometime soon.”
“I’d be glad to go with you. I’d like to see her again.”
“No. You wouldn’t be welcome.”
“Why not?”
“If you go with me, she won’t be there. I’m just not sure how I can get there on my own. I wonder if I could drive with my left foot.”
“No!” Richard said.
“It’s not the driving so much; it’s getting in and out of the car by myself that worries me.”
“You’re not driving,” Richard said emphatically. “I’ll take you to the bakery.”
“And what will you do while I’m there?”
“I’ll sit in the car.”
“And what if a cop sees you sitting in the car parked on a side street in the dead of night? What will you tell him—or her?”
Richard didn’t seem to have an answer.
“I guess you could drive around until Jeffy calls you,” Brenda suggested. “But what time are we talking about?”
“After midnight. Sophie’s never been available to me before that.”
“Are you up to it tonight?”
I shook my head. “No. Maybe tomorrow—depending on how tired I am after going to the car dealership.” I lowered my voice to a mutter. “Where I don’t want or need to go.”
“Shut up,” Richard whispered, looking at his wife out of the corner of his eye.
“Maggie and I talked today,” Brenda said, changing the subject.
This time both Richard and I turned in her direction.
“Even though her house isn’t officially listed, the real estate agent she chose asked if he could show the place this evening.”
“Is that a good idea?” I asked.
“He felt the couple might like the house and could possibly put in an offer.”
“But Maggie said she still had a lot of work to do in the duplex’s lower unit.”
“She might be willing to give them a concession so that updating it is their headache and not hers. They might want a fast closing, too.”
“Wow.” Life was charging ahead while I was stuck in convalescent mode. It made me feel inconsequential.
“It’ll be nice if Maggie lives closer,” Richard observed as Brenda set the bowl of mac salad on the table.
“It will for me. We might be able to do lots more girlfriend stuff.” She went back to the counter to grab the deviled eggs. “You know, I’ve only been to her house a couple of times. It always seemed so far away.”
“Tell me about it,” I said. I’d had to drive out to Clarence for nearly two years on a regular basis.
Brenda brought the salad and then fetched the dressing and a bowl of croutons. “Dinner is served.” She sat down and we started doling out portions and passing bowls back and forth. I put a minuscule amount on my plate as our conversation had kind of killed my appetite. Brenda’s new car—Maggie plunging ahead with her life without me. Too much was happening around me, and the stinking cast and brace on my leg and the whole healing process kept me from being a contributing member of society. And yet, as I poked at the food on my plate, I had a feeling that that was about to change in the not-too-distant future, and I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be for the better.
17
The logistics of getting the four of us up and out the house to make the trip to the car dealership the next morning seemed almost as overwhelming as what the entire Barnum and Bailey Circus must go through to get the big top up and ready for a show.
Brenda and Betsy took the lead in her Altima, while I rode shotgun with Richard in the Mercedes. He figured the whole ordeal would take about an hour. I knew the dealership would have Wi-Fi, so it made sense to leave the car and sit in the service area while Ri
chard, Brenda, and CP (strapped in her stroller), consummated the deal.
As planned, Richard had brought along his iPad so I could surf the net and entertain myself, while the local all-news channel blared on the sixty-inch plasma TV bolted to the wall across from me.
I hadn’t really had a plan for what I would do to kill that hour, and surfed the net while half-listening to the local sports and weather reports. The news cycled every ten minutes or so, and I’d missed the headlines. But it was a familiar name that caught my attention and made my head jerk up.
“The victim, David Morris, was taken to Sister’s Hospital and was pronounced dead—”
“What! What!” My stomach did the proverbial flip-flop—but the report ended and I’d missed whatever else the newscaster had to say.
The news wouldn’t cycle around for another ten minutes and instead I focused on the iPad, Googling the station’s URL, feeling panicky. Dave—dead? No. There were probably fifty Dave Morrises in the area.
Then why did my gut feel knotted?
My fingers fumbled as I typed. Sure enough, the headline ‘Man Stabbed at Convenience Mart’ practically jumped out at me. The fact that the victim’s name was mentioned meant that the next of kin had already been contacted. The victim, David Morris, of 41 Reinwalt Street in Williamsville, was ….
Jesus. It was Dave. My friend Dave. My co-worker.
Dave was dead.
I was going to call him after we got home. I was going to—
My cell’s ringtone sounded.
I dug into the pocket of my sweats and for a crazy moment figured that the news had got it wrong. It would be Dave calling—
“Jeff?”
Not a man’s voice. Maggie.
“Maggs?” I croaked.
“Oh my God! I can’t believe it. I’ve sold my house!”
“What? What?” I couldn’t seem to take in what she was saying.
“My real estate agent just called. He sold my house—and for the asking price! Can you believe it?”
“No,” I managed. I still wasn’t sure what she was blathering about. I still hadn’t processed Dave being stabbed.
Stabbed to death.
Stabbed to death at a convenience store.
I looked back down at the tablet that still sat on my lap.
“This is great news,” Maggie insisted.
“Yeah.”
Silence. Then, “You could sound the least bit happy for me.”
More silence.
“What?” I asked, still dumbfounded.
“Have you been drinking or something? How many pain pills did you take this morning?” she accused.
“None. Why do you ask?”
“Because you sound weird. Maybe we should talk later—after you’ve had a chance to sleep it off.”
“What?” I asked again.
“I thought you might look at this as good news, but I can see that—”
“Maggie!”
“I’ll talk to you later,” she said tersely and hung up on me.
I lowered the phone, stared at it for long seconds, and then stabbed the end call icon. Pocketing the phone, I still couldn’t seem to process our all-too-brief conversation and turned my attention back to the tablet.
Dave had ridden his bike to the convenience store to get a quart of milk. The photo that accompanied the story showed the plastic quart bottle had ruptured, its contents puddled on the asphalt behind yellow crime tape.
According to the store’s video, Dave had exited the premises and had unlocked his bike when he was approached by a guy in a hoodie. They spoke for a few seconds and then the guy lunged, which must have been when he’d attacked.
The victim was slashed twice and stabbed once in the chest. He was taken by ambulance to Sister’s Hospital and pronounced dead on arrival.
My God … Dave was dead.
I sat there, feeling numb, feeling sick at heart.
A goddamn mugger had killed my friend.
The TV news cycled around to the story, and this time I heard every word, but it wasn’t as up-to-date as the version I’d read online.
I stared vacantly at the tube as the sports and weather repeated again.
Dave was dead.
But how dead? Dead and gone like my parents? Like Shelley? Or dead like Alice and Sophie, who no longer lived, but were still of this earth.
Should I go to the morgue? Would they let me see him? Did the dead lie dormant for a while before seeking … what? Closure? That’s what Alice sought. I never could figure out why Sophie hadn’t moved on. Was it because she felt she had to look after me? She didn’t—but I didn’t want to lose her, either. I depended on her.
But Dave … dead.
I switched off the iPad and closed the cover, wishing I could get away from that damned TV.
I don’t know how long I stared at my hands, but eventually a nudge at my shoulder caused me to look up.
“The van’s out front. The service guys are putting Betsy’s car seat in now. Come and have a look.” Then Richard seemed to notice that something was wrong. “Are you okay?”
“Dave was murdered last night.”
“What?”
I nodded toward the TV. “I saw it on the news and confirmed it online.”
“Oh my God,” he whispered.
“We need to go see Bonnie Wilder.”
“Sure,” he said without hesitation. Then he looked over his shoulder. “Brenda was hoping we could go out to lunch to celebrate.”
I looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost twelve thirty. “Oh, shit.”
“I hate to disappoint her, but—”
“No. If she wants to celebrate—and have an hour out of harness—I’m not going to stand in her way. It can wait an hour or so before we see Detective Wilder.”
Richard nodded. He grabbed his iPad and gave me a hand to get up. I realized then that I was going to have to suck it up and not depend on him and Brenda so much. The pushback would be brutal, but I had to do what I had to do.
My resolve solidified. I was determined to find out who had run me down and killed Dave, and I had a pretty good idea of where I needed to look, too.
* * *
Lunch wasn’t as much of a celebration as Brenda had hoped, which made Richard feel guilty for not telling her why his brother was such a stick in the mud. He’d helped Jeff get into the Mercedes before walking back to the new minivan.
“Brenda—” he began.
“What on earth is wrong with Jeffy?” No doubt about it; she was not pleased.
Richard let out a breath. “He didn’t want to spoil your celebration—”
“Epic fail,” she said succinctly.
Jeff had barely looked at either of them during the meal. He’d hardly touched his sandwich, but had gulped two beers at the family restaurant where they’d gone for lunch. Brenda had agreed to take his leftovers home for later.
“You weren’t much better,” Brenda accused.
“I’m sorry. The thing is … while we were closing the deal on your car, Jeff heard on the TV news that his friend Dave was murdered last night.”
“Oh my God!” Brenda cried, instantly distressed.
“Yeah. Jeff’s pretty shook up.”
“Oh, Richard, you should have told me.”
“Yeah, well—now you know. Could you call Maggie? Jeff got a call from her and now she’s pissed at him because he wasn’t as overjoyed as her about selling her house.”
“I’ll call her as soon as I put Betsy down for her nap.”
“Thanks. We’re going to see Detective Wilder of the Amherst PD.”
“When will you be home?”
“I don’t know. I’ll call.”
“Okay.” She leaned forward and kissed him. When she pulled back, her expression was somber. “We need to talk about the implications of Dave’s death—you, me, and Jeffy.”
“I know,” he said. “Lock the door when you get home.”
“I will.”
She kissed him again, got in the van, closed the door, and started the engine. She gave him a half-hearted wave as she pulled out of the lot. Richard watched her go, then walked back to his own car. He got in and Jeff reached over to shut the passenger side door.
“You told her?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll apologize when we get home.” Jeff shook his head. “All I seem to do these days is apologize.”
“Brenda was very upset to hear about Dave. She’s going to call Maggie and smooth things over.”
“It pisses me off that Brenda even needs to do that.”
Richard started the car. “Moving is stressful. Maggie is making a major life change.”
“Yeah, and is pissed because I’m not able to help her pay the freight.”
“You can’t do what you can’t do.” He put the car in gear and headed for the exit.
“Even worse, I can’t give her the life she wants.”
“What do you mean?”
“I would love to wake up every morning with Maggie by my side, but I can no longer live the life she does—which is working in an office five days a week—nine to five; steady employment. I’m not capable of it. She doesn’t seem to want to understand that.”
“Does this mean you guys are at an impasse?” Richard asked as a break in the traffic presented itself.
“On one level, yes. But that’s one level. I happen to believe we’ll get through this, but it’s not going to be easy. It’s actually kind of good to have this cast between us,” he said, indicating his incapacitated leg. “It buys me—us—time.”
Richard drove east, heading once again for the Amherst PD. “What are we going to say to Detective Wilder—that is if she’s even on site?”
“She may not be the detective in charge of the case. But even if that’s so, I hope she can get me in to see Dave at the morgue.”
“No.”
“Yes. I can sometimes talk to the dead.”
“So far, it only seems like you can talk to those who’ve been dead for decades, not the newly deceased.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. I guess it also depends if a person is at peace when they die. The restless spirits I’ve been in contact with all had unfinished business. Dave could have felt that way. He wanted me to look into Maria’s past—and present.”
Shattered Spirits Page 18