Funeral Hotdish (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-four

Tuesday, July 4—Wednesday, July 12, 2000

The Fourth of July parade in Northville is something to behold.

Almost every fire department in the county sends its cleaned-up trucks—most red, some yellow. A couple antique pump trucks have been restored to go down Main Street to the cheers of townspeople who bring their lawn chairs and blankets and perch themselves on the sidewalk bordering the street.

Local businesses turn flatbed trucks into crepe-paper fantasies. The big rig company in town sends its purple and green semis down the street, riders throwing out hard candies to the eager hands of children. The Shriners drive crazy little cars and spray water at the audience, and in an election year, politicians in convertibles wave as their volunteers hand out campaign literature.

But most of all, everyone loves the high school band that marches down the street in its new uniforms and plays great patriotic songs. Most people in the audience have someone in that band they call their own.

The bang-up, grand parade starts a day of celebration that includes a cookout at the American Legion and fireworks at the casino. In between there’s a baseball game in one corner of the town park and a crafts fair in the other. Out at Lake Elsie, there’s a picnic in almost every yard. Those without lake houses cruise by on pontoons to admire the gracious homes with water views.

Someone once said that if you can’t find something to like about Northville’s Fourth of July, you must be a communist.

Joya Bonner was always home in time because Northville knew how to celebrate the nation’s birthday, and here she was on Tuesday, July 4, 2000.

Northville looked so different from when she’d been here in January. It felt so different. It was so different.

Her cousin, Alice, described a pall over the town since Amber’s death.

“We’d never been through anything like that, and you know, it changes a place,” Alice explained. Joya knew exactly what she meant. Her laugh sounded too loud in a town where mirth now was reserved. Her glee at the annual parade wasn’t obvious on other faces. Her aunts and uncles gathering for dessert in her parents’ backyard seemed subdued.

Anyone peering in would have recognized a new resignation in Northville. Like a dog that’s been beaten and is careful not to get hit anymore.

Three young people were dead. The Class of 2000 had memorialized Amber and Johnny on graduation day, tarnishing a moment that should have been reserved for joy and hope. Maxine left for The Cities the day after graduation, saying she couldn’t wait to be rid of this town. Some of her classmates wished they’d had the guts to join her.

Alice Peters worried that the story of Amber and Johnny and Crabapple would become one of the town legends people would tell again and again—like the brave father who faced the storm and the brave men who stopped the robbers. She prayed it wouldn’t, but she bet it would.

And Gertie was gone. She died in early June and there was no way Joya could come home that early. How she’d wanted to honor the woman by being there when the town said its final goodbye.

Her mother told her it was an even bigger funeral than Amber’s. The Judith Circle was excused from kitchen duty so they could sit in the front rows, as part of Gertie’s “family.” The Esther Circle took over and they barely made enough funeral hotdish to feed everyone. (How Maggie and her circle clucked about that one!) Cissy German only got two plates that day before they ran out. But she obviously loved Gertie, too. She left a quarter.

Joya was hanging out in the kitchen of Alice’s Bakery the day after the parade when she asked out of the blue, “Do you think he did it?”

“Who? Did what?”

“Do you think Johnny killed Crabapple?” Joya knew she was on tenterhooks, but she had to know if her cousin knew.

Alice stopped stirring her batter and didn’t look up. “I don’t know. I want to believe it. Because I want it over.”

Then Alice looked at Joya and declared, “You know, I never believed your dad had anything to do with his death. The town didn’t. But I know he was proud that you came home and helped them prove it. The nice thing is, people have stopped talking about it and I want it to stay that way. So don’t stir anything up, okay?”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t do that. I was just wondering.”

She left the bakery to continue her morning walk in hopes of taking off the ten pounds she’d put back on over the winter. Her goal was to walk the whole town over her two-week summer vacation. One day she’d walk out to the cemetery to visit the graves of her grandparents and the three aunts she’d already lost. And Gertie.

On her way back to her folks’ house, she stopped at Leona’s to buy her mom flowers. “I’ll take four pink roses, please,” she told the clerk.

“Oh, I’m sorry, two of those are spoken for. You want the other two?”

“Sure, and put in two white ones, too.”

“It’s a standing order, so we can’t sell them,” the clerk explained, as though it needed an apology.

“Who’s got the standing order?” Joya asked.

“Nettie Schlener. Do you know her? It was her daughter that died last fall. Such a shame. She gets two pink roses every Wednesday and puts them on her grave. She’s done it since the funeral.”

“During the winter, too?” Joya wondered.

“Oh yeah, EVERY Wednesday. That poor woman hasn’t moved on. She’s so sad all the time.”

“That’s too bad.” Joya took her four roses in their waxed-paper wrap and continued her walk home. How long had it been now, since Amber died? Joya couldn’t remember exactly, but thought it had been in October, and now here it was, July 5 and she was still doing it? That was, what, thirty-nine, forty weeks? Man, that was a lot of pink roses.

She handed her mom the roses with a flourish as Maggie squealed with exaggerated delight. “There would have been four pink ones but Nettie Schlener has a standing order for two pink roses every Wednesday for her daughter’s grave. Did you know that?” She saw a look of panic cross her mother’s eyes.

“What’s the matter?” Joya asked.

Maggie tried to recover. “Oh, nothing. Hey, go to the garden and pick me some green beans.”

Joya knew a dodge when she saw one. It perplexed her. Her mom’s reaction didn’t make any sense.

She put the dirty beans in the sink to wash them and walked down the hall to the bathroom to hear her mom on the bedroom phone.

“I don’t think she knows, but she’s so damn nosy. Okay. Just be careful.”

Joya dashed back to the kitchen and stood washing the green beans when her mother came in. “These okay?”

“Just perfect,” her mom sang, giving her daughter a hug.

A good investigative reporter doesn’t let a lot pass her by. Joya had once helped solve the murder of a woman shot in the back of a pickup truck because she asked the question—how tall is the accused? Only a very tall person could have held the gun at the angle that inflicted the fatal bullets. The accused girl was only five-foot-three and her defense attorney got the case thrown out of court.

Another time she’d help stop three units of a controversial nuclear power plant outside Phoenix when she asked the simple question. “Do we have enough water in the desert for five nuclear units?” Turns out the answer was a resounding “no”and that’s why the Palo Verde Nuclear Generating Station only has two units.

So one mother’s fearful reaction to a simple question about another putting pink roses on her daughter’s grave—that meant something. But what?

She knew better than to ask her mother or father, and Alice had already signaled that she didn’t want any more discussion on that subject.

Hey, you’re on vacation, girl. Give it a rest! Come on, you’ve got all those books to read and friends to see and God, this place is so different now. Just have a good time and don’t see boogeymen under every bed.

But even with lecturing herself, the question kept playing around in her head.

One of the people she was anxious to visit was Dolan Lowe. She and the attorney had kept in touch by email and a couple phone calls, and it might be fun to have a North Dakota romance for a change. So later that week she drove over to Wahpeton to have dinner with him at the Steakhouse—a place that had been popular since she was a high school student in Northville decades ago.

They caught up on his latest cases—nothing very exciting, the normal civil stuff. He wanted to hear more about her Sammy scoop. He’d read her story and they’d had a brief discussion, but now he wanted details. And like any reporter, she loved to tell her ‘war stories,’ so she told him how it all began and how it cost her a boyfriend. Sammy’s trial was still months away and she’d be covering that—she didn’t have to tell an attorney how tedious a trial can be. Really, she confided, she needed a new story to get her juices going again.

He assured her that in a big city, the next big story couldn’t be far away. Good thing, he mused, she wasn’t looking for that kind of excitement around here.

“The mess in Northville was the biggest thing we’ve seen in these parts in years, and nobody expects a repeat performance of that kind of excitement.”

They both laughed.

“You know, it seems to me that your father and Sammy have a lot in common.”

The words hit like throwing mud on a wedding cake.

“What? Oh God, where do you come up with that?”

“Think about it. Both men are used to being in charge. Both were admired in their own circles. Both broke the law—one to help his son, the other to help his town. Both thought they were above the law. Only difference is, Sammy will pay for his crimes.”

“So you think my father should pay something?” The words came out angry.

“No, I think your dad made a really dumb decision, but you’ve got to admit, the similarities are there.”

“I don’t see them,” Joya lied. She’d never fess up that she’d had some of these same thoughts.

“A daughter’s not supposed to see her father’s sins.”

“And a good defense attorney’s not supposed to point fingers at his client.”

“Got me there, kiddo. Hey, I didn’t mean your dad was a Mafioso or anything. You know I like him. Not as much as I like you, so please tell me I haven’t blown this whole evening.”

“No, and I didn’t mean to sound so snarly. You just caught me off guard.”

They ordered another drink and made small talk and then Joya remembered something she wanted to tell him.

“You know, the strangest thing.” She was cutting apart one of the most delicious steaks she’d ever eaten. “The mother of that girl who died of the overdose? She puts two pink roses on her daughter’s grave every Wednesday. And when I asked my mom about it, she looked like the question upset her.”

Joya put the tasty piece of meat in her mouth, closed her eyes and yummed at its fabulous flavor. When she opened them, Dolan Lowe was staring at her with his mouth half open.

“Really?” he gulped. She knew she’d hit some nerve.

“Oh, my God.” He let the words hang there and took a long sip of his martini. He looked off, like he was seeing something else and considering the secrets of the world. “Oh. My. God.”

He put down his drink and tented his hands in front of his face, resting his elbows on the table. “That’s it. My God, that’s it.”

Joya was getting very nervous—or was it excited? A tingling of anticipation was, perversely, one of her favorite feelings.

“Dolan, what is it?”

“You know, before the prosecutor got wise, I went down to the Coroner’s Office to see if they had anything else on the autopsy,” he began. “They don’t put everything in those reports, you know. Sometimes stuff that seems relevant is just left out.”

Joya looked at him in horror and he laughed. “Hey, this is North Dakota. We’re not as obsessive as you guys out in Arizona. It’s not malicious or anything, but a couple cases I’ve had, I’ve found out more stuff going right to the office. So I went over and chatted with Mary—I think she’s the girl you met? She thought you were really nice. Anyway, I chatted with Mary and she mentioned pink roses.”

Joya stopped breathing.

“What about pink roses?”

“Well, there was plant material embedded in that guy’s chest that they couldn’t identify. Everybody else passed it off as grain, since he was in a silo. But Mary told me she thought it looked like tiny pieces of pink rose. We laughed about it. It made no sense that somebody put pink roses on his chest when he was shot to death during a freezing winter storm. The next day the prosecutor declared the killer was that kid who hanged himself, so the case was over. And I just forgot about it.”

Joya’s mind was reeling.
It couldn’t be…
but she immediately knew it was.

She remembered the simple sentence in the autopsy report now—it meant nothing then. A silo has lots of plant material. She never thought to ask “what kind?” Something else jumped out at her now. Who’s the only person Gertie Bach would give a pass to? Who’s the only one she’d allow to sully the name of a boy she knew Amber loved—a boy she knew was innocent?

And if this two plus two equals four, what was she going to do about it?

Dolan could see the wheels turning in her eyes. “You know, if anybody needs a good defense attorney, you’ve got my number.”

“Yes, I do.”

They kissed goodnight in the parking lot after she turned down Dolan’s suggestion they have a drink at his place. “Another time,” she promised, but wasn’t sure that would ever happen. He was nice and smart and the kiss was okay, but she hadn’t felt a spark. Not like when Rob kissed her. But that spark was long gone and she had no idea she’d ever have another one.

Chapter Twenty-five

Wednesday, July 12, 2000

Joya’s walk the following Wednesday took her out to the cemetery. There was Amber’s grave, two roses now wilted, waiting for their replacements.

“Oh God, I hope it’s not true.” But she knew she was whistling in the graveyard.

She surveyed the grounds to find a big stone on the row above Amber’s grave. She could hide there, eavesdrop there, pray for a different ending. That’s where she was when Nettie made her weekly visit to Amber’s grave.

“Hi, darling,” she sang out, as she picked up the dead roses and gently laid down the beautiful new ones. “Here’s your roses, honey. All pretty and pink. Just like you like them.”

She laid down next to the grave and stroked the grass growing over Amber’s casket. She told her daughter about her cousins and news from town. She spent twenty minutes talking about her new diet that had already taken off ten pounds.

Joya felt guilty, snooping on such an intimate conversation by a grieving mother, but she had no choice now but to stay hidden. As the visit continued, she became more and more convinced that there was nothing here. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to discover. She had to admit, she was greatly relieved.

And then Nettie started talking about Johnny and Crabapple.

“I’m sorry the town thinks Johnny killed him,” Nettie told her daughter’s grave. “I know you wouldn’t like that. But it’s for the best. He would have, you know. If he found him first, he would have killed him. The whole town knew that. I know that’s why they kidnapped him. So Johnny couldn’t find him and kill him. Isn’t that something, Amber? Those men trying to protect Johnny? Doesn’t that make you feel good? I know those men and they couldn’t have killed him. They just wanted him to confess, so they could hand him over to the sheriff. That wasn’t good enough. Not for my Amber.”

Joya thought her heart stopped.

Nettie kept talking and Joya kept listening. With every word she heard, her compassion struggled with her conscience.

“Alice knew when they snatched him. They were playing cards that Thursday and she heard enough to know that was the day. She was so worried, and she let a little slip when I came in for coffee. I acted like I wasn’t interested. But the next day I took the day off and watched Ralph Bonner’s house all day. He met up with the others in the Legion parking lot. It wasn’t hard to follow them. But then we had that storm. I couldn’t get there until Sunday.

“You would have been proud of me, Amber. I know, I know, you’re not a violent type, but you have to admit, he was dangerous. He had to be stopped. Well, I stopped him. Your mother took care of it for you.

“It was almost funny—he thought I had come to save him. It was so cold and he’d been left there in the storm and when I got there, he thought I was there to free him. I gave him the roses. He took them and had this perplexed look, and I said, ‘These are from Amber.’ And then I pulled the trigger on your dad’s old shotgun and made certain he’d never hurt anyone else again. You would have been proud of me.”

Joya clapped her hands over her mouth so she wouldn’t scream.

“I confessed to Father John. He told me I had to turn myself in. But then, I could never come here to see you. What good does it do for me to go to prison and leave you here all alone? Nobody’s looking for me. I think some of the women suspect, but they won’t say anything. No, we just have to let everyone think Johnny killed him.”

Joya stood up then, revealing herself. Nettie looked at her in shock, jumping to her feet.

“What…what…who…what…?”

“Nettie, it’s Joya, Ralph and Maggie’s daughter.”

The two women looked bewildered at one another, like they were playing a game and didn’t know the rules.

Finally Joya found her tongue. “I’m so sorry about all this. You’ve had such a terrible loss. Amber was such a sweet girl.”

Nettie took her words as condolences and lied to herself that Joya couldn’t have heard everything.

“Thank you for your kind words. Yes, she was such a sweet girl. She had so much to live for. She held such promise. We were expecting a basketball scholarship….”

Joya realized Nettie would go on for an hour if she let her. “Nettie, please. I’m not here to mourn with you.”

Nettie scrunched up her brow in wonder. Of course Joya was here to mourn. She refused to see any other reason.

Joya could see the shield she’d erected and took a deep breath to plunge ahead. “Nettie, honey, it’s time. You can’t ignore what’s happened. You can’t forget what you did. Please. You have to turn yourself in.”

Emotions flashed across Nettie’s face. Fear. Anger. Sorrow. Defiance.

“No, I don’t. I do not. Nobody knows it’s me. If you don’t tell anybody, they’ll keep thinking it’s Johnny. And he’s dead. He’s buried over there.” Nettie pointed to the back of the cemetery, but Joya wouldn’t take her eyes off the woman. She fully expected her to bolt any minute.

“What good would it do?” Nettie was pleading now. “I’ll never hurt another person in my entire life. I wouldn’t have hurt him if he hadn’t killed my Amber. I’m not a criminal. I’m a mother avenging her daughter’s needless death. Can’t you see that? Just walk away and forget you ever heard anything. Nobody has to know. Nobody.”

Joya knew the easy thing was to buy that logic. She stood on one foot and then the other, fighting with herself. Maybe she should just turn around and continue her hike and let this grieving woman cope with her loss in her own way. Maybe someday, Nettie’s conscience would get to her and she’d do the honorable thing. What did Alice say,
don’t stir things up
? What did Gertie say,
let sleeping dogs lie
? She should, she should just walk away and keep her nose out of this.

On the other hand—there was that ‘other hand’ again—this woman was a murderer and you can’t let that slide. As much as she wanted to leave it alone, her moral compass wouldn’t let her.

“I can’t walk away, Nettie. I know why you did it. People might say you were justified. But you murdered that boy.” Joya had to stop talking because she was crying and her voice was headed toward that high shriek.

She took a deep breath and got herself under control.

“It wasn’t your place. You didn’t have the right.”

Nettie’s shoulders slumped. Her face took on its final emotion. Resignation.

“I know.” She whispered.

She patted her daughter’s headstone, and kissed it. She hugged her arms around the marble shrine, washing it with her tears. Joya didn’t rush her. She at least could give the woman these last moments.

“I won’t take you to the sheriff,” she said. “I know a really good defense attorney in Wahpeton and he’ll help you.”

Maybe Dolan could save her. Maybe he could make a judge see she was insane with grief. Maybe a jury wouldn’t convict a woman with such pain and loss. Maybe poor Nettie would be back in a few months, visiting the daughter she wouldn’t let go. Maybe…maybe…maybe.

Joya clung to the maybes to salve her regrets that compassion lost out to conscience.

Nettie stood up and reached her hand out to Joya. “We’ll go together?”

“Yes.”

“I have to do this?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“You couldn’t just walk away?”

“No.”

“No, I know.” Nettie took one look back at Amber’s grave.

“Goodbye, honey. I love you.”

Joya took her hand and they walked away.

Both women were crying.