Page 20

20

FLORENCE

Millie weeps in the armchair near the fireplace as the rest of us stare at the pendant on the coffee table. Herb was smart enough to put his gloves on before picking it up and then putting it straight into the plastic bag it sits in now. I can’t imagine whoever left it for us to find was dumb enough to leave fingerprints, but of course, we’ll give it to the police anyway.

I have already called Riley, who is sending someone to pick it up, but he said he will need to ask us more questions later. The cops scoured the area around Bernie’s missing car—just a rectangle impression left in the snow from where it was once parked—and there was nothing to be found, so somebody purposefully put it there after the fact and wanted us to find it. We told him the story three times. I don’t know what else he needs to ask, but for him not to come around in person with his scribbly pad the way he always does makes me wonder if something more has happened that’s taking his attention. This is a pretty big clue handed to us, and so after an officer comes and goes with the Ziploc bag containing Bernie’s precious pendant, I feel sort of sick to my stomach thinking about what it really means.

We all still sit solemnly around the rec room in our respective spots. Millie weeping, Herb eating a bag of Funyuns and wiping the crumbs on his pant legs, expressionless, and the rest of us just sort of staring around the room, not knowing even what to do next.

“We should tell Shelby about this…” Evan finally says from his usual seat at the computer desk. “Out of respect, before she hears it from…”

“Chipped Beef,” Herb interrupts, finishing his sentence.

“Or the news.”

“I was gonna say,” Evan adds. “Even worse.”

“I know…but I want to give her a day,” I say. “It won’t change anything if we tell her, and I think she needs a moment to catch her breath.” Everyone sort of half nods or mumbles in agreement.

“We can put a photo of the pendant on the site and ask if anyone recognizes it—saw who might have had it and could have left it there, and why?” Evan suggests. I agree and send Mort the photo I took of it lying in the snow before we picked it up.

“We’ll get it up on the site,” Mort says. And then everyone goes their separate ways, except for Millie who has fallen asleep by the fireplace hearth at this point. Evan is making calls about used cameras we can buy for the back lot, Mort and Herb disappear to their rooms, and I sit in the front window on a floral love seat nobody ever uses so it smells of dust mites, but I don’t mind today. I sip a mug of Earl Grey and watch the snow lightly fall over the two feet of snow that’s already been shoveled this week and sits in piles along the sidewalk. A couple of winter birds hop on a naked tree branch and peck at the seeds Bernie tossed out by the tree.

I think about Bernie, all of the names and clues and possibilities swirling around in my mind, until I find that it’s already dusk and I’m startled out of my thoughts when my phone buzzes. It’s Shelby.

I find Evan, Mort, and Herb on an old sofa in Herb’s room playing some shooting video game and I stand in the doorway, completely numb with the news I’ve just heard. They pause the game and turn to look at me.

“Oh God,” I cry, and I can’t help it all coming out all of a sudden. Mort comes to put his arm around me.

“Flor, what’s happened?” Herb asks, standing up, the color draining from his face.

“I got the call about Bernie. He was in that car—his car that they found. They’re calling it suicide. Carbon monoxide poisoning.” Everyone is stunned into silence a moment, and then Mort smashes his hand onto the metal TV dinner tray next to him. It causes a startling crash that makes us all jump because we’re already so rattled, and it’s also very out of character for him to make much noise or fuss at all.

“No!” Mort raises his voice. “He would never do that. No!”

“That’s what Shelby said too. She’s at the Trout. Riley’s off duty, but called to tell Mack what the coroner’s office said, and Shelby’s waiting for Clay to come pick her up because she and Mack had a few…and then she’s going to track down Riley and get answers, apparently.”

“We’ll go with her. We have questions too,” Herb says.

“Let’s hurry,” I say, and within ten minutes we are all bundled up and ready to go except for Millie who has moved, but is now asleep in the recliner in her housecoat and slippers. And of course Evan, who has promised to guard the place and whom Shelby would be quite unhappy to see at a bar rather than in the front office of the Ole where he is supposed to be, so it’s just the three of us tonight. This is our case now too.

When we pull into the parking lot, I also see Riley and his wife walking from their car up to the door. That’s unexpected. He’s off duty, clearly, wearing slacks and a tie. She’s in heels and a peacoat, and he helps her balance over icy pavement and inside.

By the time we get our old bones to the front door and go in I see Clay too, standing across the room next to Mack and Shelby, who is gesturing wildly, no doubt telling him more about what’s happened. But besides that, the place is as one would expect. A few couples dancing on the parquet square of flooring in front of the jukebox, a few playing pool, people chatting at tables. Clearly, the somber news isn’t common knowledge yet.

Shelby sees Riley before she notices us, and it only takes a moment to see her face contort and her loss of balance as she tries to get herself off the bar stool. Clay makes a futile attempt to hold her back but lets her go…she’s drunk and he’s helpless to stop her without making a scene. I can see that from here, and in under five seconds, she meets Riley smack-dab in the middle of the bar. The three of us shuffle over to the table directly behind Shelby to listen.

“Oh. Shelby, hello there,” Riley says after Belinda has sat herself at a table and he’s accosted by Shelby on his way up to the bar.

“What’s going on? What shit are you pulling?” she hisses at him. I glance at Mack and Clay who can’t hear the exchange, but also don’t take their eyes off of her.

“Ah, I’m not sure what you mean, but let’s talk about it at the station tomorrow. It’s not the place. I’m sorry about Bernie—I didn’t want to have to tell…”

“Do you pay people off? Or is it you doing all of this? None of it adds up. All this shit keeps happening and you do nothing. Nothing! ” People are starting to look now. I make a general gesture with my hand like “it’s okay” to nobody in particular and a few turn away, but a scene is beginning and I don’t think there’s any stopping it.

“Shelby. You’ve had a few drinks. I think you should let me get by, and we’ll discuss this at an appropriate time.”

“ Suicide? Are you kidding? We know the Oleander’s has been attacked by some maniac and that Bernie’s pendant was placed for us to find like a threat—you know there was a call to his phone from an unknown caller and that he didn’t drive. How are you accepting this? Any of this?” Now pretty much everyone is looking and hushing their voices. Clay walks over to Shelby and tries to gently take her by the elbow, but she pushes him away.

“He was depressed, by all accounts, and found in the driver’s seat backed into a snowbank to push the carbon monoxide into the car. Nobody else was there,” Riley says in a forced whisper, and Shelby is visibly flustered. Then she fishes her old cell phone from her pocket and holds it up in the air.

“Then explain this!” Now the place is almost silent except for the song playing from the jukebox. “This is my lost phone, and guess where it was found? In your house . My residents found it when they were interviewing you. Explain that!”

“Shelby, I beg you,” Clay says quietly behind her. Riley gives him a tight smile. A “control your wife” smile, but he doesn’t say this. He looks back to Shelby and says: “Let’s talk about this at the station tomorrow.”

“No. Goddamn it! Who knows if I’ll be alive tomorrow, for fuck’s sake. Someone is trying to kill me and what are you doing? Why did you have my phone?” He looks stunned and she looks around and addresses everyone gawking at them. “He stole my phone, everyone. Why? You should all be terrified that the detective never has any clues, but shit keeps happening and now my missing phone is found in his couch cushions! Don’t you want answers?”

I see Belinda move closer behind Riley and give him a look like “is that true” and he shakes his head subtly before aiming his attention back to Shelby.

“You’re making a fool of yourself. There was no phone in my house. I think it’s time for you to get a ride home, Shelby,” he says, and since she hasn’t registered that we’re there, we opt not to speak up right at this moment because it does seem like she should probably get a ride home and not appear so very unhinged in front of half the town. She has every right to be, but it’s not a good look.

“Let’s go, Shel,” Clay says, and she pulls away again.

“Get off me. I’m going with Mack,” she slurs, and Clay looks to Mack who leaps off her stool and collects Shelby’s things and makes her way quickly across the room to assist her.

“Let’s get outta here,” she says trying to keep it casual and not trigger any more anger.

“This guy’s a fucking crook!” Shelby yells, shoving Riley’s shoulder with her palm. Riley plays the victim—the perfectly stable one who has to suffer a crazy woman who’s gone off the deep end. Of course he does, how else would he play it? He could probably arrest her, I think, but that’s not the play he wants to make.

“A fucking thief, and he’s hiding evidence—don’t trust him” is the last thing she says as Mack ushers her out the door. And then I see Mack motion to us to follow, and we get to our feet and are right behind them.

Outside, we stand on the porch of the Trout where Shelby is flopped in a wooden rocking chair that’s covered in snow, but she doesn’t seem to mind. I’ve never seen her inebriated before, and it would be entertaining if the circumstances weren’t so dire.

“That fucker,” she mumbles. “Who has a smoke?” She pushes a giant ashtray on a metal table around, which is where the smokers usually congregate, but no one else is out here right now.

“You don’t smoke, kid,” Mack says and she looks to us, all shivering in the frigid air.

“Sorry. I had a few and I planned to call a cab. Can you give us a ride to my place on your way back? We’ll figure our cars out in the morning.”

“Of course,” Herb says, and we pile into the freezing van, then drive through the dark night to Mack’s place. Shelby is quiet now, staring out the window with her forehead leaning on it and tears glistening in her eyes. Herb turns on the radio and nobody says much.

Mack suddenly inhales sharply and holds the dash with both hands. Herb must think she sees a deer in the road or maybe she’s having a heart attack or something, and he immediately pulls over.

“What is it?” he asks. Shelby is sitting up and alert now.

“I just remembered something that I didn’t really register at the time—all the shock—everything happening all at once, but…”

“What?” Shelby almost screams.

“When we found the car. Bernie’s car…there were footprints leading away from it. It was snowing, so they’d be gone now. But…even though everything points to suicide… No. No way. Someone else was there that night.”