Chapter 3
Chit Chats with the Dead
Shane woke up tangled in the blue-green flannel sheets he’d slept in as a teenager. He still felt too big for the bed, and the same black and white Joe Strummer poster greeted him in the midmorning light. Bacon sizzled downstairs, and an unexpected moment of grief squeezed his chest. It was as if he could hear his mom downstairs even years later.
The tableside war his dad and Emily waged last night felt days, not hours away, and despite his best effort at reasoning his way into staying in bed, he couldn't avoid the inevitable. He grabbed his too-full doc kit from his duffel and proceeded through his morning routines of facial care that seemed to get longer each year. By the time he ducked down the stairs, careful not to hit his head on the low ceiling, the bacon had made it to the table.
Emily shoveled scrambled eggs into her mouth, watching her grandfather out of the corner of her eye. Her hair was askew and she wore her favorite fuzzy socks that he bought her two Christmases ago in Santa Monica.
"Morning. How'd you sleep?" Shane asked, kissing her head.
Brandon didn't even turn from the stovetop. "I'm surprised your daughter can sleep at all given that she's seen the dead rise up to talk to you just so you can feel important."
"Yes, I would love some coffee, thank you so much for asking," Shane said under his breath.
He was reminded that his dad had freakishly good hearing when Brandon replied, "Like I told your lovely hippie daughter, this is not a diner. Get it yourself." He pointed the greasy spatula at the coffee pot.
"I just asked if he had any yogurt or fruit, " Emily said. "I didn't realize it was going to make him go crazy."
"Mad doesn't even come close to what I'm feeling, Feral Cat, and it has nothing to do with your stupid request for yogurt." Brandon tossed the spatula in the sink, clanging against the other dirty dishes and faced Shane. "What in the hell would make you think it's ok to take her with you to a Raising? She's 14. Do you really think showing a little girl a zombie is a great idea? You were 17 before your mom even hinted at what she could do."
"Ok, well, now who's being dramatic? You know the dead we Raise are not anything like zombies, first. And second, yes, I did think it was a good idea to tell her sooner. It's better that she sees a Raising with me a few times so it's not so intimidating when she has to do one on her own. And she knows she won’t come into her abilities anyway until she’s 17."
Brandon tossed his hands up. "This is what I tried to tell your mother. When does someone ever really need to raise a dead person?"
Shane's head started to pound behind his eyes. "We went through this last night. It's a great responsibility passed down from generation—"
"No. Your mother tried to make that same argument but I swear she only Raised people that had good gossip," Brandon said. "I know better. You didn't want anything with your," he fluttered his hand in the air before he stammered out, "—your ability—until you figured out how you could make money off it."
"And there it is." Shane said, heart pounding and bacon roiling in his belly. "You resent me for making more money and having a better life than what you have. Well I'm sorry."
"No, you idiot. I am mad because you only take low-hanging cases and cut corners instead of doing real police work. I am mad because you're teaching an arcane, unnecessary, and unnatural ritual to a little girl so what—you can feel special together? And now you come home, ready to bring all the big shot cameras into my house so you can look like a hero for solving a case any Hinnewatchan with eyes could solve?"
"I did not come here to Raise Dave Fever. That was just a coincidence."
Brandon asked, "Then why? Why come here now for the first time in 20-something years?"
"Because," Shane started. He thought about just telling them both the truth. But Emily was wearing the fuzzy socks, and despite the chaos of his life with her, she was still his little girl. He had to protect her.
"You're right, Dad. I thought the Dave Fever case would be easy." Shane tried not to let his dad's disappointed look weigh on him, and he lied again, because that was what he really did best. "I need some quick cash and this will sell well. We'll be out soon enough, I can see that this was a mistake."
Brandon turned, done with the conversation.
"Come on Emily," Shane said, dropping the bacon in the trash. "I'll show you around town and you can use the Wifi at Mama Cate's. The wifi was terrible here even a decade ago, and I can't imagine it's improved. Nothing ever changes."
***
Maria balanced the canisters of pumpkin spice between the crook of one arm and her chin as she hipped the car door shut. Her too-long-to-be-bangs were weeks overdue for a trim and blocked the only visibility between the canisters in her arms. She didn’t see Greg until it was too late.
"Only two weeks and you're already forgetting me, little sister?"
She shifted her haul to the side, "Greg. Sorry, didn't see you. Everything alright?"
What a stupid question, Maria. His brother's dead. As usual, she couldn't quite say the right thing to Dave's older brother. He unnerved her with the way he seemed to be waiting for her to say or do the wrong thing. If he only knew.
Greg never smiled, he smirked. He was leaner than Dave ever was, gaunt at the cheekbones and hairline high on his pale forehead. Seeing him without an oversized Carhartt beanie on his head was as bizarre as talking to him in public. The two generally avoided each other. Though, now, she wondered if avoiding him was something only she did.
"Yea, it finally feels like things are going to be alright," Greg said. One side of his face tipped up in that half smirk that never reached the scar under his eye. He reached for the canisters, tattooed knuckles close to her face. Maria had to check herself from flinching away as he took one. "Have you heard the news? Fancy TV detective is gonna find out who did this. That joke of a cop will finally get his ass handed to him."
Maria didn't feel like it was the time to correct him. Levi was the police chief now, not just a cop. She also didn't want to linger any longer. She nodded her head for him to walk with her and started making her way to Mama Cate's. Slow, Maria, you're not running.
She empathized with the woman that gave Greg a wide berth on the sidewalk. "I heard about that," Maria said. "Dave and I never got Bravo, though, so I don't know anything about the guy. Glad he's here. It'll be nice to get some closure and lay Dave to rest." When Greg didn't respond she couldn't help but fill the dead air. "Do you want to come with me to the parlor to pick out an urn for Dave's ashes this week?"
"We aren't cremating him."
Shit. "Ah, you sure? Dave always said he didn't like the idea of his body falling apart in the earth." Maria had no idea what Dave would have wanted, but giving anything back to the earth sounded like something he would have raged against. She could almost hear him, " Another thing that just takes something from me."
" Nah," Greg continued. "I'll scatter his ashes with our other brother at the farm at some point, but not yet."
“Farm” was a polite word for the littered dirt patch between broken down RVs and tireless cars outside of Hinnewatcha where Greg lurked. They were almost to Cate's, and though Maria really didn't want to continue this conversation, it was better to do so in public. She needed Dave cremated as fast as possible, and the past two weeks already felt like an eternity.
Greg continued before she could push it, "The detective will want a look at his body before he's buried. Especially since the lab at Memorial didn't find enough drugs to cause an overdose."
She stumbled over the weathered brick sidewalk. How in the hell did Greg hear that before I did? Chills slid down Maria's body and she clutched the canisters tighter to her chest. She said, calmer than she would have thought possible, "I thought you found him next to an empty syringe?"
"Don't be so stupid, Maria,” Greg snorted. “Dave knew his limits. He wouldn't have taken more than he could handle. I’ve said so since we found him. It wasn’t an overdose.”
Maria was grateful for whomever caught Greg's eye over her shoulder. Or at least she was until Greg smirked.
"And there he is," Greg said, nodding once for Maria to turn. "Detective Bolles!"
Cate's front door never felt so far away. She turned back around to face the man her mother warned her about, the one that could very well ruin her life. He was farther off than she anticipated, the white bell tower of Town Hall gleaming behind him, as if he was an apostle sent from God to banish her to hell.
Shane Bolles walked with his hands in the pockets of well tailored jeans, his white V-neck sweater pristine. Brass blond hair that curled at the ends matched the short, choppy locks of the girl who walked beside him. Detective Bolles stood a couple of feet taller than Maria, his height only emphasized more when he finally came within arms reach.
Greg nodded his head up and down as if this man were walking towards them to arrest Maria on the spot and give him all the vindication he'd been searching for in life. "Detective Bolles!" He repeated.
For a moment, Shane Bolles looked wary, but the flash of a bright smile happened so fast that Maria wondered if she imagined it. She clutched the remaining canister in her arms like a lifeline.
Shane said, " That's me. What's your name?"
The leather cuff of Shane's slim watch shifted as he stuck his right hand out. The squeaky clean J. Crew look gave way to something else as a tattoo of a small, red thread wrapped around his wrist became visible.
A memory of Lita popped into Maria's head when she saw the tattoo. Maria was just tall enough to reach her grandmother's counter, and she stretched high on her toes as Lita's liver spotted hands tied a thin, red string around her wrist.
"Mal de Ojo,"
Greg and the detective stopped speaking mid-sentence, and Maria flushed at the realization that she’d spoken aloud.
Shane's pale grey eyes focused on Maria, "Come again?"
"Sorry, nothing." She shook her head. "You were saying?"
The girl, maybe a couple years older than Isa, looked at her like she had sprouted horns from her nose.
"Ah," Shane said, his eyes crinkling with an easy smile. "I was saying that it's nice to be back home. And fortunate, well not fortunate because he died, but fortuitous that I am here when a murder occurred."
All the good energy and calm focus Maria tried to cultivate with self help podcasts and books fled. Murder. Murderer. The man's affable smile faltered and he glanced down at the girl at his side.
Maria reeled herself back in, every ounce of willpower poured into not falling apart and confessing on the sidewalk. "Murder? No. Dave overdosed. Accidentally, of course. He loved his life. Full of joy." Stop talking Maria, " Happy, seemed like he really was excited about his future, and what he could give back." Just stop. " No one thinks it was murder."
"It was 100% a murder." Greg went on as if she hadn't spoken. "That's why I reached out to you on your website. I just never thought you'd come so fast."
The detective's smile widened, his perfect white teeth on full display. "That's why we're here. To get down to the bottom of Dave Fever's death. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have a lot that needs to be done before we can get started."
Maria took the other spice canisters back from Greg. "Yay."
She walked into Mama Cate's, repeating in her head like a mantra now, Get Shane Bolles off this case.
***
" Well that was weird," Emily said. She fired up her laptop and blew the steam off her mug of Mama Cate's hot chocolate.
They took a table wedged in between two bookcases, which at least shielded Shane from too many prying eyes. He ignored the handful of customers looking a touch too casual as they walked past their table a second time.
"What part?" He asked, glancing again at Maria as she worked the counter. It was disconcerting to admit that a potential murderer was attractive. He shimmied his chair over to face Emily and the back of the store instead.
"Did you not see her face?” Emily replied, “Dave's wife, or widow or whatever. When you said 'murder' she looked like she was about to faint."
"Well she is freshly widowed, kid. Can't blame her."
"You saw the photos that Frankie sent. She definitely hated him. I didn't think it was possible for someone to look so miserable in a wedding photo. And who could blame her? I even got the ick from looking at him."
Shane tried to prioritize his questions and reign in Emily's imagination. "Back up. The what? What is the ick?"
Emily shuddered. "The ick. Like some creepy guy looks at you too long or like you kiss someone with too much spit in their mouth."
"Gross. Wait, you’ve been kissed?” Shane asked. “By who?”
She rolled her eyes. “We’re not going there. Stay focused.”
“Do you need me to say something? Did someone force themselves on you?” I could be back in LA by tomorrow night. “Just give me a name, I won’t make it weird. Who are the parents?”
“Ohmygod stop. Reel it in.” Emily said, looking over her shoulder as if all of Mama Cate’s was listening. “First, you make everything weird. And second, no one forced themself on me. If someone did, I’d hit them with a chair. And, yes, I’ve been kissed. I’m in 9th grade, Dad, lots of people have kissed, so don’t look at me like that. Now, focus. We have a murder to deal with and I’m not telling you who anyway.”
Shane crossed his arms and the pair had a silent standoff at the table.
Emily always won.
“Fine,” he said, tabling that conversation for a later time when he could get to the bottom of which scrawny kid in her class put the moves on her. “Let’s say Maria was unhappy. There are a lot of options for someone to get out of a marriage that doesn't involve murdering one's spouse."
But even as Shane said it, he agreed with Emily. There's something off. He put his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes. Resigned, he took a deep breath and said, "OK. I'll have Frankie set up a meet and greet with the police and coordinate a time with Dave Fever's body."
Emily clapped, a bit too giddy at the prospect of talking to a dead person. "I can't wait. Can I film it?"
"Ohmygod, no. We've talked about this. Absolute, hard no. The only reason I ever brought you to a Raising was so you wouldn't pee yourself like I did the first time I Raised solo. But, you can never film it. No one, and I mean absolutely no one, can know what our family can do."
"But why? There's weirder stuff going on. The news basically acknowledged that UFOs are real and yet still no one cares. It'll make your life a lot easier."
"Buttercup, I'm pushing it with the show as it is," Shane said. "It's a tool that could be used for good, like we do with solving cases, or bad."
He thought back to the night of the van, rubbing his neck where the bag had been tied over his head.
Shane grabbed Emily's hand, "Promise me, kid. No filming, no telling anyone—ever—what we can do. Otherwise, I won't teach you and I'll let it die with me."
"Fine. But how come you told Frankie?"
"Frankie is the absolute last person I'd tell. He's an agent. No one talks more than agents in LA and he would 100% turn that into a new TV show. And then a book. And then a board game, and a puzzle. It would never end."
Emily slumped down in her chair. "Oh. I always just thought he knew." She pulled her headphones out of her backpack and nodded once to him. "You should call the police chief now though to get access if we're going to Raise Dave soon."
Shane looked around for his cell phone, patting down his pockets and looking under the table. "Damnit. Be right back."
The coffee shop/wine bar/bookstore/post office was as busy as he remembered as a kid. Bookshelves took up the back half of the room, with tables and chairs scattered in between them and the long counter that ran the length of the store. The barista counter doled out coffee and the wine from the left end, closest to the door, and the packages piled up on the far right side near the scale. He slid between the locals milling around and spotted the phone he'd left in no-man’s land between the packages and the espresso machine.
He touched the shoulder of the man blocking him from the counter. "Excuse me, I just need to grab my phone."
The man turned and the frown already present on his face deepened when he looked at Shane. "Great. As if I don't have enough problems on my hands. I suppose you're the one I should thank for the 6 a.m. phone call from our mayor?"
"Sorry? Have we met?" Shane asked.
The glowering man held a coffee in one hand and put his other in his pocket, ignoring Shane's outstretched hand. "Levi Madison, the Police Chief and the detective working Dave Fever's case. I'm an actual detective, about to wrap up the real report, and yet I got a phone call saying I have to drag this out so your camera crew can film you 'solving the case'."
He somehow managed to make air quotes look menacing. Shane replied, "Look, if you've got this solved, we don't need to keep this going. I'll explain to my producers that we got here too late and that it's closed." Then Emily and I can just lie low and no one from LA will know that we're here.
The chief watched him without responding for what felt like forever. Shane felt the first trickle of sweat down the back of his merino sweater and he caught Maria’s honey brown eyes across the counter. Finally the police chief spoke. "Wish I could. But the Mayor is insistent, so we're going to make this fast."
***
Maria fiddled with the steamer, trying to not be obvious as she eavesdropped on Shane Bolles and Levi's conversation on the other side of the counter. The sight of the two of them together made her already nervous stomach roil. I'm not going to throw up. They're just talking. Shane caught her eyes as Levi said something she couldn't hear. Nope, they're plotting. I'm going to lose Isa. I'm going to jail. I will never see the sun. I will never—
Someone opened the door to Mama Cate's, the tingling bell scattering her panicked thoughts for a moment. The man that walked in was lean, wiry in a way that gave Maria the impression of a ferret. His dark hair, olive skin, and coffee colored eyes could have come from anywhere, but the tattoos across his neck and on the sides of his face screamed LA. Maria spent the previous decade dodging any man that looked like the one that just walked in, and yet she felt this overwhelming urge to pay attention to him. Get it together, Maria. What is wrong with you?
She dried the thick, cream-colored mugs with her towel and watched the newcomer out of the corner of her eye. He looked around the packed seating area. Some of the locals moved unsubtly out of the way when he started to move through the small crowd towards the bookshelves. He glanced over at Maria and stilled, though his eyes didn't catch hers. Instead, he seemed to be watching Levi and Shane. The stranger smiled and Maria couldn't help but shiver.
Maria ignored her instincts only once in her life. The day Dave Fever announced that he wanted to marry her, she said yes, instead of a resounding hell no. She thought she'd warm up to Dave. She thought marriage would make him softer. She thought the safety of this town required a man, someone to help care for her and Isa unlike the spectacularly disappointing men she'd left in LA. But her gut told her then that saying yes was a terrible idea and yet she ignored it all the way to the altar. That eventually led to the disaster of her life as it was known today.
Now, her gut told her that the newcomer was not here for her, but for one of the two men on the other side of the counter. Help him, mijita. Her grandmother Lita's voice, clear as the bell on the front door, rang through her mind. Maria didn't think, she just acted as the newcomer reached into his pocket.
"Oh! I can't believe I forgot! Guys," she snapped her fingers across the counter and into Shane and Levi's conversation. "Yep, you two. Need some help in the back."
Chief Madison scowled at her, and Shane looked understandably confused. It didn't stop Maria's half-thought-out plan. "Right now!"
Cate side-eyed Maria from the register, but for once in her life didn't say anything. The men followed Maria around the counter and through the swinging door. She glanced back where the newcomer was moments before, but she didn’t see him in the crowd.
"What's the problem Mrs. Fever?" Levi asked.
Maria was atrocious at lying. Why did I ever think I could kill someone and get away with it? "Soooooo," she scrambled, trying to think of what would have prompted her to bring them back here as she fidgeted with her grandmother’s ring. "I heard that Dave’s toxicology report came back." What are you doing? That is the worst thing you can bring up to these two men.
Levi gave the stilted silence he seemed to give every question before he responded. "How did you hear that? I don't even have a copy of that report yet."
Fabulous, Maria. Bring up the husband you murdered to two detectives and make them even more suspicious. Maria twisted the pearl and gold band over and over around her middle finger until she noticed Shane watching her hands. She shoved them into the deep pockets of her cardigan. "I ran into Greg before my shift. He's the one that told me. I just assumed you knew?"
Levi pulled his cell phone from his back pocket, thumbing the screen before looking at Maria and then Shane, his perpetual frown growing. "How did he get that report?"
Both Shane and Maria shrugged simultaneously. Shane responded first, "Who is Greg?"
"Greg is my late husband's brother,” Maria said, stealing a glance out the small portal window to the rest of the shop. The man that set off all her internal bells was out of eyesight. “You just met him outside?" Maria said.
Levi stood taller, feet shoulder width apart. "Really? You just got in town, haven't even come by the station, and you're already out there stirring up problems and talking to relatives?"
Shane opened his mouth but Maria beat him to it. "No, Greg just happened to be outside with me when Detective Bolles walked up."
"Maria," Levi said before pausing to correct himself. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Fever. I haven't had the chance to review the toxicology report. Clearly. I don't know what's on it, I don't know why Greg Fever would ever get that report before me, and I don't know why this man," he nodded his head in Detective Bolles' direction, "would ever need to be involved in this case. But there's more to your husband's death than I gave it credit before. Please accept my sincere apologies for making you think it was an accidental overdose preemptively."
Maria felt like at any moment she'd catch on fire, burn through the floorboards, and go straight to hell, bypassing the court and judicial system entirely. I'm going to throw up on Shane Bolles' pristine loafers, she thought.
Levi continued, "I've been asked to allow Mr. TV Detective here a few days to review the case files. But, given that he's not a real detective—" Shane opened his mouth as if to defend himself, but Levi pushed on. "—he's just a TV personality, we don't have to give him, or his producers, anything regarding Dave Fever's death. However, since it sounds like I've overlooked something, I'm willing to swallow my pride and let someone else take a second look at this. But I won't do it without your permission. Do you want Detective Bolles to review this case?"
Maria couldn't believe her luck. She could say no. Shane Bolles had no jurisdiction here. She could get him out of Hinnewatcha with just a word, right now. She even thought for a moment Shane Bolles shook his head no as well, but she couldn't be sure. But that won't get Levi off this case. And it won't bury Dave any faster if Levi has to look into why drugs didn't kill Dave. If I say no, won't that be even more suspicious? Is this a test?
She didn't have the ability to let pauses in conversations linger... let alone pauses in conversations hinged on her response about her murdered husband. So she went with her gut, and said, "OK. Let's let Detective Bolles take a look at this."
She wondered later that night if her instincts had finally let her down.