“I hope this was OK?” I asked, concerned and not a little worried that I had overstepped a boundary.

  “Okay? My God, girl, this is amazing. I can’t believe it! It’s like that little Brownie story in the old Girl Scout handbook, you know?”

  “I do know. Where they clean the kitchen overnight. I think they got rid of that. It's indoctrination for paramilitary style housewives. Brownies are probably better suited for this task though.”

  “Are you kidding me? This is crazy slash efficient. You have a talent for this!”

  “Hmmm, you actually say the word ‘slash’ aloud? Anyway, these are my gifts. No femme fatale charm. I’m just great with emergencies and organization.”

  “This is what you should do for folks who have someone up and die on them. Forget the comfort food. This is your calling.”

  “Well, I would like to parlay some talent into a business. I need to find something soon. I have thought about the future, but I simply cannot put on another Brooks Brothers suit and click around a downtown office again.”

  “I’m telling you, this is it. It’s your forte.”

  “Well,” I said smiling, “We could call it ‘Maid for Murder.’”

  “Wait,” she pondered. “Won’t that limit our market share? What about natural causes and suicide?”

  I sighed. “Joke, Lucy. I'm kidding.”

  “I'm not!” she insisted,.“What else you have to do with your time right now?”

  She had a point. I packed up the car and drove off to Crisis Assistance, the dump and the cleaners. Then I headed home, half seriously mulling over her idea.

  Facebook Post: Father’s idea of the perfect funeral: open bar, he lies comfortably in casket enjoying comments about how good he looks. “Then, when I really die,” he says, “just stick a bone up my ass and let the dogs run off with me.”

  Chapter 5

  Leslie hadn’t wanted a visitation. She had arranged to be cremated, her ashes scattered onto the highest hill on her property. Lucy’s husband, children and her sister Barb were there, along with me and the family attorney. I don’t mean to be vicious in saying Leslie had few friends, but there were more people in attendance when I buried my hamster.

  I couldn’t help comparing the two sisters, and Barb was the polar opposite of Lucy. She was a million women I used to see in the city. A good bit taller than Lucy and shorter than me, she was what I used to consider the perfect height for a woman at 5’4.” With her tight body, highlighted blonde pageboy, frosty smile, and impeccable makeup, she was polished up to the point that any beauty she might have had was repackaged into a generic, ageless attractiveness. She was intimidatingly turned out, yet lacked any sex appeal. Wherever she was going in life, it was up, I guessed, and she was clawing her way there with her red silk nails.

  I was roused from my observations by the attorney Koy Hawkins when he cleared his throat and mentioned the will. Rod leaned down and kissed his wife on the cheek. “My cue to take the kids back to camp?”

  Lucy hugged him hard and nodded. The children kissed her and eagerly accepted their impossibly tall, ridiculously handsome father’s hands. Swinging them, he walked them down the hill to his Mercedes.

  “It must be interesting to be a twin,” I murmured, looking after them.

  Lucy said, “Oh, I do know how it is. Barb and I are like that. We practically share each others thoughts.”

  “Fuck you,” Barb snarled.

  “See,” Lucy said, smiling brightly. “Exactly what I was thinking, Barbie Doll.”

  “Well,” Koy said heavily, “you gals can come to my office, but I brought a copy of the will, in case.”

  “Oh let's just go to Mother’s,” Lucy said. Barb nodded curtly.

  I took this to be my cue, “It was good to meet you Mr. Hawkins, Barb, even under these sad circumstances. Y'all let me know if you need anything.”

  “Actually,” Mr. Hawkins said, giving me an appraising look. “You’re going to need to come too.”

  Barb gave me a hostile stare and attempted to stomp off in the direction of the front door, an effect diminished by her Christian Louboutin heels sinking into the damp earth.

  Barb was an unhappy person by nature, I judged, but pretty soon she was trying her damnedest to make us all miserable. Obviously she somehow felt entitled to the lion's share of the estate, but it still seemed she had done well for herself. She got the Upper East Side condo she had occupied free of charge since leaving college for New York, a town home in Charlotte near Southpark, and considerable cash.

  It was explained in the will that Leslie had taken Barb’s fourteen years of free Manhattan rent into consideration when she wrote it. As for Lucy, she got the remainder of the funds and the farm, all of its contents, and the commercial property in Monroe two towns away.

  Surprisingly, I was mentioned. An oil painting of a wooded landscape went to me, as well as the log cabin on the far end of her land where I was living now, rent-free for three years and a stipend of $800 a month if I would oversee the land and its inhabitants (the herd of goats and the donkeys and hens).

  Koy intoned the directives of Leslie regarding me: “I expect you, Gretchen, to use this as a means of finding direction in life. Should that occur before you have spent three years on the property, the monthly stipend will be used to hire someone else as caretaker.” Koy resumed reading to all of us. “Until then, the primary home is not to be sold. Separate additional monies have been set aside for its upkeep.”

  The will must have been rewritten fairly recently. I had admired the painting one day as I staggered into her foyer, exhausted after spending eight hours in the July heat rounding up Leslie’s goats when the fence failed. It was a task it would have taken a mentally impaired, three-legged border collie 15 minutes to perform.

  I had finally ended up climbing a big oak in the middle of the forty pastured acres in order to find the last of the stragglers. That part had been something of a joy, rekindling in me an old passion I had excelled at until my gymnastics teacher had regretfully told my mother that my skills aside, my rapid growth was going to make gymnastics increasingly unrewarding and even dangerous. This had, of course, not diverted my interest. I just pursued it wherever I could find privacy and an adequate tree. Childish, I know, but show me a person without a childish habit so I can avoid them. And trees were undoubtedly what drew me to the landscape painting.

  When she heard the generous bequest of that particular piece of art to me, Lucy smiled broadly across her mother’s desk. “Obviously, you were like a second daughter to her,” she said gleefully. “Mother loved that painting.”

  “Bitch,” Barb said, and even though it was undoubtedly directed at Lucy, her eyes were focused on both of us as a blanket insult.

  “Girls,” Koy Hawkins said wearily, “you are each others closest blood kin…” He stopped helplessly when he saw the two of them locked in a chilling stare. Barb gave Lucy a final glance and theatrically shuddered. Hours before, she had watched her mother’s ashes as they were scattered on the hill with the kind of absorption one uses when watching a fax go through. She now informed us coldly she would be at the Dunhill in Charlotte. She was staying one more day to put the town home on the market and fly back to New York.

  I couldn’t help myself: “Wow, by some crazy luck I happen to have a real estate license. I sure would love to throw my hat in that ring.”

  Lucy shot me a glance of naked admiration as Barb stared at me with open dislike, emotions playing across her face like currents in a stream. She then called me a parasite, invited me to visit hell, and, grabbing her jacket and Italian purse, left the house. I’m not saying I gave Barb much of a chance to make a good impression, but I am a big believer in Hemingway's “grace under pressure.” Obviously Barb did not subscribe to that code.

  Walking back from the door where we had merrily watched Barb spin away, Lucy said, “That was great, thanks. Her face when you offered to be her real estate agent was priceless! You have some time? I want to talk to you some more.”

  I nodded and we went back inside the sprawling stone home. Lucy took off her shoes and pulled off her dress right there in the kitchen. There was a hamper of clean and folded clothes in the adjoining laundry room that she rummaged through, selecting a pair of jeans and a white long-sleeved tee that looked fine and soft.

  “Oh, don’t mind me,” I said mockingly as she stood on one foot to pull on a boot.

  I couldn't help but sneak a second look at my friend. To say she was slight would be an understatement. She was minute, small boned and small breasted with not an ounce of fat on her. Still, she could walk into a room filled with lingerie models and leave with all the men trailing helplessly behind her. She had long, wildly untamed hair and a spirit to match. Her exuberance and force of will were compelling.

  “Mother and I were about the same size,” she explained, shoving up the sleeves of the shirt, cuffing the pants and not in the least bit embarrassed to catch me looking at her.

  I grew a little impatient and walked to the bar to start the coffee. Without asking, mixed Lucy a Martini and promptly handed it over. “Oh. My. God.” she said, taking a sip. “Seriously — you are one spooky girl. A mind reader.”

  “Ah, psh! Who wouldn’t want this after dealing with that?” I said, nodding toward the drive where Barb had so recently spun away.

  Lucy guffawed. “Barb won’t be back until the townhouse sells, and even then she will probably use a power of attorney.”

  “Well… good then,” I said cautiously. “So, you wanted to talk?”

  “Oh chill, sweetpea, I want to talk about your future.”

  I put on my most studious face. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Hush. How are you fixed for cash?”

  “You need some cash?” I jokingly began rummaging around my skirt pockets.

  “What I’m asking, Poirot,” she sighed, “is if you've thought about your future yet.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “OK, I’m just trying to make sure you have enough to get through. With the free rent and the stipend, you should be able to manage until we get up and running.”

  “Up and running? Running what?”

  “Your bereavement business.”

  “Doing—?”

  “Things you did for me — for a profit of course. I can get you started. Do you need time to plan?”

  “Umm,” I said, nonplussed. “Give me a night to think it over.”

  “OK, but you will say yes. It’s the perfect match of person to career.”

  “My professors will be so proud,” I said acidly. Then, feeling ungrateful, I gave her a hug and promised to look into it.

  I walked back to the cabin, fixed another cup of coffee and carried it upstairs. The fireplace in my room was barren of wood for the season, temporarily holding a pot of hydrangeas, but I curled up in bed in my old sorority sweatpants and tried to read something to get my mind to focus. Shortly I gave that up and snuggled under the quilts and fell asleep.

  I slept deeply but dreamed. I am always dreaming. In one I was wearing a red dress that would have been stylish in the fifties, cinched at the waist with screaming red pumps. I was whistling ‘Jack the Knife,’ while on my hands and knees mopping up blood and miscellaneous gore as college mentors watched contemptuously. Lucy sat nearby, holding a stopwatch.

  But when I woke, I had gained some resolution. The idea was simple, the work would be a real service to families, and I needed to keep my savings intact until I figured out what to do with my “real” life. I called Lucy right away.

  “You are on to something. This could work. I do have some people skills, I just need to make some connections with law enforcement.”

  Lucy yawned loudly through the line. “Let’s not let that people skill stuff go to your head. Charm is a pretty plentiful commodity in the South.”

  “Yes, but mine is genuine.”

  “True, that is an unusual handicap, but we'll overcome it,” she said. I could hear her drawing on a cigarette, pictured her pondering our next move.

  “Feel like going somewhere today?”

  “Any place in particular?” I said hesitantly.

  “Well we need to go see some law enforcement, do some research on contamination, order supplies...”

  “Hang on a sec,” I sputtered. “This is pretty fast. Are you my partner? My manager?”

  “Let’s just say for now I am your bored but brilliant friend, a stunning benevolent patron pushing you onto a career path.”

  “Don’t forget your glamour and scintillating wit.”

  “There is that,” she mused. “It will all come in handy when we hobnob with our good ol’ boys at the courthouse. Let's do it at four this evening when they are writing up reports, itching for that last cigarette and a stop for a beer before they go home. They’ll be so anxious to get us out of there they‘ll say yes to anything.”

  “Well,” I said idly, “misery loves company. So does blunt-force trauma and death by natural causes. But why don't we make up a schedule to do this tomorrow instead?”

  Lucy was curiously itchy to begin that day, so I asked her to just line up the appointments and see if I needed bio-hazard certifications. I liked Lucy. I liked the idea of using a talent she helped identify in me that I could turn into a business. What I didn’t like was being pushed along using only her contacts, her connections and her will. I can’t stand feeling beholden.

  I trudged upstairs where I ran a little Google search on the computer. There was an article about a company that cleaned up after burglaries and the like out West. Apparently it paid very well. For me it was the perfect blend of helpfulness and profit. It was just right for a person who had learned early to compartmentalize, yet had a nurturing side.

  Mostly, it fit the bill of doing a small and helpful thing. Right now that was a gracious plenty for me.

  Tweet from @foralark: Secretary to me: "I know I'm not getting my work done and I'm on the clock but I must finish my sister's ethics paper."

  Chapter 6

  The border between Mecklenburg and Union Counties is a bit blurred. Hands shake across county lines and I still had connections of my own. One of these was Dallas Roberts, a former superior of mine in M&A, and the one who made sure Mosey found his way to me. He was an elderly man who terrorized subordinates but had a way of calling you sweetheart that just made you want to climb in his lap and lay your head against his chest.

  Dallas knows everyone, or everyone who knows everyone else, in at least three states. Without a second thought I jumped in the car and used my cell to wheedle his secretary into an audience. It didn’t take much, although Marge could be a hound of hell when it came to unnecessary access to Dallas, the three of us always had a bond. She allowed that if I could get there within the hour she could get me in the inner sanctum. I drove downtown to Charlotte and got through security in my old building, briskly passing the surprised receptionist as I made my way to his office. I studiously looked away from my old office haunt when I passed the door.

  Dallas was waiting for me and gave me a hard hug that would have been a tad too snug from anyone else. But this was Dallas, who still talked about his “bride” as though they were both sixteen, and treated me with enjoyment and respect during my tenure there.

  When he pushed me gently away, he put both hands on my shoulders and gave me a hard look.

  “You want to try again here?”

  “Oh no!” I said, shocked.

  “Good for you darlin’. I like a gal who knows what she don’t want. But you look like you got whatever chased you away on the run now. Ya look fine.”

  “Yes, I am better.”

  “Something really bad happened to you pretty quick after your big success.”

  I gave him a steady look. “That night.”

  Comprehension filled his eyes and for a moment I swear I saw dampness behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

  He sat, cocked back his chair and put his feet on his desk. “Well set down, what can I do you for? That dog okay? I want you to know we hated losing you.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted them to give you more time.”

  I tried to keep my voice steady as I took a chair. “Mosey’s great, I can’t thank you enough for him, and as for more time here, it wouldn’t have helped.”

  “They invested a lot in you, and after you left we kind of dissected those last weeks of your employ — it came to us pretty late that something just terrible must have happened to you.”

  “Yes,” I said matter-of-factly.

  He nodded, chewing on his dead cigar.

  “You know, if I could have picked a daughter it woulda' been you.”

  “Thank you. I think I always felt that. It’s why I‘m here.”

  “I’m an old man, an old-fashioned man, and as such it’s pretty hard for me to hear details about… the women’s things,” he faltered. Then he took a deep breath and plunged into waters he would only dare for me.

  “You were attacked.”

  “Yes.”

  “That night, soon after you left?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he bein’ charged?”

  “I didn’t report it.”

  He nodded. “So, I can’t kill the man. Unless you have some clues?” He added hopefully.

  “Nope.”

  “So you need something else?”

  I explained my idea and what I needed.

  He nodded, chewing more furiously on the dark missile in his mouth.

  “It’s a waste of that mind of yours; you have everything it takes to get to the top in any financial institution.”

  “Dallas, I want to be on the ground now. I want to feel life, and life and death. Everything here just always seemed like life and death,” I said gently. “Right now can you help me get on a path, knowing it’s something that will me get back to what I’m supposed to be?”

  He nodded, still chewing enthusiastically, hands laced behind his head. Suddenly he swung his feet down, straightened up in his chair and laying his cigar aside, put his hand on his phone.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19