Page 29

Agree to Disagree

Pam was exhausted. Bone tired. Brain tired, feet tired, back tired. She wanted to go home, hug Elmer, open a cold bottle of beer, chug it, and crawl into bed. And Pam hated beer. But it was good for Claire to see that her dad was so well thought of. All these people who came to pay their respects with a kind word. A story. People Hank had helped. Former employees he’d kept in touch with over the years.

Pam excused herself from a group of blackjack dealers and was headed for the bar when she was intercepted by Hector. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Th . . . thank you,”

Pam said, conscious of people nearby. Goosebumps traveled up her bare arms.

“I was Hank’s barber.”

Hector extended his hand, and Pam shook it. “Even though he didn’t need much of one.”

Hector’s hand felt warm and strong around hers. Pam smiled.

“I hope to see you again.”

Hector lightly squeezed her fingers. “Soon.”

“About that . . .”

Pam moved a few steps to the right, and Hector followed. He raised one eyebrow, a slight smile on his lips. Pam casually looked around to be sure no one was too close, then held his eyes with what she hoped was a commanding look. “We have a problem, Hector. Actually, two. First, I said Sunday,”

she hissed, then looked again to be sure no one was watching.

Hector’s smile grew. “Some things you can’t go by the calendar, Pam. Some things you go by feel.”

Pam kept her smile frozen and spoke through gritted teeth. “Actually, I think most things you can go by the calendar. That’s why there are calendars. Otherwise, there’d be chaos. And you have rained down fucking chaos on us.”

She leaned closer. “We were calling it off.”

If Hector was surprised, he hid it. His tone was conciliatory. “Pam. This was not a garage sale. Things like this don’t have rain dates.”

“Some things change.”

“Ah. We agree to disagree.”

Hector raised an eyebrow. “There isn’t a problem with the money, is there, Pam? Because I told you—”

“—Yes! That’s our second fucking problem.”

She stepped closer. “We told you we needed bodies for the insurance money. With no bodies we’ll have to wait. Seven years! Why do you think we specifically said we needed bodies?” She smiled and surveyed the room.

Hector smiled back. Pam remembered what Hank and the guys had said about Hector. How he had dead eyes. And while she wouldn’t have described them that way—she found there was a lot of life in them—she saw steely resolve there. He said to her, “Ah, I see. Have you talked to anyone about that yet? About the insurance.”

Pam shook her head.

Hector continued, “You will find that no bodies will not be a problem. The authorities have issued Presumptive Death Waivers.”

Pam’s mouth gaped open. “Wh-at? What are you talking about?”

Her brow furrowed. Did she remember hearing one of the officials say something about that back in that tent? She couldn’t be sure.

Hector bent closer to her. “If someone disappears under certain circumstances, they can be presumed dead in just a few days, provided there’s enough evidence they didn’t survive. And I made sure of both the circumstances and the evidence.”

Pam cocked her head. “How did you know to do that?”

Hector shrugged. “It pays to know a little somethin’ about the law in my line of work. Look around, Pam. How could you hold a funeral if they hadn’t been declared dead?”

Oh my God. How had she not thought of that? Fuck. All this worry, for nothing. Paul and Estuardo must have taken care of it. Her shoulders relaxed, and she closed her eyes for a moment. She felt her neck muscles release. “Well, good, then. When we get the insurance money, we can pay you.”

They locked eyes, and the hairs on the back of Pam’s neck stood at attention. He inhaled. “I hope so, Pam. I really do.”

“But you still screwed up the date. We should have been able to call it off.”

“Like I told you, Pam. I’m not Airbnb. You can’t just cancel your booking.”

Hector leaned in. “Get my money. Soon, Pam. Soon.” He turned toward the door.

Pam watched his shoulders cut his way through the crowd and out the door, then went to look for Nancy. She found her, alone, in a deserted corner of the kitchen, leaning against one of the industrial-size sinks, wiping her tears with a tissue. She asked her, “Are you okay?”

“It’s too much. All these people. All this attention. It’s too much.”

She spoke in a quiet voice, then blew her nose. “We’re such hypocrites.”

The door opened, and Shalisa stepped inside and closed it behind her. “What are you guys doing in here?”

Nancy answered, “Drowning in guilt.”

Pam said, “Well, just make sure it looks like you’re grieving.”

“I am grieving!”

Nancy shouted.

Pam squeezed her arm. “Keep your voice down. I know you are. We all are.”

“I’m not,”

Shalisa said.

Pam’s and Nancy’s heads whipped to her.

Shalisa shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, okay. I guess I’m sad. A little. Maybe I just got to the accepting stage faster than you guys. But really. It’s your own fault you got all wishy-washy.”

Pam rubbed her eyes. “Well, pardon us for getting wishy-washy about killing our husbands. Jeez Louise.”

“Don’t get snippy with me,”

Shalisa said. “That’s how people get caught. They turn on each other. We have to keep calm. And carry on. We’ll get through this if we stick together and keep our wits about us.”

Pam rubbed her temples. “Hector talked to me. He wants his money. And I have to say, he was unnecessarily menacing. Didn’t even apologize for killing them on the wrong day. And not leaving bodies. But he said we won’t have a problem about the insurance. He said the authorities must have issued Presumptive Death Waivers. That’s how we could have a funeral.”

Nancy and Shalisa gasped. Nancy said, “Really? That’s such a relief.”

Shalisa said, “I’ll say.”

Pam blew out a breath. “Have you seen the insurance guy? The one Marlene told us about?”

“There you are.”

Marlene had an uncanny knack for turning up when her name was mentioned. She closed the door behind her. She gave each of them a warm hug and then offered triangle sandwiches from her plate.

Pam selected an egg salad in honor of Andre. She closed her eyes when she tasted the gherkin pickle and the salty butter. He would have approved.

Nancy said, “We were wondering if the insurance guy is here. You said he went to Dave’s funeral?”

“Hmm. Let me think.”

Marlene set the empty plate on the counter. “He came over to meet me before the funeral. But that’s right. He did come to the funeral. He gave me his business card. Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen him here. I bet I have his card. This is my funeral purse.” Marlene opened her black clutch, and there beside her phone, her lipstick, and some wadded-up tissues was a small white business card. She handed it to Pam.

Pam took it. “Perfect. I’ll call him tomorrow.”