Chapter 6 Deadly
A t exactly four twenty, I stood up, leaving the papers lying on the floor. With the hope of Lauren’s return, I went to the breakroom, washed my hands, then pulled the guacamole and chicken from the refrigerator. Any doubts about her return faded away as I prepared the sandwiches. If she came, I knew it would not be because of her interest in me but for her curiosity about Ms. Debbie. Regardless, if I wanted to make amends, this would be my one and only opportunity.
Checking my phone once again, I left the finished plates and walked to the front door. As I pulled back the handle, the door swung along the hinges to give way to Lauren, who, undoubtedly, was still debating whether to come in.
“I was just—” she began.
I held up my hand, causing her to pause. “About yesterday, I’m sorry, and it won’t happen again.”
Either from the sincerity of my voice or the desire to believe what I was saying, the tension in Lauren’s stance subsided. “You promise?”
“Yes... To be honest, hearing you ask what’s the worst that can happen dredged up a decade of bad memories. The bookstore is really all I have left. It was my sanctuary during a dark time in my life.” The confession spewed from my chest before I could believe what I was saying. However, with Lauren standing there, I felt not only like she should know the trigger for yesterday, but for some reason, I felt, or maybe just hoped, she would understand and not leave.
“What happened?” she asked, with compassion now in her voice.
“Brooke happened,” I whispered. “The only girl I’ve ever loved broke me into a million pieces and left. That’s why I was so close to Ms. Debbie and the store. They were there for me when no one else could be.”
“I’m sorry,” she offered.
Waving my hand, I shook my head as if to empty the thoughts. “Let’s not think about that. We have more important things to discuss. And... as a matter of fact, if you will follow me, I have something for you.”
I motioned for her inside and relocked the door behind us. As she stood waiting, I could tell something was on her mind, but at the same time, I feared to ask. “Is everything okay?” I finally said.
“It’s just, kind of weird, it just being the two of us in here.”
“I assure you, I only locked the door because customers will disregard the “Closed” sign,” I offered, adding a not-so-creepy laugh.
“Alright, if you say so, but just know I carry pepper spray.”
“In your purse, I assume?” I asked, as my question was accompanied by an impulse to smile.
“Yeah, but I’m quick.”
“Mm-hmm. No, I bet you are, but there’s just one thing.”
“What’s that?”
I pointed to her shoulder, where her bag would have usually hung. “It appears you left it in the car.”
Handing her the keys to the shop, I walked off, giving her a slight laugh, not waiting for her to reply. To my delight, moments later, she stood against the doorjamb of the backroom, dismissing her concern for pepper spray. The opportunity to taunt her by asking if she had locked the door back had presented itself, but I decided differently as I felt her eyes watching me as I placed the plates on the floor.
“What’s this? A picnic?” she questioned.
“I see you opted to leave your purse in the car,” I said, reaching for the keys. “And yes, I figured what better way to spend time sorting through papers on the floor than with a few sandwiches.”
“And the blanket?” she asked, settling down on the floor beside me.
“To keep the ants off. They don’t like red, or so I’ve heard.”
“Of course; how silly of me to ask,” she laughed before continuing. “And what do we have on the menu for today?”
“These are cold, cold burritos,” I replied and added, seeing her questioning look, “a specialty of Ms. Debbie’s.”
“How do I know they aren’t poisoned?” she said, placing the plate back on the floor.
“You ate the Chinese from yesterday, and you’re still here.”
“Yeah, but that was made by someone else.” A sassiness hung in her voice, much different than the day before. Her standoffish approach was annoying to me, but perhaps it was a byproduct of keeping her distance after yesterday.
Lifting my sandwich from the plate, I took a large bite, then set it back down. “Happy?” I mumbled.
“Yeah, but you wouldn’t poison your own sandwich.”
Sheesh! Lauren was really trying to get under my skin today, but I would not give her that satisfaction. Leaning over, I snatched up her burrito and took a hasty bite.
“Hey, that one is mine!” she protested.
“Well, stop complaining and eat it,” I said methodically.
“Okay, but it’s only fair if you give me a bite of yours now,” she countered while standing down from her aggressive stance.
“Sounds fair to me,” I said, extending my arm, offering her to grab the sandwich. But instead of taking hold of it, she simply leaned forward and sank her teeth through the bread as I held it in place.
“Wow, that’s surprisingly good.”
“See . . .”
“Fine. You win.” Settling back on the floor, Lauren picked up a set of papers with her free hand and laid them out beside her. Her eyes shifted over the words, and then, taking another bite, she peered up at me. “So, have you found anything else?”
“No, I left shortly after you did yesterday.”
“Oh, well, it sounds like we need to make up for lost time.”
“I guess you could say that.” Looking at the vast stack of boxes that still remained, I wondered how long it would take to get through them all.
“I have an idea,” Lauren said, interrupting my gaze.
“What?” I said with slight irritation.
Lauren’s smile gleamed from cheek to cheek, resounding the delight she found in her plan. “I can come in all next week and help you.” However, her smile seemed to fade away as my own expression did not reciprocate the enthusiasm she had hoped for.
“I appreciate the offer and all, but our afternoon sessions haven’t really put a dent into the stack of papers. Don’t get me wrong—I enjoy the company—but you shouldn’t have to go out of your way to help me,” I concluded, adjusting my tone upon considering her generosity.
“Actually, I meant I could come in and help you all day long.”
“All day, like every day?”
“Mm-hmm,” she affirmed, nodding her head.
“But what about work?”
Rolling her eyes, she admitted there was more to her plan than previously mentioned. “Well, I’m off next week.”
“Does that mean you’re a teacher?” I laughed, seeing that I might very well extort more about her life than she had divulged before.
“No... I’m not a teacher,” she said, cutting her eyes to mine. “If you must know, I’m actually a secretary for a small business.”
“Is it any place I would have heard of?”
My question went unanswered at first, then at last she followed with a softly mumbled, “No.” Instead of further entertaining my curiosity, she meagerly refocused on the papers while finishing her sandwich.
I followed her example and quickly finished eating so I could free both hands. Silence persisted for some time, neither of us caring to rekindle the conversation, least of all me, as I did not look forward to having further questions about her unanswered.
However, upon finishing my box, I stood to make room for another one but ended up staring at Lauren while towering above.
Noticing that she was being watched, she stopped and peered up at me. “What is it?”
“How come you are off next week but didn’t make plans to go anywhere?”
“Sometimes I enjoy a staycation instead,” she admitted with a smile. Pleased, I turned for another box. To this, I heard her voice crack from behind. “Why do you care to know so much about me?” I spun around, meeting Lauren’s concern with my own apprehension. She pulled her outstretched legs beneath her, causing the skirt she wore to rise above her knees. For a moment, I was concerned she might be readying herself to leave, but then she continued to explain. “I mean, does it make a difference?”
Reading women had never been a strength of mine, but then and there, I knew what my response was, and regardless of how she would take it, I knew it was true. “I just don’t like secrets.”
A new smile crested her lips at my reply. “Neither do I,” she admitted. “But I barely know you.”
“Well, perhaps that will change next week.” The offer to ease her nervousness appeared to work, as I both accepted her help and eased the depth of my questions for the time being.
Satisfied Lauren would be sticking around for a little while, I settled alongside her on the floor. She scooted away only as a means to make room for me on the blanket. Confident in my next and final question for the day, I cleared my throat.
“Yes?” she asked presumptuously.
“I’m that predictable, huh?”
“Perhaps.”
“Don’t worry. I was just thinking that, since you will be here next week, you should come with me to the funeral.”
She raised a brow, inquiring where my true intentions lay.
Taking note that her reaction was not one that welcomed the idea of a possible date, I offered an explanation. “She doesn’t have any family that I know of, so if anyone comes, it will likely just be the customers.”
“Hmm. I suppose you’re right.” She waited a moment to contemplate the matter further before offering her decision. “Yeah, I’ll go, but...” Of course, there was always a but . With women, was there ever not? “We should probably drive separately,” she finished.
“Okay,” I said impartially. My intention was not to push anything on Lauren, but I was growing curious. There was no way she was hanging around all week just to help.
Opening a new box, I flattened the wings along the side and looked down on what undoubtedly was the first real clue to our search. Bound together with a paperclip, a collection of obituary notices that had been cut from a newspaper rested inside. Out of all the documents thus far, they all pertained to Ms. Debbie’s financial affairs, but this appeared personal.
The top article was weathered with time and too faded to make out many of the words and even fewer of the faces. However, as I flipped through the other pages, it quickly became apparent that they were all the same clippings.
“That’s odd,” I mumbled.
“What?”
“Look at this,” I poked at Lauren, inattentive to her question and reluctant to move my eyes. “They’re old copies of the same obituary.”
Lauren leaned across my shoulder, the top of her hair brushing my nose, allowing her perfume to tease my senses. Her hand fell on my leg as she arched her back and rocked away from her seat, trying to brace herself. Feeling my manly instincts kick in, I offered for her to hold the pages for a better look. As she fell back along her bottom, she casually brushed her hair from her face as if her actions had no meaning.
“This is odd,” she agreed while carefully perusing the columns. “But wait,” she continued, her finger landing on a faded picture. “Oh my gosh. That looks like Ms. Debbie.”
“But it says, ‘Willow Gladis Murphy, died April 9, 1971,’” I clarified.
“Do you suppose it could be her sister? That would make sense as to why she kept so many of the articles.”
“Perhaps, but check out the birth date: April 10, 1941. That’s the same as Ms. Debbie’s.”
“So . . .”
“Twin sister?” I proposed, almost hopeful to not entertain any other possibilities.
“I guess anything is possible,” Lauren continued. “But you said yourself you were unaware of her having any family.”
“Well, none that she spoke of. Maybe she was just traumatized from losing her sister and being so close to their birthday.” Lauren was already shaking her head in doubt. The whole ordeal was too circumstantial to possibly be true, but that could only mean one thing. “You think she faked her own death?” I finally said.
“Yeah, I do. That would make way more sense.”
“Well, that’s spooky. But let’s assume you’re right. Why would she keep proof of it? The whole purpose of faking your death would be to make sure no one knew the truth. Right?”
“Unless you were wanting to surprise everyone, but that doesn’t sound like Ms. Debbie to me.”
“I would have to agree with you there,” I said. “But...” I stopped, offering Lauren a taste of how the word felt upon the hopes of something. “Why would she have had different last names after she faked her own death?”
“Just because she ran away from one life doesn’t mean she stopped living,” Lauren defended. “And to answer your other question, I don’t think Ms. Debbie intended for anyone to find these except you.”
“Me?” I quipped. “I mean, why me?”
“Maybe she felt guilty. You were her only friend, and perhaps she wanted you to know the truth after she died.”
“I think that’s the first thing you’ve said that I liked. All these other postulations make me feel like our years together have been nothing but lies.”
“I’m sorry,” she offered. “I guess I got a little wrapped up, but really, it’s yours to decide. And I mean that in the best way possible,” she admitted, laying her hand on top of mine.
“Thank you, Lauren. It’s all been a bit much. Perhaps I need to take a break from everything over the weekend. Then after the funeral on Monday, we can dive back into it.”
“Are you sure you want me in your way?” she joked.
“Well, I’m all out of other friends, so it would be nice.” The word “friends” left my mouth before I considered the context.
However, Lauren knew what I meant. Instead of poking me with the word, she settled her head on my shoulder, placing the papers in front of us. Together, we both stared down at the obituary from the Arizona Sun .