Mine: a novella, page 1
Mine
A Novella
Fiona Quinn
Copyright © 2014 by Fiona Quinn.
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Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Cover Design by Melody Simmons from eBookindiecovers
Author portrait by Donna Toone from Studio M
Font used with permission from Microsoft
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For: Jamie, Scott, Teresa, Diane, Hildie, and Tawny – it was very Unlucky that I got to know you.
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ONe
Kate Hamilton stared down at her Uncle Owen’s face in the casket, barely able to recognize him. Somehow, the funeral director had molded and painted her uncle’s features into a pleasant, peaceful expression. There had never been anything pleasant or peaceful about the man in life. Everyone in Scarborough would agree that Owen Jenkins was one of the most cantankerous and disagreeable people that God had ever created.
But her aunt, Emma Jenkins, told stories about how Uncle Owen hadn’t always been that way. She had said that before he left for Vietnam, he was charming and gentle-hearted. No one but Aunt Emma could remember that far back in his history. Over the last fifty years, all his meanness had robbed the town of the happier memories of him. Uncle Owen had been the official town curmudgeon.
And now, no one cared that he was dead.
“I’m not expecting anyone to stop by tonight.” Aunt Emma turned a page of her library book.
“What about from the church?” Kate asked.
Aunt Emma didn’t look up as she spoke. “Not for paying their last respects. I imagine they’ll come to the funeral tomorrow. The paper said I hired Maggie May’s for the catering. People will want to get out of the house, get something free to eat, and gossip. I don’t expect a crowd, but it won’t be empty neither.”
“Surely, your friends will be there to support you.”
“Perhaps a few. I pushed the funeral up a day, or I’d have no hope of anyone coming at all.”
“Why’s that?” Kate asked.
Aunt Emma put her finger where she left off reading. “There’s a pig-picking Saturday afternoon with music and politicians, and what-all. The whole town will turn out. Perhaps I’ll go, too. Rose said they’ll have a soft-serve ice cream truck.”
Kate moved to the chair next to her aunt and sat down, yanking the short skirt of her black dress to its full length, as she aimed for modesty. The call telling Kate that Uncle Owen had died had come just as she loaded her last suitcase into the back of her Ford Explorer. She had dashed back into the house and grabbed something black to wear, only to realize later that her dresses ran more along the lines of cocktail party than proper mourning attire. She saved the plainer of the two for the funeral. Aunt Emma lent her a cardigan to help hide the dress’s low neckline.
True to her aunt’s word, no one showed up for the viewing. An hour had passed, and they had another one yet to go. Kate wished her aunt had warned her earlier, or she had the foresight to bring a book, too.
Kate stared into the forest scene of one of the oil paintings decorating the small room, rubbing her thumb over the Celtic design on the ring adorning her index finger. Her mind wandered back to what had happened on Tuesday, and the awkwardness of her goodbye as she left her husband. His decision, not hers.
“I need you to leave, for your own damned good,” Ryan had argued.
It had killed Kate to drive away. It was her place—no, her right to be by his side, supporting him. But he had said to go, and she was afraid of what he might do if she didn’t comply. Thank goodness the school year at John Adams High had wrapped up, and she’d already handed in her students’ final science grades. Thank goodness Aunt Emma had welcomed her with open arms. And of course, she owed a big thanks to Tim. Just as his image bubbled up in her mind, Kate turned around to see Detective Tim Gibbons walking toward her and Aunt Emma.
Aunt Emma was on her feet, opening her hands to welcome him. “How kind of you to stop by tonight,” she said.
“How are you holding up, Mrs. Jenkins?”
“Kate’s here,” Aunt Emma gestured in her direction. “She’s such a blessing. I was so glad when she decided to visit for the summer. And then this happened.” Aunt Emma fingered her cross pendant. “I can’t say this will make her stay any worse, though. I expect it might improve it considerable with Owen gone.”
Tim nodded, “He was a hard man to like, but you stayed with him—it speaks of the depth of your love.”
Shame and resentment filled Kate. As horrible as Uncle Owen had been, he never threw her aunt out.
Aunt Emma reached out and grasped Tim’s forearm; her serenity crumbled. “Some men, they lost their legs or their sight in the war. Owen lost his goodness. He came out of the war crippled and broken. His ugliness was not his fault.”
Kate rubbed her hand over her aunt’s back, her gaze fastened on Tim.
Tim was taller than he had been in high school. The laugh lines that crinkled the corners of his eyes when they were younger now permanently etched his tanned skin. The fifteen years that she had lived in Boston hadn’t changed him much. He looked good. This was trouble, and Kate knew it as sure as she knew that the next thing he’d say would be…
“Look at you, Katydid.”
“Not much to see.” She dragged a smile into place and pulled the cardigan tighter around her body.
“Boston agrees with you.”
“It does indeed.” Kate nodded.
“Well, welcome home. Glad to have your help at the police station. Though it’s not much of a place to do a CSI internship. You’re going to end up bored.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “We still roll up the sidewalks come dark.”
“Good. I could use a little boredom.” As soon as the words popped out of her mouth, Kate regretted them. Her troubles weren’t meant for public consumption.
Tim’s gaze locked on hers. He seemed to reach right in and pry her secrets loose. As the lead detective on the small town police force, Kate imagined Detective Tim Gibbons had honed his dowsing skills—sharpened his people-reading acuity. It was a skill Kate loved about him. One of the many things she’d loved about him. But now it felt invasive, and she took a step back.
“Where’s Pam?” Aunt Emma asked.
Tim pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “She’s home with the boys tonight. Billy has a fever from his new tooth.” He grinned at the picture of his family he held out for them to see.
“Oh, they’re beautiful, Tim,” Aunt Emma gushed. “Your eldest is getting so big, and looks the spitting image of his daddy.”
A movement from the doorway caught Kate’s attention. “Good evening,” she said to the man standing there.
Aunt Emma glanced around. “Doctor Javarti, thank you for coming. Let me introduce you to my niece.”
Tim gave Aunt Emma a light kiss on her cheek. “I’m on duty. I need to head on now. Kate.” He nodded in acknowledgement, shook hands with the new man, and left.
“Kate, I’d like you to meet the physician who tried to save your Uncle Owen, Dr. Omid Javarti.”
“My condolences,” he said to Kate, then focused his attention on Aunt Emma. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Jenkins. But your husband has found peace. After so many years of torment, he’s at rest.”
Kate detected the smallest accent in Omid’s English. The way he stood and the European cut of his suit—which she was much more likely to see in her adopted home of Boston than in southwest Virginia—made Kate wonder how this cosmopolitan man had found his way to Scarborough.
“That’s very kind,” Aunt Emma said. “Owen just wouldn’t listen to good reason. Never would follow his doctor’s orders. We both knew he was risking a heart attack.”
To Kate’s surprise, her aunt pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. Had Kate been married to someone like Owen, she would be celebrating. Upon hearing the news, Kate’s first thought was that Uncle Owen dying of a heart attack was irony at its best. Most folks swore the man was heartless.
“Even so, a sudden loss can shock the system,” Dr. Javarti said. “Please tell me if you need anything in the next days or weeks—something to help you sleep, or to deal with any anxiety or depression.” He and Aunt Emma walked to the casket. Aunt Emma touched the handkerchief to her eyes, and Kate realized her aunt was crying. Kate
╬ ╬ ╬
Even with the funeral planned for early morning, the bright rays of sunshine hammered Kate’s head. Her silk dress clung to her thighs as the humidity rose. Aunt Emma and Kate were the only ones in black. Most dressed for a garden party, though Kate noticed, a few people wore shorts as if Uncle Owen’s funeral was their first stop on errands day, and they’d be heading over to the Quick-Pick Groceries after the service. The guests smiled and gossiped. There wasn’t a sad face amongst them.
Kate had to take her aunt’s sweater off when they left the air-conditioned comfort of the sanctuary. There she stood, dressed as if for a Friday night martini with the girls, listening to the preacher chanting from the Book of Common Prayer, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…”
Kate glanced over her shoulder in time to receive Doris Arthur’s wilting stare.
“Stay away from Doris if you can help it,” her aunt whispered in her ear. “If those looks were daggers, you’d keel over dead and share the grave with your uncle.”
“Why? What did I ever do to her?”
“Let’s talk about it when we get home. We don’t need the gossips revved up, and Sally Jo can read lips.” Aunt Emma reached out and took Kate’s hand.
After Aunt Emma placed the first shovelful of dirt over the coffin, the finality of Owen’s death hit Kate. Not that she’d miss him, but what about her aunt? Would she be okay?
Shortly after, they all headed back to the assembly room for refreshments. A buzz from her phone stopped Kate’s progress. After a quick peek at the screen, she halted. “Aunt Emma, I’ll be there in a minute. I’m going to the garden to take this call.”
Kate emerged from under the tree, cell phone still in her hand. She bent and used the hem of her dress to wipe away the last of her tears. When she stood up, she found Tim standing in front of her, his hands resting lightly on his hips. He took in her appearance, but refrained from comment until they reached the church.
“Why don’t you slide in here? It goes to Reverend Pine’s office, and he has a bathroom. You might want a minute to yourself to freshen up.” He pushed the door open, but didn’t follow her.
One glance in the mirror told Kate why he had shepherded her away. Red splotches ringed her eyes, her mascara ran to her chin, her hair was a mess of humid curls, and sticktights covered her fanny. She was a wreck—inside and out. She pulled herself together as best she could. When she emerged from the bathroom, she held her head high as she headed back out the side door to find Tim, leaning against the brick with his hands shoved in his pockets.
He swept his gaze over her. “You’ll be okay. People will chalk it up to grief, though they’ll wonder why.” He pushed off the wall. “I came by to get you because I’m heading over to a crime scene, and I’d appreciate your help. You’re not supposed to start ‘til Monday. You can say no.”
“No problem. I’m happy to help. I need to check on my aunt, and then…should I follow you?”
“Let’s leave your Explorer with Mrs. Jenkins. I’ve got the squad car. They’re bringing in the forensics van now, so you’ll have supplies. Officer Mandrel, who has the most experience with CSI, is on his honeymoon.” Tim moved towards his car as Kate climbed the granite stairs.
Back in the assembly hall, she grabbed a plastic cup of ice-cold lemonade, and chugged it down in one gulp. Most everyone had left. There were a few ladies dawdling over the ham biscuit tray. Doris was one of them. She glared at Kate, clearly vexed about something, her toe tapping and her hands resting on her hips
Kate sent the woman a bewildered glance, then found her aunt and explained Tim’s request. “Would you be okay if I leave?”
“It’s fine, dear. Rose is going home with me, so I’ll have company.”
After handing her aunt the car keys, Kate kissed her cheek and said, “Wish me luck.”
The heat of the day wrapped itself around Kate as she pushed through the heavy wooden doors. She had forgotten the extremes of southern temperatures. Outside, it was a screen door away from hell; inside, it was iceberg-cold with multiple air units cranked to their highest settings. Butter in a skillet, Kate mused as she tiptoed across the graveled parking lot to keep her high heels from sinking into the stones. Thankfully, Tim had the engine running in the car, and the interior was plenty cool as she slid in. Hot then cold, hot then cold—as a child it hadn’t fazed her, but she’d lost her acclimatizing skills, and the sudden shifts left Kate nauseated.
“You okay?” Tim asked.
“Is there time for us to run by my house so I can get changed?”
Tim glanced at her shoes. “We’ll have to. You can’t go into a crime scene in heels, you’re bound to fall over and destroy evidence.” He sent her a smile, but the corners of his mouth remained grim.
Kate’s scalp itched with apprehension.
“You’ve got to make it quick. As soon as hazmat gives us the all-clear, we need to be ready to go.”
“Hazmat?” Kate’s voice squeaked.
“Just a precaution.”
They drove through town toward the river. As he pulled onto the highway, Tim said, “I’m assuming those tears weren’t for your uncle.”
“No.” She brushed at imaginary lint on her skirt. “I can’t say I’m sorry Uncle Owen’s gone.”
Tim reached over the seat, produced a bottle of water, and handed it to Kate.
“How’s everything in Boston?”
She rolled the bottle across her forehead and the back of her neck before taking a swig. “I’ll tell you what, how about you brief me on the crime scene instead?”
two
Kate stood at the rear of the CSI van, gathering camera equipment. Dressed in a Tyvek suit, she carried a pair of booties with her as she walked to the front door. On the way, Kate passed a woman sitting under the oak with her legs spread out in front of her, her face drooped, and her eyes looked vacant. An EMT hovered nearby.
“This is Kate Hamilton, she’ll be assisting today,” Tim announced, as he pulled his shoe coverings over his boots and signed himself in with the officer guarding the crime scene taped entry. Kate followed suit.
Standing in the foyer, Kate’s breath clouded in front of her.
“We have to get the temperature down on days like this, so we have time to work,” Tim said as he organized the equipment.
“No medical examiner?” Kate asked.
“We’re too far away. We do their tests, and send the information on with the bodies. They have a contract with the funeral home to provide transport. I’ll give them a call when we wrap up.”
Kate’s teeth chattered, and she hugged her arms around herself. She was glad she had an excuse for her reaction, and that Tim would assume she was cold and not lily-livered. She didn’t want a bad reputation for being an emotional wreck before she even started her internship.
She and Tim stood in the archway separating the hall from the family room, observing the scene. Two teens lay dead, crumpled like discarded papers on the floor.
One boy lay near the sofa. He wore a pair of basketball shorts and a T-shirt. His legs were thin, and he was barefooted. The beginnings of an adolescent mustache trimmed an otherwise baby face surrounded by a cloud of blond curls. His complexion was gray, and Kate wanted nothing more than to rush in and wrap him in a warm blanket, to rub circulation back into his skin, and for him to wake up and say…anything at all.
The second boy lay near the TV. Like his friend, he was dressed for a hot summer day. He lay on his back, with his arms and legs sticking up at odd, implausible angles. Kate realized this teen had been moved since rigor had set in. The EMTs must have turned his body over to check for vital signs.His position made it look like he was flailing, trying to get up off his back. He had the same waxy look as the mannequins Kate’s forensics class had practiced on.
There weren’t as many flies as she had anticipated, probably one of the reasons they cranked the air conditioning up. The TV was off. There were no obvious signs of trauma. The room was neat as a pin.
