Chapter Twenty-seven
Wednesday I arrive two hours before the memorial to set up.
Inside the lobby area, I vacuum the carpet.
I open the double doors leading into the room where we’re hosting the memorial, and vacuum there too.
Then, I unstack the chairs one by one and set them up in silent rows.
At some point, Bill joins me to help. He leaves quietly when the last chair is positioned.
He’s insisted on hosting the memorial at no charge, which I’m grateful for.
I’m pretty sure I’m dissociating as I set up the poster I had made of Zoe’s picture, with the dates of her birth and death beneath, because that’s the only way to explain how terribly calm I feel.
A gentle cough behind me makes me turn – Elsie, in a black minidress and black stockings today, staring at me.
I stare back. She didn’t even know Zoe. I don’t want any platitudes.
‘I got the invoice,’ she says, her dark eyes unblinking.
Huh? For the floral wreath that just got delivered? I put it on my personal credit card, so I don’t know why she’d have the paperwork …
Her eyebrows lift infinitesimally. ‘For the expedited meat testing.’
Oh. I swallow. I’m too removed from myself to feel panic, but this would be a particularly sucky moment to get fired.
‘I can reimburse the company for it,’ I say, my voice deadly calm. ‘Next week, after I get paid.’
Elsie crosses her arms and tilts her head, considering me. ‘What did you have tested?’
I let out a sigh. Why hide it, now? ‘Some ground-up meat I found in this guy’s freezer. I thought maybe he was Zoe’s killer.’ I don’t fill in the rest – that he is, in fact, Zoe’s killer.
‘So you thought the ground-up meat was …’ She gestures to Zoe’s picture.
It was one of the few pictures I could find where she was wearing a full-on smile, her eyes alive, her joy infectious.
I snapped it right after she got her first piece accepted into a gallery.
Now I know the painting was Life. Once Liam is behind bars, I wonder if there’s a way to get it back.
‘Yeah,’ I say.
Elsie looks more interested in me than ever before. ‘And was it?’
‘No. Just beef.’
She purses her lips. ‘That’s pretty dark.’
‘Yeah.’ I look at her for any hint of where this is headed. ‘So – are you going to tell Bill?’
‘Extenuating circumstances. But what about the guy? Do you still think he did it?’
‘Yep.’ Elsie has never invited this much conversation.
Maybe it’s just me responding to her sudden interest, maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t really talked to someone in days, but suddenly, I find myself spilling out the details like verbal diarrhea – my late nights on Reddit, the two other women, all living in adjacent North Side neighborhoods, the timing of each disappearance, and now there’s Brooke Walsh too.
Elsie’s expression doesn’t change as I narrate, but I can feel her focus on me like a laser beam.
When I finish, she says, ‘Damn. So this influencer is the latest victim?’
‘Looks like it.’
Elsie scrunches her brow. ‘But bodies showed up for the previous two women, and just a foot and ashes for Zoe? That’s weird.’
‘Yeah. I don’t know.’ And I truly don’t.
Theories have flitted through my brain. His deep freezer breaking, so he had to cremate most of her; her foot would fit in a normal-sized freezer, so he kept that back.
Or, going much darker, her body was harmed in ways he wanted to hide.
But I’ve let these unproductive thoughts go.
They’ll be forcing a confession out of Liam soon, and then I’ll know everything.
‘Did he keep the other women’s feet as trophies, do you think?’ Elsie asks.
‘Sounds like it.’
She shivers. ‘But the opposite with Zoe, huh?’
I sigh. ‘I don’t know. Maybe he dumped one foot but kept the other.’
‘But he cremated most of her. Why not cremate everything?’
‘It seems like he wants people to be able to identify the victims, so everyone knows who he killed.’
‘Wow,’ says Elsie. ‘What a psycho.’
‘You can say that again,’ I mutter.
In the lobby, the front door opens, pulling my attention away from the grim conversation.
Two people enter, and I know right away it’s Zoe’s parents.
Tim, I recognize from his Facebook profile picture, with his full head of white hair and square jaw.
Sue, in a navy blue sheath dress, looks nothing like Zoe.
Her hair is cropped short and she wears a pair of glasses with a delicate chain.
It’s only on closer examination that I see the resemblance to her daughter in the high forehead and huge brown eyes. Deep breath.
‘Excuse us, we’re looking for Margot McKee?’ says Sue.
‘That’s me.’ I step toward them. ‘You’re Zoe’s parents?’ We shake hands. ‘Nice to meet you, Pastor Dawson – or sorry, is it Reverend?’
He gives me a confused smile. ‘Neither. I’m an engineer.’
‘Right. I just thought …’ I shake my head. ‘Never mind.’ Was I completely misremembering what Zoe had told me about them?
‘Well,’ says Tim with a sad smile. ‘Sue and I are so grateful that you contacted us. I hope it’s all right, but we brought a few things to display. Some old things of Zoe’s, as well as some photo albums—’
‘That sounds lovely,’ I say.
‘We could use some help carrying the stuff in, if you don’t mind,’ says Tim. ‘We’re parked out back.’ Then he gestures his wife to a nearby chair. ‘Not you, sweetheart. You sit and rest. Let the young people help me.’
‘Of course.’ I force a smile. ‘Lead the way.’
I can’t help but notice the Coexist bumper sticker on the back of their car, along with some liberal political messaging.
‘This is your car?’ I clarify, because this is not making sense. ‘I thought you were, er, religious.’
‘Oh! Well, we do like to attend the Unitarian Universalist church from time to time. But no, Sue and I have never been particularly religious.’
‘Oh … OK,’ I say, feeling completely disoriented. Where are the controlling, religious parents I thought I was about to meet? As I help carry in the boxes of stuff for display, my mind is racing.
Zoe, why the hell did you lie to me?
*
There are so many people at the memorial, and it’s completely overwhelming. Of course I want everyone to turn out to honor my friend, but after grieving alone for over six months, it’s strange to have other people joining me there, as if my private space has been exploded open.
I take a seat in the front of the parlor to gather myself for the eulogy I’m about to deliver while people find their seats. Someone taps my shoulder – it’s Tim.
‘Sue and I were hoping you could join us handing out programs at the door. We’ll have you on one side of the doors, and we’ll be on the other side to continue receiving the guests.’
I twist in my seat to face him. ‘Of course. I’d be happy to.’
I pass out programs as people filter in. Across from me, Tim is shaking every hand.
‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ people murmur to him as they enter.
‘Yes, it’s a terrible tragedy,’ he says. ‘Her mother and I are devastated.’
I expected to hate the guy. But I find I can’t. He seems like a genuinely good person.
I have to remind myself that I’m well acquainted with men who put on a good front and are jerks in private. That could one hundred per cent be the case here. But I can’t get over his job. Zoe said he was a pastor, and he’s definitely not. Why would she lie about that?
George comes in with Arjun and envelops me in a hug.
‘Sweetie,’ she whispers as she rocks me back and forth. ‘Oh, sweetie.’
Arjun hugs me next. ‘So sorry, Margot.’
After we pull away, I gesture to the parlor. ‘I’m in front on the left, if you guys want to grab a seat next to me.’
George squeezes my shoulder and they both head inside.
Finally, it’s time to begin, and even though I had prepared some opening remarks, Tim beats me to the front of the room, which I’m actually grateful for. I slide in next to George and lean on her shoulder.
‘Welcome, friends,’ he says. ‘It is a sad day today as we grieve the death of my daughter, Zoe Rose Dawson. Her mother Sue and I consider it a privilege to have raised her, and today, we mourn her passing with heavy hearts. Zoe—’ He stops, presses a finger to his lips, obviously emotional, before recovering.
‘—was a young woman who never did things half-heartedly. I hope that—’ He has to stop a second time.
‘I hope that she’s in a better place. I hope she’s found peace. ’
George grabs my hand and squeezes really hard. I squeeze back.
‘Now I’d like to welcome up, for a brief eulogy, Zoe’s dear friend Margot McKee.’
I walk up, jaw clenched to try and stay in control of myself, folded paper in my hand. Then, I face the crowd and read from the scrap where I jotted it all down last night around two a.m.
‘Zoe knew she had one wild and precious life,’ I begin, with a nod to the famous Mary Oliver poem that I love.
‘And she was not afraid to live it. She did everything with her whole heart and her full energy. I have never known someone who was more alive. She refused to be held back, or boxed in, or—’ I pause. ‘Controlled.’
Motion in the back catches my eye – a figure, tall, leaning against the back wall. Liam.
My heart recoils, like someone just punched me in the chest, before exploding into a frantic rhythm.
For a second, I just stare. What the fuck is he doing here?? What the hell, Barnett? He’s supposed to be behind bars!
Then, wrenching my gaze away from him, I continue, speaking louder this time.
‘Her motto was “Live Free or Die.” Now she’s dead. And I think the best way we can all honor her is to live free, which to me, means being true to ourselves for as many days as we’re lucky to have.’ I pause. ‘Thank you.’
Colby, seated near the front, is nodding with her hands pressed to her heart, and George is blinking back tears.
After I take my seat again, I turn around. Liam has disappeared.
*
The short service doesn’t take long to wrap up after that. Bill walks to the front to say the closing words, like he always does.