Mourning After

by Stephanie Damore

  As much as it pained me to do so, we had to call Sheriff Evans and tell him what we found. I left it to Jake to give his grandma the heads up. Hazel bore it as well as to be expected.

  “Drugs, in my home? Are you sure?” she asked. I could see her heart breaking by the minute. I avoided my gran’s eyes and instead met Hazel’s and tried to convey my sympathy. The day just kept getting worse and worse for her. I guess the little baggies of pills could be something else, but I was pretty positive the greenery hadn’t been oregano. Even the cedar sachets that had been tucked into the drawer couldn’t mask the skunky smell of marijuana.

  “Did you get a hold of your mom?” I asked Jake while we waited outside for Sheriff Evans to come back.

  “No, work hasn’t heard from her.” Jake’s expression was full of defeat, and I didn’t press him. I myself was thinking that the drugs may have been the final straw for Gwen. Perhaps she discovered them and killed Roseanne as a result. The fact that Gwen was a diabetic and that no one seemed to know where she was only furthered my suspicion. I was pretty sure Jake scowled and I had a feeling he was thinking the same thing.

  I glanced at my phone. To think, it wasn’t even noon yet. Who knew what other unexpected events the day had in store?

  Sheriff Evans rolled up in his county-commissioned SUV less than fifteen minutes later. The sheriff looked rough, like this was the last thing he felt like dealing with today. He coughed into his arm and took a second to catch his breath before joining us.

  “What’s this about some drugs?” He had a notepad out and eyed Jake and me suspiciously. Hazel stepped out onto the porch, the screen door slapping shut behind her. We all turned and watched her take a seat on the porch. The three of us stayed out in the front yard, standing on the cement pathway that cut through the grass. I let Jake explain what we had been doing when we found the contraband.

  “And you are, miss?” The sheriff was at the ready, waiting to write my response down.

  Oh crud. I hadn’t thought of that. Suddenly the spotlight was shining on me. What should I say? “Megan Maloney. I was Roseanne’s counselor.” And just like that, I lied to the authorities. Holy crow. I shot a mega-watt and mega-fake smile at the sheriff. I was convinced he could see right through me. As soon as I was away from Jake, I would have to call the sheriff and tell him the truth and explain why I lied in the process. I was okay with doing that, even if it made me look all the more suspicious. Thankfully Hazel and Ruthie would be able to back my story up.

  Jake led Sheriff Evans inside, and I joined Hazel on the front porch.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll straighten everything out with Bob.”

  “Bob?”

  Hazel tilted her head toward the house.

  “Oh, you mean Sheriff Evans. Yeah, I wasn’t sure what to say.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll make sure he knows you’re working for me and I paid you to lie.”

  I wasn’t sure if that made me feel any better or not, but I thanked Hazel anyway.

  “Where’s Gran?”

  “Playing secretary. Word got out about Gwen already, and my phone hasn’t stopped ringing.”

  I winced. Yep, that was small-town America. Hazel wasn’t the only person in town who knew her daughter was a diabetic and that Roseanne had been murdered with insulin. “What else can I do for you?”

  Hazel had started to say that I had done enough, but Sheriff Evans and Jake came back at that moment. The sheriff went to his vehicle and returned with a couple of brown paper bags to retrieve the rest of the evidence. Within a few more minutes, he was done and back in his car. The man gave a visible sigh and rubbed his temples with both of his fingertips, the way I did when I had a headache. A minute later, he started the engine and backed out of the driveway, leaving the group of us standing outside, watching him drive off.

  Inside the phone continued to ring. “They can all go jump in the creek,” Gran said, waving her hand to dismiss the callers as she sat down next to Hazel.

  None of us spoke for a moment. We all sat in silence, looking like the most melancholy group there ever was. I felt at a loss, wanting to help but struggling for a way to do it. Hazel's heartbreak and Jake’s frustration were almost too much to bear. For his part, Jake had a permanent scowl on his face. His thumbs tugged at the front loops on his worn Levi’s. I thought if he didn’t relax, he’d rip the loops right off.

  But what could I do? Here, I had wanted to help Jake and Hazel and all I managed to accomplish was uncover more problems. Not like they wouldn’t have found the drugs without me, but still. I guess I shouldn't have been so eager and should have waited for Jake to return before emptying Roseanne’s dresser.

  What they both needed were some answers. I had no idea how long it would take the police to find any. One might have thought Sheriff Evans would be happy for more evidence, shown an ounce of gratitude. To the contrary, he seemed more overwhelmed, or maybe he was just tired more than anything else. I had no idea when this little town had last dealt with homicide, but I wasn’t sure the sheriff was up to it. Or maybe that was just because it had been Roseanne. Now wasn’t that a sad thought.

  I shifted my weight on my feet and cleared my throat. “How about something to drink?" I offered up. No one objected. I headed back inside to the kitchen to see what I could round up. Now, I wasn't about to attempt to make iced tea, or sweet tea, or whatever North Carolinians were fond of drinking. I may have been born in the south, but it had been a long time since I had been back. I was sure to mess it up somehow. However, I did spot a bowl of fresh lemons on Hazel's counter and I was willing to bet she had a bag of sugar around here somewhere. Bonus points for Hazel when I uncovered a can of frozen lime concentrate while digging ice cubes out of the freezer. Homemade lemonade it was.

  While I sliced and mixed and measured, I thought of Roseanne and wondered if any other clues would turn up. There were more questions than answers, that was sure. Finding those letters meant the police had plenty of potential suspects too. Who had Roseanne been blackmailing? Then there were the drugs. Where did she get them, and who was she selling them to? I doubted the drug ring in Bakers was all that big, if it existed at all. It seemed Sheriff Evans had two avenues to explore. I didn’t envy him. Then I went back to what Miss Sue had said. What was Roseanne doing in midtown after midnight? Scoring drugs?

  All these questions clamored around in my brain while I stirred the lemonade together. Jake came in just as I was finishing up. He got down tall, clear glasses and filled them with ice without saying a word. We worked together in silence, each of us wrapped up in our own thoughts. If only Roseanne had a real friend in town, someone we could go to and ask what Roseanne had been up to, or what she had been thinking. Any information would be helpful. I kept thinking it was a darn shame Roseanne hadn’t been friendlier.

  Then I remembered someone.

  There had been a woman at the funeral that might know something.

  “What are you thinking?" Jake asked me.

  “Hmmm?” I replied absently.

  “Your eyes, they just brightened.”

  “Did they?” I wondered if my eyes always brightened when I got an idea. Sort of like a lightbulb going off in my brain and reflecting in my eyes. Okay, not really, but it would be funny.

  "Do you remember that woman at the funeral? The one with the flowing robes and long, dark hair?"

  Jake snorted. “Yeah. I didn't talk to her, but I know who you're talking about. Why, what's up?"

  "Her name was Stormy. She was your aunt’s astrologer."

  "Astrologer? What does that mean? Like a psychic?”

  “I guess something like that. She said Roseanne had been in to see her recently, and she felt horrible about not picking up on her demise. She thinks she should have been able to see it in her stars."

  "I'm not sure I buy that," Jake said.

  “Me neither, but I'm thinking we should go talk to her. If Roseanne confided in her, she might have some answers to all of our questions. Sh
e might also be more willing to talk to us versus the police. I have a feeling Sheriff Evans wouldn’t take anything she said too seriously." The sheriff appeared to be very by the book, even if he was beat.

  “Okay, let’s do that. I can’t get anywhere with the safe deposit box until Monday. They were already closed for the day when I called,” Jake said. For a moment, I had forgotten that it was Saturday.

  Gran assured us that she would stay with Hazel while Jake and I headed out.

  "We'll just be a couple of hours, if that. I'll call you soon.” I could tell Jake was uneasy at leaving his grandmother.

  Hazel waved Jake away. "I'm just fine now. My girl here and I are going to play some rummy and watch our shows. You kids go and have fun." Jake started to protest, but Hazel cut him off. "I'm serious. I've had a bit of a shocker the last two days, but I'm doing okay right now. In fact, I’d like to be able to just sit here and spend the day with Mabel if that's all right with you.”

  Neither one of us could argue with that.

  Jake offered to drive since he was familiar with the area and the thought of me navigating these hills with my car stirred up some serious anxiety. Bradley better mail me that title soon so I can sell that car. The sooner, the better. I could get something more sensible. Maybe my own SUV. Pay off some debt with the leftovers and get myself a nice apartment. I could figure out the rest as it came.

  Jake’s truck was a working man’s truck. Where some guys babied their rides and would rant and rave about every little scratch, Jake’s black full-size truck looked like it regularly went off-roading, if the dried mud on the rims was any indication. Inside, the gray interior was a bit of a mess as well. Rolled-up blueprints sat in the passenger seat, a pair of worn and scored work boots sat on the floor mat along with empty plastic Mountain Dew bottles.

  “Sorry, let me just clean that up.” Jake gathered everything in his arms and dumped it unceremoniously in the backseat. He then wiped the seat clean with his bare hand.

  “You’re fine.” I touched his arm to move him aside and climbed in.

  5

  It turned out there weren’t a lot of astrologers named Stormy in Asheville. With just the one, she was easy to track down. I navigated us to the west side of Asheville while Jake drove us to Haywood Road, which turned out to be West Asheville’s main drag. Trendy cafés featuring vegan and organic fare, tea rooms, and gourmet goodies were saddled side by side in an eclectic mix of shops. In one pass, I discovered you could buy everything from fancy dog biscuits, hula hoops, and limited-edition vinyl records, to fine wine, vintage clothing, and tubes for floating down the river.

  Stormy was located just off the main drag in a white bungalow. From the street, it appeared she ran her business out of her home. An old red Grand Prix, riding on a donut tire and sporting a bit of rust, was parked in the driveway. The front flower boxes sat empty while the azalea shrubs were overgrown. The only festive things were the wind chimes. Stormy had both wooden and metal ones hanging from the porch. They swayed and danced in the wind, sending little tinkles of music into the afternoon air.

  Jake parked on the street. A sign propped up in the front window advertised psychic readings for twenty dollars. In true Stormy fashion, it was decorated in various hues of purple with gold glitter splashed about. Next to that, a neon open sign blinked indicating that she was in fact currently in business.

  Stormy answered the door before I could even knock.

  “I knew I had visitors," she said with a sly smile, tapping her temple. Never mind the fact that she had been standing in front of her open front window watching when we pulled in.

  "What can I do for you two? A compatibility report? Wedding date? I know it all," she said, again with that cunning smile. Jake replied with a nervous laugh.

  "I don't think you remember us. We met at Roseanne’s funeral.” I tried to look solemn. It took Stormy a second, but then it clicked.

  “You I don’t remember,” she said to Jake “But you’re her counselor,” she said, using air quotation marks. I ignored her added emphasis and pressed on.

  "Right. And you said that she came to you recently for a reading. I was hoping you could tell us about it. Maybe there's a clue that can help us solve who murdered her."

  “Yes, you’re absolutely right. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. Must be Neptune squaring my Saturn in the first house. Can’t wait for that aspect to pass. Come on in.”

  Jake blinked a couple of times. I smiled politely in return.

  Stormy opened her door and allowed us in. Today she was wearing black leggings embroidered with silver spider webs. A purple and orange flowered silk tunic skimmed her knees and was cut low to reveal her rather impressive cleavage and a moon tattoo. Her eyes were done in heavy black liner and mascara, making her look much older than she probably was. Like before, she wore her hair long. A teal and purple feather on a string clipped to her hair swayed freely when she stepped back for us to enter.

  She steered us to the right, where the front window was and where she had been standing. A beaded curtain divided the room from the hallway. I ducked as I walked through the clear floor-to-ceiling beads. Inside, a circular table was covered in black velvet peppered with small, melted marks, like the type a cigarette would make. A tarot spread was laid out on it, which Stormy quickly picked up. She stacked the worn and torn cards, putting them back into a cedar cigar box on the side table. Next to it, she was burning something wooden. It looked like a short, stubby stick. Perhaps it was a type of incense? The air was filled with a peppermint and almost lemony scent as the white smoke rose in transparent tendrils. Sadly, I didn’t see a crystal ball, although I thought the space seemed perfect for one.

  Stormy offered us a seat at one of the metal folding chairs while she took her place behind the table. Jake looked as if he’d rather stand, or take the conversation back outside, but he took his seat anyway.

  I could have started with small talk but decided it would be best to get to the point. “When’s the last time you saw Roseanne?”

  “Sunday night. She came to me for a reading.” Stormy spun the thick black-beaded bracelet on her wrist.

  Two days before she was murdered.

  “Did she have a regular appointment or was there something she specifically came to you about?”

  “Where to start?” Stormy looked up at the ceiling. I copied her. All I saw was a large crack and bunch of speckled plaster. I always called them popcorn ceilings. I had them in my first apartment in New York City.

  “She called me Thursday night and asked if I could fit her in the next day. She had problems, relationship ones. She told me her ex was back in the picture and she wasn't sure if she should give it a go again or stick it out with this new guy."

  I looked over to Jake for confirmation to see if any of this was ringing a bell to him. His blank expression told me it wasn't.

  “Her ex, as in ex-husband or …”

  “Husband, for sure. Hank, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Did you know your uncle was back in the picture?”

  “First I heard of it.” Jake sat forward in his chair. His brow held a deep crease.

  “What about this new guy?” I asked Stormy. No one had mentioned a recent flame.

  “What was his name? Let me think … you know what, I don’t think she said. All I got is his birthday.”

  “Come again?” Jake’s attention had wandered out the front window. A steady rain had started to fall. The sound floated in through the open window. The wind kicked up, sending the wind chimes on the front porch into a frenzied tune. But the mention of a birthdate had Jake focusing on Stormy once more.

  Stormy stopped spinning her bracelet. “For his natal chart. Roseanne gave me his birthdate so I could run a compatibility report on the two of them and compare it to the one with her ex-husband. See which one she was more likely to strike a love match with."

  Ha, I wondered what Bradley and my compatibility chart would look like. A disaster,
I’m betting. The jerk. Of course, now wasn’t the time for such personal matters. Instead I asked, “And who was the winner?"

  "Neither. Both relationships were going to give her trouble, and I told her that. She didn't like it, but it's my job to tell it how I see it."

  “Do you have his birthdate?” Stormy didn’t seem like the type to keep files on her clients, at least I didn’t see any filing cabinet, but you never knew.

  “Fourth of July. Now that I remember.”

  “Oh, that’s easy to remember.” Jake nodded in agreement with me.

  “I probably still have the report here somewhere. It was such a disaster that I saved it to study later.” Stormy started moving papers around on her back table. “Here it is.” She lifted the report free from a rather large quartz crystal that had been acting as an informal paperweight. The piece was statue-like, given its size and mass.

  I studied the report. It just looked like a large circle with a bunch of symbols, colored lines, and numbers. None of it made any sense to me except for the birthdate in the top right corner. Stormy pointed to it with her long, gold glittery nail.

  “You'll see the inner circle is his natal chart, which is basically a snapshot of where the planets were the moment he was born. This outer circle is Roseanne's natal chart. All these red and blue lines show the different relationships between the two. We call those aspects. Red lines are areas where you can expect problems or difficulties, blue lines are areas of harmony. You can see there's a whole lot of red in this compatibility report.”

  “Yeah, I see that. Thanks." I took the paper from Stormy, folded it into quarters, and tucked it into my back pocket. At least we had a birthday to work with. And perhaps even another person of interest for the police.

  “You sure you two don’t want a compatibility report? I think we’d find plenty of harmonious aspects.”

  Jake raised his eyebrow as if to say up to you.

  “No, I’m good, thanks.” The words tumbled out faster than I meant them to. “Feel free to give me a call though, if you think of something else. You have a pen?” I scribbled my number down on a scrap piece of paper. It wasn’t easy to do given how soft the tabletop was, but I managed to make it legible and left in on the table. Now it was my turn to want to skedaddle out of there.