Mourning Crisis

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  My eyes brightened. “You’d do that for me?”

  “If you haven’t figured it out already, I kind of like you, Mayme Buckley.”

  I blushed. “I kind of like you, too, Christopher Lacy.”

  “And you're almost done with this job, right?”

  I nodded. “Almost, yes, but I still need answers to—”

  “That’s my job, not yours.”

  I nodded. “I understand, but I have to finish out my last few days.”

  He sighed. “Fine, I know you’ve made a commitment, and you’re going to honor that. I’ve learned that about you, but I’m going to make sure I’m around more, okay?”

  I smiled. “Yes, sir.”

  He laughed. “Don’t call me that. I’m not arresting you.”

  “Not yet.”

  “No, not yet, but that doesn’t mean I won’t.”

  “Oh, this could get interesting.” I stood and yanked the blanket. “Get up. I’ve got a job to do.”

  He rolled off the blanket and hopped up, grabbing the other end in the process.

  “When this is all over, I’m taking you to the Grove Park Inn for a nice dinner.”

  “I’ve always wanted to go there.”

  “Well, good. Because I’ve always wanted to take you someplace nice, and it’s finally our time.”

  High school Mayme Buckley was doing a happy dance, big time.

  I left the park nearly floating on air and headed over to the agency to check in with Ruthie, but she wasn’t there. I don’t know why I thought she would be. Already past five o’clock, I had a feeling Ruthie wasn’t the type to stay late unless she absolutely had to.

  It was probably best she wasn’t there anyway. Telling your boss you thought your fake but dead fiancé she’d hired you to pretend mourn had been murdered instead of stung by a wasp probably wouldn’t promote job security for the next gig. If I’d even planned to take the next gig. I wasn’t sure one was in the cards for me. At that moment, I wasn’t sure acting was in the cards for me anymore anyway.

  The more I thought about it, the more it didn’t feel the same inside. The desperation, the sense of urgency attached to getting back to the city, back to Off-Broadway and back to acting was gone. No, it wasn’t because my high school crush officially told me he liked me, honest. It was because I was doing something more significant. Something inside of me changed.

  Buford Lester was dead, and he was very likely dead because someone killed him, probably for the cash available from the sale of his truck, and I was the person to figure that out.

  That meant something to me. I’d quite possibly been involved in figuring out that someone was murdered and that made a difference to me. I was different because of it.

  Acting seemed so trivial and so unimportant all of a sudden.

  I needed to let Buford know his life mattered, and if it had ended because of someone’s need for money, I fully intended to find out and fix it for him. To make it right to the best of my abilities, even though I really didn’t have any skills to speak of in that profession.

  I drove out to the funeral home to visit Buford Lester’s plot, and I broke every posted speed limit law to get there. I had to. The sun would set soon, and the last thing I needed was to be in the cemetery after dark. Aside from the fact that the place had gates that locked, I was one-hundred and fifty percent sure it was haunted. Sure, Clementine gave me some story about shadows and lights and whatnot, but I knew better, and I knew ghosts came out primarily at night and what better place for them to haunt than a cemetery?

  When I pulled into the lot and parked, I realized I’d be the perfect victim in a horror movie yet again. Again I’d be that girl that ran into the fenced-in yard and end up the first one killed because I was an absolute idiot for going to that cemetery as the sunset. If a ghost killed me, I thoroughly deserved it.

  I shook my head but went ahead and walked over to Buford’s resting place anyway. Really, like everyone kept telling me, virtually no one cared about Buford anyway, so who would be there? No one, I told myself.

  And no other psychos would be at the cemetery at night avenging the death of their loved ones, right? No evil ghosts would be there to torture innocent, stupid girls like me, right?

  Yup. Keep thinking that, Mayme. I kept telling myself that. Live in your own little naïve bubble, the one that had you thinking no one would care that you broke through a wood floor in an old theater in New York City.

  Buford’s grave hadn’t been marked with his tombstone yet, but Clementine said it would take a while before that was completed. I knew the spot because of the surroundings, his father’s stone, and the large mound of dirt covering his grave.

  My heart still hurt for the man, and I could only imagine what it felt like to lose someone you actually loved and cared for. My day would eventually come, and I dreaded it.

  I sat between Buford and his father, said a prayer of peace for both of them, and spoke to Buford silently.

  “Funny seein’ you here, Ivy Sawyer.”

  I recognized the slow southern drawl of Tucker Hyut’s voice. “What do you want, Tucker?”

  “Came to pay my respects to my friend.”

  “Find that hard to believe.”

  “What you believe ain’t much of a concern to me. Saw them bags in the back of your car. Plan on bringing those over to Alice’s any time soon? I might could drop them off if you’d like. Save you some time.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  He sat down next to me, so I stood up, and he did then, too.

  “You know,” he brushed a loose curl from my shoulder. It sent chills down my spine, but not the right kind, like when Christopher touched me.

  “Don’t do that.”

  He laughed, but not a funny laugh. It was more of an evil one, and while he did it, he stared directly into my eyes. “I still don’t get why Buford never told me nothing about you. We shared a lot in that rig, ‘specially when we did them intrastate moves. Lotta time spent in that rig, a lot of talking between the two of us, but never once did he mention no girlfriend or no fiancée.”

  “He didn’t want the likes of you knowing about me.”

  “We was best friends. He was the likes of me.” He grabbed my arm. “I know you have what I want and I want it. Now.”

  I yanked my arm, but he just squeezed onto it tighter. “Let go of me, Tucker or I’ll scream.”

  He laughed. “Ain’t nobody here gonna hear you, and that fiancé of yours, he can’t do nothing to save you from me now, can he?” He dug his fingers into my arm. “I don’t got no problem with you. I just want what belongs to me. You give me what I want, and I’ll be on my way.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Why don’t you tell me what it is you want, and I’ll tell you if I have it.”

  “You know what it is.”

  He didn’t let go.

  “No, I don’t, now let go.”

  “I want it, Ivy, and I’ll do what I need to do to get it.”

  I stared at him. “I’m telling you the truth. Now let go of my arm.” I yanked and pulled and tugged until he finally released my arm. I rubbed it knowing I’d have a bruise the next day. “Think what you want, but I’m doing the same. I know you’re up to something, and I’m going to find out exactly what.”

  He just stood and laughed as I marched off.

  When I got to my car, I climbed in, started it, and drove a mile down the street until I came upon the first gas station. I pulled into the lot, shut off my engine and sat there, shaking. It took me a good ten minutes to calm down enough to drive home.

  Daddy was on the front porch whittling a stick when I got home. The dogs barely lifted their heads to greet me. They were so old, it made me sad. “Hey, Princess. You look like something the cat drug in. What’s goin’ on?”

  “It’s been a long day, Daddy.” I sat in the chair next to him. “Hey, I need a favor.”

  “Whatcha need?”

  “It’s one of those don’t ask, don’t
tell kind of favors though, okay?”

  He stopped whittling and glanced up at me. “Everything all right?”

  “I think so. I’ve got some things from this job I’m doing that I’d like to keep safe, and I’m hoping you can store it at your work. Would you mind? I could bring it by there now.”

  “Why don’t you leave it in the garage here? We’ve got the room.”

  “I was going to, but I’d rather it not be at the house.”

  He set his knife and stick down. “How about you tell me what’s going on, Mayme?”

  “Don’t ask, don’t tell, remember?”

  “Sometimes that ain’t always the right thing to do, sweetie.”

  “Daddy, everything’s fine, I promise. Besides, my friend from high school, Christopher Lacy, he knows I’ve got this job, so you don’t need to worry, I promise.”

  “He works for the Asheville Police Department now, right?”

  I nodded. “He’s a detective.”

  “Well, now I'm worried for sure. Maybe your momma was right about this job. Maybe it’s time to quit?”

  “Daddy, it’s not the job, I promise, and I’m okay, honest. I just don’t want one of the people that knew the man that died to get a hold of some of his things. It’s not really a big deal. I just don’t think his intentions are all that honorable.” I hated not being truthful with Daddy, but I also didn’t want him to worry.

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.” I lied.

  “Okay then, how much stuff you got in your car?”

  “Four or five bags, I think.”

  “Sounds easy enough. Let’s head on over to my shop. I’ll go in and tell your momma.” He set his stuff down, told the dogs to get on inside, and said he’d meet me in my car.

  “Okay, I just have to grab something right quick,” I said. I ran up to my room and took the box with the knitting needle out of my closet, put it in a garbage bag and put it in the car with the rest of the bags. I don’t know what made me do it, but I figured better safe than sorry.

  An hour later I was in bed and reading when Momma knocked on my door. It surprised me that she’d knocked, but what was in her hands surprised me even more.

  She’d asked about my day, her tone light and casual, all the while fiddling with two large blunt steel knitting needles in her hands. I didn’t know if she’d had a glass of wine or a shot of whiskey or what, but her light-hearted attitude was always a joy to see.

  “I hear they’re having a sale on pumpkins up at the Walmart. We might could get some and carve them this weekend? We could get those little patterns like we used to when you were little.” She laughed. “I could make hot apple cider, and oh heck, we could finish off that pie while we’re at it. And you know what? I might could try and teach you to knit again if you want.”

  “Momma, you okay?”

  “I’m fine, sugar, why?”

  “You’re acting kind of funny.”

  “Your daddy said the same thing. Can’t a woman be easy going once in a while?” She shook her head. “You’d think the ceiling fell, the way your daddy’s been acting this week. I am fine. The test results will be back soon, but he’s all worried it’s the end of the world.” She hiccupped. “He don’t need to worry none. I’m just dandy.”

  “Momma, are you drunk?” I sat up. “What’s going on?”

  She covered her mouth and hiccupped again. “Oh bless my heart. I wasn’t supposed to say anything, was I?”

  Daddy walked up then. “Honey, we need to get you to bed. The wine’s settling in, and you need your rest.”

  He didn’t even try to look at me, and that’s when I knew something terrible was going on. He closed my door.

  When I heard theirs shut, I got up, put on my robe and wandered downstairs. Duke and Buster were crashed on Momma’s couch, both snoring like motorcycles driving through the mountains. I snuggled between them, waking old Duke up, who then nuzzled his old, dry hound nose into my leg. I leaned into him and cried, worried the next time I sat at a cemetery like I had a while before, it would be at my mother’s grave.

  I woke up on the couch in the middle of the night to a loud smashing sound. At first, I thought I was dreaming, but my eyes were open, and I heard it a second time, so I knew it wasn’t a dream. It sounded like something at the neighbors, maybe glass breaking?

  Glass breaking. Dagnabit. I knew what that meant. I jumped off the couch and bolted to the front door.

  Daddy came charging down the stairs. “What in the devil is goin’ on out—”

  I glanced out the window and saw a shadowy figure running from my car. Again.

  Daddy flipped on the outside light just as the figure ran down the street. It was far enough away that I couldn’t make out whether it was a man or a woman. I could, however, see shattered glass on our driveway next to the sides of my car and on top of my front hood. I had a strong feeling it was on the ground next to my back window, too. My flat tires were a strong indication that my car had been targeted.

  And I had a feeling I knew the potential suspects.

  Oh, no. If I knew them, that meant they knew me. Not Ivy Sawyer me, but Mayme Buckley.

  I rushed to my bedroom.

  “Where you going?” Daddy asked.

  “To get my phone, I’m calling Christopher. He’ll know what to do.”

  And he did. The police were there in minutes, taking a statement. Christopher arrived shortly after.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I nodded. I was cold and embarrassed. My bathrobe, an archaic, paisley printed, old lady-like, yellow and orange thing wasn’t the sexy evening wear I’d hoped to show off to my high school crush. Then again, I hadn’t ever really expected to show off sleepwear of that sort, so I was utterly embarrassed to be seen in it. Plus, my hair had seen better days, and that was the one day in the last five-plus years I’d chosen to go to bed without washing off my makeup first. I was a hot mess.

  I assumed there went any plans for dinner at the Grove Park Inn.

  Nice move, Mayme. Way to disappoint high school Mayme and ruin her dreams forever.

  “I think you’re right,” Christopher said.

  “But I don’t always look like this,” I replied. “Can’t you just let it go?”

  “What?” He smiled.

  “Wait, what’re you talking about?”

  “One of them figured out who you really are. What’re you talking about?”

  I’d been ready to argue my case to still get a date for dinner at the famous hotel, but that whole thing had been in my head, and he’d been talking to me about reality. “Sorry, nothing.” I shook my head. “I am right. No one else would do this. Not to a beat-up Mazda Tribute.”

  “I’ve got one of the patrolmen keeping an eye your place for the night, but I think y’all should stay at a motel or something just in case.” He grabbed hold of my hands. “And it’s definitely time for you to walk away from this job.”

  “Christopher, we’ve discussed this.”

  “I know, but this is bad, Mayme. And I need that needle. Can you get it for me? You know that’s what they came here for.”

  “It’s not here.”

  “What do you mean it’s not here? Was it in the car?”

  “No, I mean, it’s not here. It wasn’t here. Daddy and I took the bags from the rig to his shop, and I put it in one of the bags just in case.”

  “That was smart.” He hugged me. “We need to get to the shop and get those bags.”

  Daddy walked up then. “It’s time you tell your Daddy what’s going on.”

  So Christopher and I did. He was not pleased. Not at all. He and Momma did stay at a hotel, but first, he drove me to the shop where we met Christopher. Christopher took the bags, including the needle, and brought it all to the station. He brought me with him, the whole time working to convince me to stay at a motel, too. I fought it, but when Christopher drove me to the car shop where they’d towed my car and showed me the writing on the back of my car I
ended up staying where he’d assured me I’d be safe.

  Written in red paint was Ivy Sawyer with a big X through it and then written above it was Mayme Buckley.

  If I didn’t believe they already knew who I was, they’d made it perfectly clear.

  9

  Christopher told me to stay put at that motel until he showed up there, and I did exactly what he said.

  It took forever to fall back asleep, but when I did, I slept like the dead. I felt horrible using that expression, but it was true. Christopher’s loud knocking on my door woke me. I checked my cell phone and noticed it was almost ten o’clock in the morning. Clearly, I needed the sleep.

  The motel wasn’t a five-star hotel, but it wasn’t a weekly rental one either, but it would have been nice if it had a window and maybe a peephole to see who was at the door. “Who’s there?” I asked.

  “Housekeeping,” the woman answered.

  I opened the door, and Boone Mableton pushed the woman aside. She whacked his arm. “Don’t got to be such a jerk about it,” she said, but she walked away.

  “Boone? What’re you doing…” My feet took root in the dingy gray carpet of that cheap motel. “Miss, wait.”

  “No way honey, he’s all yours.” She pushed her cleaning supply cart down the hall. “Good luck with him, too.”

  Boone shut the door behind him. His face lacked expression, and his droopy shoulders were no longer droopy. Instead, they stood erect and proud. The dumber than a box of rocks Boone had disappeared entirely.

  My limbs went weak, and I shivered. It was him all along, the one I thought wasn’t smart. He’d just played dumb. How could I have missed that? “It was you, wasn’t it?”

  “I was wondering when you’d figure it out, Mayme.” When he said my real name, he practically spit it out.

  “What do you want?”

  “I want the needle.” He closed the space between us.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “’Course you do. You give it to me, and nobody gets hurt. I won’t even tell no one you ain’t really Ivy Sawyer.”

  He strolled over to my bag and searched through it. As he did, I carefully snuck my cell phone off the nightstand next to the bed and stuffed it into the pocket of my pajama bottoms.