Red Ochre Falls (18 page)

“Not really.” I
rifled through my makeup bag.

“When you do. I’m
here.”

“I know,” I wiped
away the mascara smears under my eyes with a soft, wet cloth. “I’ll come
around, eventually.”

“I know.”

I dried my face and
patted on some foundation to cover the redness. Jos handed me blush and
lipstick. I swiped some on then made a dramatic air kiss to signify I was close
to normal again, and ready to go.

“You know he’s hot
for you,” Jos said. We walked out of the apartment and headed down the stairs.

“He’s hot,” I
agreed. “But I don’t know if it’s for me.”

“Oh, it’s for you.
But, you can’t see it. You’ve got too much going on. Do what you need to
grieve. But, when this is over, go after what you want. You deserve to have
some fun.”

“Thanks, Jos.” We
hugged each other at the bottom of the stairs, just outside the viewing room.

“Oh, that’s
beautiful. You two always did get me worked up. Can I get in the middle?” His
voice made me sick.

“You’re a slime,”
Jos said.

“Who let you in
here anyway?” My voice was low with anger close to erupting.

Jos and I stood
opposite Tab.

“I came in the back
door,” Tab looked amused. Must have thought is was a real accomplishment
getting in here on the day his ex-girlfriend—the one he mistreated and
beat—was being buried.
 

“The back door is
for the trash,” I spat.

“I don’t mind back
doors, or trash. Neither did Chloe. But you knew that already, didn’t you
Mattie?”

I lunged at him.
Just before I made contact, Garrett grabbed me by the waist and whirled me
around until I was out of harm’s way. Garrett ended up between Tab and me. I
began to protest, but Garrett raised a hand to stop me, and I shut my mouth. He
turned back around to Tab.

“You need to leave
now,” Garrett growled.

“Hey big guy. Came
to pay my respects. Thought this was a free country,” Tab acted like he wasn’t
going to leave.

“It is a free
country, but this is my house. You aren’t welcome in my house, or anywhere else
these ladies happen to live, work or play.” Garrett got really close to Tab.
Part of me wished he’d kick Tab to the curb. Heck, we’d be better off if he
chased Tab out of the state, but I worried something really bad might happen,
so I stepped out from behind Garrett. My plan was to ask him to leave, but I’d
had it.

“I can’t believe
you had the nerve to come here. You abused Chloe—repeatedly—and now
you’re trying to intimidate us. On the day we’re burying her, no less. What is
wrong with you?”

Tab got within an
inch of my face. I tensed and felt flush with fear, but stood my ground.

“Nothing wrong with
me, just saying goodbye.”

If it were anyone
but Tab, I might have felt bad. “Chloe loved you once. If you ever loved her,
for any amount of time, you’ll leave. Right now. There are too many painful
memories of her with you. Please, let her family…let us give her the sendoff
she deserves.”

 
“Yeah, I got somewhere to be anyway,” Tab
said. He put his hand up and tweaked my chin. “One of these days, Mattie. I’m
gonna catch you. Maybe then we can have some fun.”

Garrett moved
forward and grabbed Tab’s arm.

“I’ll see you soon,
Mattie.” Tab’s smile widened.

Garrett yanked Tab
away from us and ushered him out of the building.

At this point, I
didn’t care if he stuffed Tab in a dumpster and left to rot. Tab had no right
to be here. The guy had no self-control—he enjoyed liquor almost as much
as he enjoyed toying with people. He’d been the center of Chloe’s world until
she broke free of his abusive ways. I began to wonder if he might have killed
her just because she left him.

“Are you okay?” Jos
asked.

“Sure,” I said it
too quickly.

“You’re shaking.”

“I’ll be fine.
Let’s get in there. We can talk about this later.”

I pushed the Viewing
Room door open. Immediately, I caught sight of Chloe’s mom. She was up at the
casket, dressed in a dark grey suit. Her head lowered. She was crying over her
daughter’s body. It hurt behind my eye. Then I noticed tears beginning to form
and tried to blink them away.

“Mattie. Jos,” a
deep voice called to us. It was Chloe’s dad. He wore an expensive looking black
suit and shiny shoes. We walked over to the first row of folding chairs to see
him.

“It’s good to see
you girls.” He leaned over and hugged us one at a time. “Wish it were under
better circumstances.”

“Good to see you
too, Mr. E,” Jos said.

“Sorry for your
loss.” In the short time we’d lived here, I’d heard the phrase uttered a number
of times. This felt different. I was sorry for his loss, but it went beyond
today. It was about the years Mr. Ellis spent away from his family, providing
for them and working at his career. It seemed like the right thing to say to
Chloe’s father, but I wasn’t sure it would help. He might have seen it in my
eyes.

“Chloe spoke highly
of both you girls,” he said. “Mattie, I know you tried to help Chloe many
times. And now, you’re helping prove she didn’t do this terrible thing.”

Mrs. Ellis turned
and walked toward us. It was obvious she was devastated. I’d experienced pain
when we lost grandma, but I didn’t even want to imagine what it was like for
them to lose a child.

“We’re truly
grateful.” Mrs. Ellis put her arms around me. We hugged each other tighter and
tighter while we tried to hold back tears. At that moment, we shared the
devastation.

Losing someone you
know is never easy. This was much harder. Chloe was close with her mom, like I
was with mine. Whatever mothers and daughters go through together in life
belongs to them. If they have a good relationship, there’s a bond no one can
touch. Not death, or the threat of death, can take that bond away. Coming so
close to losing my own mom forced me to think about what it would be like to
have the physical link broken.

I spent days and
nights praying that if my mom died, we’d still be able to communicate on some
spiritual level—that maybe she’d see me, and help guide me with
occasional signs, like wind gusts and beams of light. A storm might sway me
against doing something, and a ray of sunshine might lead me toward a certain
path. It seemed silly. But, the thought that it could someday happen gave me
hope.

Thinking about
mortality, and mother-daughter bonds fueled my need to find Chloe’s killer.
Whoever ripped Chloe away from her life would be brought to justice.

Mrs. Ellis eased up
and we gave each other knowing looks. I finally answered. “You’re welcome. I
just wish we could have prevented this. We’ll do whatever we can to find out
what happened.”

Mrs. Ellis hugged
Jos briefly and took a place beside her husband. Mr. Ellis gave his wife a
squeeze and a quick kiss on the cheek. The family stayed close and awaited the
onslaught of people.

Garrett walked in
and surveyed the room.

“You did what you
could,” Mrs. Ellis told me. “Now, we have to make peace with what’s happened.
Maybe then we can move on.” She was right. We needed to make peace, for me, it
meant finding Chloe’s killer and taking the bastard down.

My grandpa used to
joke we came from a long line of Pugilists. This was one of those times he may
have been right. Still, I needed to simmer down or risk another confrontation
at my friend’s funeral.

For the next
fifteen minutes there was a steady stream of family, friends and acquaintances.
The place filled up quickly. So, when it was appropriate, Jos and I split off
from Chloe’s parents.

“Want to start
making rounds?” I asked Jos.

“Sure. You need a
minute?”

“I want to talk to
Garrett.”

“Right,” she said,
and flashed me a grin over her shoulder as she walked away.

In a quick scan of
the room, I saw Chloe’s parents with another couple their age. Judging from
their suits, they were bankers, or real estate moguls like Chloe’s dad.

Beside them, a
young man in his early twenties with slick black hair, and a baggy jacket that
looked like it had recently been dug out of mothballs, rested his hands on
wheelchair handles. He pushed it past a row of seats on the way to the front of
the room.

An old woman
wearing a rose pink sweater with taupe slacks and matching shoes sat in the
wheelchair. Her white hair sat elegantly piled on top of her head, and she wore
a gold and pearl pin that looked expensive even from this distance. Judging
from her posture sitting in the chair she came from money. Polished and proper.
Her features had aged, but there was splendor in her smile. She waved to
another woman standing near Garrett at the doorway.

With a viewing this
size, Ryder was most likely posted at the front door to greet people, which
left Garrett in charge of Viewing Room #1. I passed by some lawyer types on the
way over to see him.

“How are you?”
Garrett asked.

“Doing okay. I
guess. Hey, who is the lady in the wheelchair? She looks familiar.”

“She’s sort of our
neighbor. Her name is Mrs. Jacobson. She’s lived down the street from us for longer
than I can remember. Being a long-time resident, she comes for viewings a lot.”

I eyed her
wheelchair, and looked over the driver. There was something familiar about them
both, but I couldn’t place what. Garrett must have noticed because he answered
unprompted.

“Mrs. Jacobson
comes to several visitations a year. She’s old, but can walk, although,
sometimes she uses the wheelchair. The guy is her nephew. I remember someone
telling me his name. It might have been Craig? Anyway, he’s been around the past
two summers earning money for college. You might have seen them around.”
Garrett paused. I sensed he had another thought. “You know, she could probably
use extra help when he goes back to school this fall…and the job probably pays
better than writing obits.”

I smiled. He was
right. Obits didn’t pay much, but I liked writing from the comfort of home.
Even if it was a funeral home. My smile faded. We were quiet for a few moments.

“Looks like it’ll
be standing room only,” Garrett broke the silence. “If you’re up for it, keep
an eye out…for anything unusual. It could be slight, but even small details
could be important.”

“Will do.”

“The family knows
you, so they might come to you if they want anything. Bring the requests to me.
I’ll make sure they get whatever they need. And the same goes for you and your
friends.”
“Thanks,” I said, and noted his watchful gaze. He was carefully doing rounds
with his eyes. “You’re on high alert. Something up?”

“Still amped up
from earlier. And I’m on watch.”

“Is it Tab? Do you
think he’ll come back?”

“He won’t be coming
back,” Garrett gave me a sly grin.

“Good news. But how
can you be sure?” I worried until his look turned me happily suspicious. Maybe
Garrett considered my garbage dump idea. “What did you do?”

“Let’s just say his
car smelled 100-proof. The police may have received a call about a suspicious
man, possibly drunk, and they may have observed the same suspicious man
throwing punches at me in the parking lot.”

“What? Why was he
throwing punches at you?” My voice was low, but serious.

“I may have said
something derogatory about his shoe size.”

“Shoe size,
huh?”
 

“Some guys are
really sensitive about that sort of thing.” Garrett flashed me a smile. I tried
hard to contain a laugh.

“They picked him up
and took him downtown. He’s so belligerent they’ll probably throw him in the
pokey until he sleeps it off.”

“We should be so
lucky.”

“We should. But
luck isn’t going to protect you from him. You need more training.” Garrett
wasn’t kidding.

“I know,” I
answered uncomfortably. He didn’t blink or flinch. At all. “When?”

“Not this second,
but soon. You’ve been threatened by more than one nut this week.”

“I know. The rise
of threats and nuts in my life started to freak me out.” I swallowed hard and
thought about my two loonies roaming the streets. The first was a guy with a
penchant for hitting women. Tab hadn’t done anything to me yet, but declared he
would just as soon as the opportunity presented itself. The second—some
horrible giant—scared me more with surprise warnings, and rotting
flowers. He indicated we could be all square, if I’d just stop asking
questions. Which wasn’t going to happen as long as I was breathing. Something
my giant made very clear he’d put an end to, if I kept poking around.

“You need to be
ready in case someone decides to follow through. We’ve got to prepare you.
Escape techniques and passive resistance could save your life.”

“Passive
resistance?”