Blackthorn

Chapter Twenty-Four

TWENTY-FOUR

MAVEN

Saturday ends. Sunday comes and goes. On Monday morning, I realize I spent nearly the entire weekend obsessing over every word Ronan has spoken to me since I returned to town, trying to associate a disease with each one of them.

It’s exhausting.

The only way I can find out what’s wrong with him is by talking to him, an activity I loathe more than a dental cleaning.

After breakfast, Bea hits me up with a question I’ve been hoping wouldn’t come. We’re in the living room. I’m on the sofa. She’s on the floor, sitting cross-legged with a book open on her lap. Q took the aunts to the store, so we’re alone in the house.

“Hey, Mom?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Remember that man at the grocery store who picked up the onion you dropped?”

I slowly lower the book on Egyptian pharaohs I’m reading and look at her.

“He was really tall. And…”

Don’t say it. Please don’t say it.

Without looking up from the book, she says, “He had eyes like mine. My real ones.”

“Really? Hmm.”

“I’ve never met anybody who has the same color eyes as me.”

“That makes sense. Pale-blue eyes are very rare.”

She looks up from her book. “Yeah, but not as pale as mine. They’re almost white. I’ve only ever seen them in those husky dogs. And that old man in the wheelchair who came to Granny’s viewing.”

That old man is your grandfather.

I force a smile and breathe around my heart’s painful palpitations. “I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“Did my dad have pale eyes?”

My mouth goes dry. I moisten my lips and glance down at the book in my hands.

The only thing I’ve ever told her about her father is that we were together for a short time, my pregnancy was unplanned, he didn’t support it, and we haven’t spoken since.

Up to now, all that was true. I’ve been lucky that she hasn’t wanted more details, but I always knew one day the questions would start.

Though I’m panicking on the inside, I keep my voice calm. “Yes, he had pale eyes.”

She reads quietly for a while, her head bent over the book, then she looks up at me again. “Would it be okay if I stopped wearing my contacts?”

Not on this trip, it wouldn’t. “You’re the one who wanted them.”

She shrugs. “I know. ’Cause everybody at school said I looked like a freak. It made me feel ugly. I always wanted pretty green eyes like yours.”

“But now you don’t?”

Fiddling with the edge of a page, she thinks about her answer. “I think maybe it’s okay to be different from everybody else. Most people are underwhelming.”

That makes me chuckle. This kid is very bright.

As she closes her book and gets up, heading to the kitchen, my cell phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Ms. Blackthorn. It’s Cole Walker. I’m calling to give you a quick update.”

“I’m all ears. What did you find out?”

“Well, for one thing, Anderson’s Funeral Home has had several close calls with getting their license revoked over the past forty years.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Those folks weren’t exactly running a top-notch operation. They’ve been cited for everything from failing to control odors to improperly storing bodies.”

I make a face. “Improper storage of bodies doesn’t sound good.”

He chuckles. “No, it sure isn’t. Corpses start to get a little funky if you don’t keep ’em chilled.”

My heart skips a beat. “They weren’t keeping bodies refrigerated?”

“The ones that weren’t embalmed, no. They’d put them inside the fridge, but it hadn’t worked in years. Wiring was out. They thought dry ice would do the trick, but according to all the reports about foul odors, it didn’t.”

I’m stunned. Mr. Anderson lied to me.

Granny wasn’t refrigerated.

“Sometimes, they even neglected to embalm the bodies altogether. One complaint alleged the deceased died three weeks before the funeral, but they couldn’t have an open casket because the remains were so badly decomposed.

Anderson’s settled with the family, but those weren’t the only problems. In one case, they even buried multiple bodies in the same casket.

In another, they weighted the casket with sandbags. The decedent’s body was never found.”

I finally regain the power of speech. “Holy shit.”

“Well said. Now, I don’t want to alarm you, because this is only a guess at this point, but with the shady operating procedures of this funeral home and the fact that they were strapped for cash, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they were involved in something even worse than what’s already been discovered. ”

Reeling, I put a hand to my forehead and close my eyes. “Like selling body parts on the black market.”

He grunts in sympathy. “I’m sorry. I’m sure that’s the last thing you want to hear. At this point, it’s only a hunch. I’ll do some more digging.”

“Why was none of this information ever in the newspaper? This is a small town. People here know what their neighbors had for breakfast.”

“You’d be surprised the secrets people can keep if they’re motivated enough.”

As I’ve been keeping some pretty juicy secrets myself, I’m inclined to agree with him. “Thank you, Mr. Walker. Keep in touch.”

“Will do.”

We hang up. Feeling a headache coming on, I rub my throbbing temples. Then, with nothing better to do, I start to pace. I look at Ronan’s number half a dozen times before finally dialing it. He picks up sounding smug the way only he can.

“Maven Blackthorn. That name sounds familiar. Let me think … did we used to go to high school together?”

“Great, now you’re a comedian.”

“Am I right? Were you the one with the crooked teeth and the lazy eye?”

“You’re going to have crooked teeth pretty soon if you don’t stop being a jerk.”

He hears the tension in my voice and stops teasing me. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“Oh, no, everything’s wonderful. I spent the entire weekend trying to decode a very cryptic statement this irritating millionaire told me.”

“Billionaire.”

“What?”

“I’m a billionaire, not a millionaire.”

“Well, pardon me, Daddy Warbucks. We little people who pay taxes aren’t really clear on the distinction.”

“There’s no reason for you to pay taxes.”

“Except for this fun thing called tax evasion that could land me in prison, I’d agree with you.”

“I can teach you all the tricks. They’re perfectly legal.”

“Your definition of legal leaves a lot to be desired. Can I tell you why I’m calling now or are you going to keep trying to get me into trouble with the IRS?”

“I know why you’re calling.”

I pause to take a breath because he sounds smug again. “It’s not for that.”

“Of course it is. You’ll have some other fake reason to trot out first so you can save face, but it’s totally for that.” He pauses. “‘That’ being a euphemism for sex.”

“I know what you meant, you wanker.”

The smugness returns full force. “I know you did. I just wanted to hear you holler at me.”

“I give up.” I disconnect the call. My phone rings a second later. I answer, scowling. “What do you want?”

“You called me, baby. What’s the problem?”

“You’re the problem.”

He chuckles. “I love it when you snarl at me.”

Bea returns holding a hunk of bread and a dill pickle. I smile at her and casually walk over to the stairs. She settles back in with her book as I walk upstairs to the bedroom and close the door behind me.

“Okay. Here’s the deal. In our last conversation, you mentioned money.”

His energy changes from lighthearted to intense with the speed of snapping fingers. “You’ll have whatever you want. Anything you need. Both of you. I’ll buy you a house. I’ll set up a trust. I’ll give you monthly support—”

“Hold your horses! It’s not for Bea. And it wouldn’t be a gift. I need a small loan, that’s all. And probably your help pulling some strings.”

“For what?”

“I want to exhume a few Blackthorns.”

“You want to dig up your relatives’ bodies?”

I roll my eyes at his shocked tone. “No, the gold they buried in the backyard. Of course, their bodies.”

“Don’t say it like I’m ridiculous for being surprised. It’s not every day somebody decides to churn up a graveyard. Why do you want to do that, by the way?”

“I want to confirm a theory of mine.”

When I don’t elaborate, his tone sours. “Care to share, or are you just expecting me to hand over a briefcase full of cash and not ask any questions?”

“I mean, ideally. Will you?”

He laughs.

“Fine. I discovered some information about the strange ways the members of my family die, but because we’re not autopsied, I can’t verify it. A postmortem will settle the matter.”

“Strange ways they die?”

“Now that I think of it, I shouldn’t be telling you.”

“Because you think you hate me but you really don’t?”

The smile in his voice is irritating, but that’s nothing new. “No, because the private investigator I hired warned me that your family has their dirty little fingers in everything that happens in this town. Which means maybe you’re in on it.”

A deafening silence follows. Then he says flatly, “Tell me you didn’t just accuse me of being involved in your relatives’ deaths.”

“There was no accusation. It was very indirect.”

“Right after you asked me for money to fund a graveyard dig.”

“Yes. I’ll need about twenty thousand.”

“Wow. Even for you, that’s nervy.”

“The way I see it, you can’t refuse, because that would be suspicious. You’d almost be implicating yourself in a murder.”

“Are you even listening to the words coming out of your mouth?”

“If you have nothing to hide, what’s the big deal?”

He chuckles. “You missed your calling as a criminal prosecutor. Studying insects is way too tame for that extravagant intellect of yours.”

“You’re the only person I’ve ever met who can make character assassination sound like a compliment. Are you giving me the money or not?” When he pauses for too long, I sigh. “Forget about negotiating for sexual favors.”

“Who said anything about that? But now that you mention it…”

“Listen, I know you personally had nothing to do with anything.”

His tone loses its teasing note and turns dark. “You’re talking about my father.”

“Can you in good conscience tell me you don’t think he’s capable of murder?”

“I know he is.”

His answer is so unexpected, I’m taken aback. “That sounds fishy. Care to elaborate?”

“No.”

“Has he killed anyone?”

After a tense pause, he says, “Have you ever considered there are things you’re better off not knowing?”

I blanch. “Oh my God. Your father’s a murderer.”

“I wish you could hear how hard I’m rolling my eyes right now.”

“You practically admitted it!”

“All I’m saying is that not every piece of a family’s dirty laundry needs to be aired.”

I start to pace back and forth at the end of the bed. “You know my aunts think he had something to do with my mom’s death, right?”

After an oddly long pause, he says, “No, I didn’t know. Why would they think that?”

“Because they—wait. I don’t think I should tell you.”

“You know my father and I don’t get along. Whatever terrible thing you think he’s done, you can tell me. I promise I won’t run to him crying.”

“So you’re saying I should trust you.”

“Don’t say it with such sarcasm. You can trust me.”

I stop pacing to stare out the window into the yard. On the iron bench under the grove of birch trees, the red-and-black fox sits looking around expectantly as if it’s waiting for someone.

“Hello?”

“I’m here.”

“You’re not saying anything.”

“I know it’s impossible for a Chatty Cathy like you to understand, but sometimes people like to do this interesting thing called thinking before they form sentences.”

“You’re cute when you’re being a snob.”

I watch as Bea walks slowly across the yard and takes a seat on the bench next to the fox. It lies down next to her and rests its head between its paws. She scratches it between its pointy black ears. It curls its tail around its body contentedly.

When I don’t respond, Ronan says, “I’ll give you the money for your project. You don’t have to pay it back. Consider it a friendly gesture.”

“I never said we were friends.”

“I know. But we’re not enemies, either. So if we’re not friends, and we’re not enemies, there’s only one thing left. Come over at midnight tonight. I’ll be waiting.”

He hangs up on me before I can argue, leaving me alone with my chaotic thoughts as I watch my daughter gently stroke the sleeping fox’s fur.