Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 03 - Haunted Page 7

  “No, I’m sure you wouldn’t. Are you going to be responsible for all of the interment costs?” I asked.

  “No. Our mother will see I’m repaid, I hope. Or, at least, she will once she gets back on an even keel. I really can’t afford to pay for the funeral. I live paycheck to paycheck as it is. I had to put the entire mortuary bill on my MasterCard, and can’t afford even the minimum payment on it.”

  “I’m sure your mother will repay you,” I said, not totally convinced, since Melba still believed Walter was the housekeeper at the hospital. Why would she want to pay for the housekeeper’s funeral? “Did you see Walter often, living in the same town as you do?”

  “No, not really,” she said. “The last time I saw him was at my mother’s house several weeks ago. There was an attorney from St. Joseph there at the time, and he had Walter signing a form to become mom’s power-of-attorney when I showed up to check on her. She has medical and psychological issues, you see.”

  “Didn’t that upset you? It doesn’t seem right to not choose the eldest child for a responsibility of that nature. It would upset me. I just don’t understand her choosing Walter to give power-of-attorney status to. After all, Chuck is just her stepson, and you’re several years older than Walter.”

  “Yeah, five years older, and, well, frankly I didn’t understand it either,” Sheila said, as she deftly netted the largest angelfish in the tank. “Will this one do?”

  I nodded. What the hell was I going to do with an angelfish? Flushing it down the toilet didn’t seem right. I was too much of an animal lover to do that to an innocent fish, which just had the bad fortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  “I think Mom always preferred Walter over me, though,” Sheila said, suddenly interested in talking. “He was her baby, and he was a real momma’s boy. I always felt Walter had his own bottom line in mind, angling to get the bulk of her estate when she passed. He knew he wouldn’t make much of a salary as a teacher and coach. Mom still has a lot of investments she bought with her share of the proceeds from the sale of the lumberyard. Dad used his half to start up a refrigeration business in New Mexico, but she has an investment broker who put hers in stocks and bonds. She even paid cash for her new home.”

  “She sounds pretty intelligent and responsible,” I said. “Good for her to handle her money so wisely.”

  “Well, it’s not really her doing. She’s in no shape, mentally, to handle her own affairs these days. She hired an overseer to handle most of her affairs, and she keeps that lawyer I mentioned on retainer, too, to take care of any legal matters for her,” Sheila explained. “He’s always got her filing lawsuits against one company or another. She sued one pharmaceutical company for not calling her daily to remind her to take her medication, naturally a medication they manufactured. Obviously, the case got dismissed, as have the majority of them.”

  “I can see why. Her lawyer doesn’t sound very competent or he wouldn’t pursue a case like that one in the first place.”

  “Exactly!”

  “Are your dad and brother close?” I asked. I wanted to keep her talking. The more she talked, the better chance of my picking up on any significant details.

  “I’d say they’re pretty tight. Closer than Dad and I ever were, at least. Dad tried to get Walter to move to Albuquerque with him, but Walter is too tied to his mother’s apron strings to move away. Walter could have probably ended up inheriting the bulk of Dad’s estate too, by taking over Dad’s company, if he’d only moved to New Mexico. But Walter was too attached to his girlfriend, Sidney Hobbs, to move away. I imagine they would have married eventually. Then maybe he would have moved, with Sidney, to Albuquerque.”

  Now I was worried also about what her boss would think with all her chatting and lollygagging around. From where I now stood, I couldn’t see him to tell if he was watching us, so I leaned over toward an aquarium full of swordfish to get a better angle. Just as I caught a glimpse of him, glaring at Sheila, I lost my balance and stumbled, falling squarely into the fish tank.

  Suddenly the sound of glass shattering and water gushing filled the little shop. I heard Sheila gasp in horror and the sound of the manager’s feet running down the aisle between the cat toys and the snake cages. I had knocked the tank off its black metal stand. Swordfish were flopping on the floor all around me, amid thousands of pieces of broken glass. One hundred flopping, gasping swordfish is a ghastly sight.

  I stood as still as a statue, silently holding my new pet angelfish, unsure what to do next. Sheila stood still too. She was obviously in shock, with a hand pressed up against each cheek. She looked like the kid in the Home Alone movies.

  “Oh, my God!” She said breathlessly.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “What should I do? Where should we put these poor swordfish?”

  “Put them in the tank with the angelfish,” the store manager said. His ID badge read Marc Meyer. Mr. Meyer looked very agitated. “Help her, Sheila, while I run and get the mop and a pail to clean up all this water. What have I told you, Sheila, about paying attention to what you’re doing? This is exactly what happens when you don’t pay attention.”

  Sheila looked down at her feet as I jumped to her defense. “It was entirely my fault, sir. Sheila had nothing to do with it whatsoever. She was helping me pick out fish when I lost my footing and knocked over the tank. I fully intend to pay for the tank, and whatever damage I have caused.”

  Mr. Meyer was not at all pleased with me, and I knew instantly he would take me up on my offer. I stayed long enough to save as many of the swordfish as I could, and to help mop up the mess. I apologized once again to both Sheila and the store manager before I left. My opportunity to question Sheila had passed.

  I climbed back into my Jeep, the proud new owner of a pile of glass shards, seven dead swordfish, and an angelfish that was very much alive and in need of a new home.

  * * *

  Who would have thought I could cause such a stir at the local pet shop? Like Stone always said, I could get into trouble without even trying. Now I had to foist my new pet off on someone else. The only person I knew with a freshwater aquarium was a neighbor who lived up the street from my home in Shawnee. I was pretty certain the tank in the waiting room at the dentist office was a saltwater tank. It had a couple of clownfish in it that looked like they’d have this angelfish as a snack.

  I was going to Shawnee anyway, so I hoped my neighbor was home and willing to adopt an orphaned angelfish. How long could a fish survive in a small plastic bag of water? I wondered. Long enough, I hoped. I’d already killed seven of its distant relatives.

  In the meantime I wanted to locate Walter’s father if I could. Now if I only had enough guts to walk back into the pet store and ask Sheila if she knew where her father was staying. I tried, but couldn’t muster up the courage. Mr. Meyer would probably have run me out of there on a rail, or locked the doors when he saw me coming.

  There were only two old antiquated hotels and a handful of franchised motels in the small town of Rockdale I would need to call. I ruled out our competition. I couldn’t picture Clarence staying in a bed and breakfast. B and Bs were more conducive to attracting romantic couples and families on vacation than single men coming back to their hometown for a class reunion. And with any luck at all, he hadn’t opted to stay at a friend or relative’s house while he was in town.

  For once I got lucky and located Mr. Sneed on my first call. He was in room sixteen at the Motel 6. I’d been quite sure they’d left the light on, just for him. I headed straight for the motel but no one responded when I knocked on the door of room sixteen, and no cars were parked anywhere near the door.

  I might have to try another tactic, I thought. Most people didn’t sit around in their motel room during the day. Most were overnighters and got up early to check out and leave. The guests staying for an extended amount of time usually found somewhere to go or something to do. By the time Clarence Sneed was apt to return to his motel room, Stone and Wyatt wou
ld be home from their fishing trip, and I’d be preparing supper for us at the inn.

  I headed back to the convenience store I had stopped at earlier and made a call to Rockdale High School. After listening to fifteen rings, the phone was picked up by a janitor. I had forgotten it was Sunday. He left to make a call on another line. I could hear his voice faintly in the background, talking to someone over another phone. Finally he came back with the information I needed. The thirtieth class reunion was being held later that evening at the Rockdale Community Center. I had missed my own thirtieth reunion the previous year, but I wouldn’t be missing this one. I hoped Clarence wouldn’t be missing it either, despite the fact his son has just been murdered.

  * * *

  Now I needed to procure a reunion outfit, as well as a couple of outfits for Walter’s Tuesday night wake, and his funeral on Wednesday. It goes without saying that I couldn’t be seen in the same outfit at both events.

  While I was at the convenience store, I filled up with gas and bought a cup of coffee to go. At one time I couldn’t drive without smoking, and now I couldn’t drive without drinking coffee. In fact, I couldn’t do much of anything without drinking coffee. I’d traded one bad habit for a slightly healthier one. But then, I didn’t know if this was one of the days when coffee was considered beneficial to your health, or one of those days when it would surely kill you before the year was out. The prognosis about coffee consumption seemed to change daily.

  Back in the Jeep, I buckled up and headed for Shawnee with my black and white striped traveling companion riding shotgun beside me.

  Chapter 9

  It didn’t take me long to pick out the clothes I needed. I owned one black dress, one tan pantsuit, and one light blue skirt that went well with my white and blue cardigan. They would all work perfectly for what I needed.

  I was lucky the Watsons were home and more than happy to adopt my angelfish. I was quite vague about how I’d become its owner. Before I headed back to Rockdale, I watered my drooping houseplants, and decided to load one of my Boston ferns into the Jeep to take back to the inn. I had the perfect spot for it in the library.

  Then I sorted through the mail, paid a couple of bills, and checked and deleted most of my e-mails. I got the exact same George Bush joke from three of my friends. It wasn’t even funny the first time I’d seen it two weeks ago. I had checked my e-mail yesterday from Stone’s computer at the inn, so I only had a half dozen other messages. I didn’t want to apply for a credit card, take advantage of free shipping at an online toy store, or order any pills from Canada, including one that would enlarge and enhance something I didn’t have to begin with.

  I poured out a carton of spoiled milk, tossing the carton into the trash. I removed some unidentified green and furry object from the vegetable bin and placed it in the trashcan also. Then I tied up the trash bag and took it to the curb for a Tuesday morning pickup. With any luck at all, the neighborhood dogs wouldn’t rip it to shreds before then.

  Before locking up the house, and arming the security system, I checked my landline phone for messages. Good. No messages, I thought. I then headed straight back to the Alexandria Inn. I’d most likely have an hour or two to relax, and get a few chores done around the inn, before Stone and Wyatt got back from their fishing trip.

  It was getting dark earlier these days, and Stone and Wyatt would probably return before five. The class reunion didn’t start until six, according to the school janitor. I wanted to be out of the house by the time Stone and Wyatt came home, so I wouldn’t have to explain where I was going to either of the men. But I also wanted to arrive at the class reunion fashionably late.

  Since I didn’t know anyone at the reunion and nobody there would know me, I hoped to arrive after the reunion was in full swing. I could sneak in, find Clarence Sneed, offer my condolences, ask him a few personal questions, and sneak out again without being noticed by any of his former classmates. I would try not to make eye contact with anyone so I wouldn’t be drawn into a conversation. I could find no apparent flaw with this plan.

  I figured I’d have about an hour and a half to fill, so I wanted to make good use of the time and not just drive around town aimlessly. I’d found a Chuck Sneed in the phone book, living east of Rockdale, in Chillicothe, on an old gravel farm road off Thirty-Six Highway. I decided to drive past the house a couple of times while I came up with a viable reason to speak with Walter’s half-brother. I put on my blue skirt and matching cardigan, an easy outfit in which to maintain a low profile at a class reunion, and left the inn at four-thirty.

  Using a city map I carried in my glove box, I found Chuck’s house with little problem. It was a double-wide mobile home surrounded by overgrown weeds, cigarette butts, and smashed beer cans. There was an old red Ford pickup in the driveway, with a shotgun hanging on a gun rack behind the bench seat. There was a bashed-in aluminum trashcan on the porch, and several rusty bikes propped up against the trailer.

  I could hear kids playing inside as I walked up the crumbling concrete steps. The screen door was ripped and hanging from one hinge, so I reached through the mesh and knocked on the door. I didn’t think my knocking could be heard over the boisterous clatter inside the house, so I rapped louder the second time.

  A prematurely balding man, about thirty years old, answered the door. The snap on his blue jeans was undone, and he wore a threadbare white undershirt. He had a cigarette in one hand and a can of beer in the other. He didn’t look too welcoming as he opened the front door.

  “Yeah?” he said.

  “Excuse me, sir,” I said, looking down at my trusty white notebook, which I held open in my hand. The page I had opened it up to was actually an old grocery list. I doubted Chuck was too literate, and he didn’t seem particularly interested in what was written in my notebook anyway. I put a check beside “horseradish” because I wanted to look as if I were there on official business and was checking off scheduled appointments. “Are you Chuck Sneed?”

  “Yeah,” he said again. He took a long drag on his cigarette and blew it out over the top of my head. I noticed his cigarette was unfiltered. I notice things like that more now that I no longer smoke. I’m also annoyed by smokers a lot more now since I quit smoking myself. And I find hypocritical people like myself irritating sometimes, too.

  “I’m from the floral shop in Rockdale,” I said to Chuck. “We’ve been hired to create a flower arrangement, and a casket spread for the Walter Sneed funeral service this week. There’s a question about the order and I found your name in the phone book, hoping you were related to the deceased.”

  “Yeah, he’s my half-brother. Got hisself kilt a couple days ago, I heared.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “At least he’s in a better place now.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Don’t know nothing about no flowers, though. Try my sister, Sheila Talley. She lives there in Rockdale with her boyfriend,” Chuck said, closing the door as he spoke.

  I managed to squeeze my foot in the door before it shut completely. “Listen, Chuck, while I’m here, I was wondering if you could tell me a little about your brother. It helps us arrange the flowers better if we’re more familiar with the person whose funeral we are preparing the flowers for. We can match the arrangements to their personality, you see. It makes for a much more personalized and aesthetic-looking arrangement.”

  What a bunch of hogwash I was spouting. I was pushing my luck with such a flimsy story, but I didn’t think Chuck was the type of person to have ever bought a flower in his entire life. He appeared to buy in to my excuse to ask him questions, or, more likely, he just really didn’t give a rat’s ass why I was standing on his doorstep.

  “Yeah? Whatcha want to know?” Chuck took a drink of his beer and belched loudly.

  “Was Walter well-liked around town?”

  “I dunno. Guess so,” he said. He took another long swallow.

  “Were you and your brother close?” I asked, as if this would determine whether we used roses or orchids
in the casket spread.

  “Nah. I was a lot older than Walter, so we barely knew each other. I had moved out ‘fore he moved in with my pa and my step-ma.” Chuck finished off his beer and placed it between the palms of his hands, smashed it, and flung the empty can out into the yard. He reached over to his right inside the trailer and came back with a fresh beer. He pulled back the flip-top on top of the can with one of the three teeth I could count in his mouth.

  “How did you find out Walter had been kilt, er, killed?” I asked. He was hard to hear above the yelling and shouting going on inside the trailer. It sounded like a good old-fashioned free-for-all was taking place behind Chuck. He must have a whole pack of wild kids, I decided.

  “Bubba told me.”

  “Bubba?”

  “Neighbor down the road a spell,” he said. “He told me ‘bout the funeral and all. Then some damn cop showed up to ask me questions, but I didn’t know nothing to tell him.”

  “Are you and your family planning to attend the funeral services?” Gee, if you are, maybe we can include your favorite ferns in the arrangement, I wanted to add. How do you feel about baby’s breath?

  “Nah, can’t go to the wake ‘cause I got a hog-tying contest I wanna go to. Don’t got no suit neither,” he explained. “Besides, I never really liked the whiny brat much anyways, so don’t give no never mind that he’s done gone and got hisself kilt.”

  With that final gem, Chuck must have felt I had enough insight now to prepare the perfect arrangement for the funeral, because he shut the door in my face before screaming at his children to shut the hell up and go to their rooms.

  I backed away from the door with my mouth hanging open. I don’t know exactly what I had expected of Chuck, but I hadn’t expected a redneck with such a callous attitude about Walter’s death. I wondered if he cared more for Sheila than he did Walter. I actually wondered if he cared much for anything other than smoking and drinking.