Authors: Beth Solheim
At Witt's End (6 page)
Paul poured a mug of fresh coffee and looked out the window. Watching Lon slide into his squad car, Paul said, “Do you think he'll help with your campaign?"
Carl removed his cap and wiped his brow. “The way I see it, he doesn't have a choice. When he was accused of roughing up that perp last summer, I told the Tribal Council the perp had been in an altercation before he was arrested. They wanted to pursue it, but because Fading Sun's such a loser, they finally dropped it."
"I'm surprised the perp's wife didn't pursue it,” Paul said. Staring at Carl with intense green eyes, Paul ran his hand over his hair before patting it into place. “You're not listening to me. I said I'm surprised his wife didn't pursue it. Mrs. Fading Sun usually doesn't put up with prejudice against her husband. She's one of those diversity crusaders."
"What gets me,” Carl said, “is why a white woman with a good education would marry him in the first place."
Paul tipped his head toward his right shoulder, “At least the woman was smart enough to buy an insurance policy on her husband. Her payments are always on time. I can't ask for more than that."
"Yeah. I suppose,” Carl grumbled. “That's all you think about is your insurance business."
"It's not just insurance. It's investments, too. And why wouldn't I think about it? I need to make a living, don't I?” Paul looked at Carl out of the corner of his eye. “Did Lon really rough up Fading Sun when the two of you arrested him?"
"That's none of your business,” Carl said. “All that matters is that the investigation was dropped."
"I'm not hungry, Mom,” Aanders said, pushing the plate with the uneaten chicken aside. Rotating the base of his milk glass against the counter top, he watched the white liquid swirl until it became motionless.
"Don't worry about it.” Nan picked up her son's plate.” I'll put it in the fridge. You might want it later.” The ringing of the phone cut across her words.
Aanders crossed to the counter as the phone rang for the second time. “Harren Funeral Home."
The two-bedroom mortuary apartment made a shoebox look large, but Aanders had grown to love it. They had moved into the apartment after Nan's divorce. His mother installed a second phone line in the apartment to handle business calls after countless attempts at running from the apartment to the office had failed. Aanders knew his mother wanted to house hunt, but she told him the convenience of being on-site to run the business as well as the luxury of not having house payments was too good to pass up. Thoughts of relocation had been placed on hold.
While his mom and dad were still married, Nan had contracted with the University of Minnesota to provide internship opportunities to mortuary science students. She had added the apartment to the mortuary to house the students. Aanders’ dad hated the apartment and called it an unnecessary extravagance. The apartment now made Nan's financial burdens easier to tolerate.
Aanders watched his mother jot directions on the scratch pad she kept by the phone. Slowly, his gaze wandered to the basement door.
Nan folded the sheet and patted Aanders’ arm. “I'm going to change and then I've got to retrieve a body at the nursing home. Will you be okay by yourself?"
"Yeah,” he said, without meeting her eyes.
Nan lifted his chin with her fingers. “I want you to promise you won't go downstairs. I don't want you to see Tim till I've prepped his body.” Kissing his forehead she added, “We'll have our own private viewing when I get back."
A tear rolled down Aanders’ cheek. Nan brushed it away with her thumb. He leaned sideways to escape her hand. He didn't want to cry.
"I'm taking your silence as a promise.” Nan lifted a black suit off a hanger and retreated toward the bathroom to change clothes. “I'll be back as soon as I can.” As she reached to close the door behind her, Belly whined and made a feeble attempt to scratch behind his right ear. “Take that dog back to Sadie's while I'm gone. Why don't you ask Mr. Bakke to show you his new fishing rod? He bought it this morning. Maybe he'll let you try a few casts off the end of the dock."
Nan emerged from behind the door wearing a midi-length black skirt and a sleeveless white shell. Aanders watched her slip into a black jacket.
Aanders pressed the garage door opener while his mother climbed into the driver's seat. He waited as she propped a clipboard against the steering wheel and transferred the address from the note to the document on the clipboard.
"How long will you be gone?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe an hour. Two at the most."
As Aanders walked back into the kitchen, Belly let out a pleading whimper. Aanders brushed the dog aside with his foot. “You big fatty. You know he's down there, don't you?"
Belly circled in excitement, his toenails clicking against the floor. Raking his claws against the door's panel, the dog looked up at Aanders in anticipation.
"I can't let you go down there. Mom would kill me. Besides, I promised I wouldn't go down there.” Clapping his hands together to get Belly's attention, Aanders insisted, “You heard what Mom said. I'm supposed to take you back to the cabin."
Belly lifted his chin and let out a piercing howl.
Aanders reached for the doorknob, but pulled back.
The four black hairs at the end of Belly's tail gyrated as his entire rear end swayed in excitement. When Aanders reached for the knob a second time, Belly began to pant.
A tiny sliver of darkness appeared and cool air wafted from the opening. Belly pulled at the panel with his paw. The door swung wide.
"Belly,” Aanders shouted. “Come back here."
The sound of Belly's claws hitting the wooden stairs echoed from the opening before he landed with a grunt on the basement floor.
Shouting into the darkness, Aanders again said, “Belly. Get back up here right now. You'll get me in trouble."
Whimpers and barks of enthusiasm emanated from the shadows in counterpoint to the sound of his nails against the hard tile floor.
"You dumb dog. Come here right now.” Aanders placed a foot on the top step and strained to see past one of the nightlights twinkling in the darkness. “Right now. I mean it.” Reducing his voice to a whisper, he repeated the dog's name and lowered his foot down another step. His finger twitched against the light switch.
The brightness momentarily blinded him and he waited for his eyes to adjust. He peered toward the embalming room. Unable to locate the dog, he whispered, “If you don't come here right now, I'm going to get mad. Belly? Did you hear what I said? Belly?"
A sharp yip caused Aanders to flip the switch off and hop toward the top step. He turned his ear toward the sound. “Are you okay down there?” He wiped his palms against his pants, waiting for the next sound.
Excited panting and more toe clicking enticed Aanders into turning the light back on. One by one, he descended the stairs. Whispering the dog's name, he continued to encourage Belly out of the embalming room. “I can't go in there. You have to come out. If Mom comes home now, she'll kill both of us. I mean it. We'll be really, really dead."
Growing fearful his mom would return and the receiving bay door would rise to expose him and the stubborn dog, Aanders grew more insistent. He approached the embalming room door. He snapped his fingers and crouched to Belly's level. “Come here boy. I've got a treat for you.” The enticing offer usually did the trick, but Belly ignored the suggestion. His gyrating tail kept his rear in motion all the way back to the far corner of the room.
Belly put him in danger of betraying his mother's trust. The simple mission to find the dog and hurry upstairs before he saw the Fossums’ bodies grew daunting. Two embalming machine lights blinked rhythmically casting an eerie green hue. The ceiling light from the hall adjacent to the embalming room added to his ability to recognize items as he gingerly moved forward.
A long, narrow embalming table stood in the middle of the room flanked on both sides by a bank of stainless steel cabinets. The back wall featured a massive, steel door. The door led to a walk-in, refrigerated storage bay containing two sliding body trays. Each tray pulled out and retracted for easy access. Because the cold-storage unit currently held two bodies, Nan had placed the third body on the embalming table in the center of the room.
Aanders spotted Belly in the corner of the room, pawing at the air. “There you are. Come here, you dumb dog.” Aanders’ hand brushed against the cold foot of the body lying on the steel table. He let out a gurgled cry. He backed away from the table and bumped against a cabinet causing steel tools to clank noisily against a metal pan. Another cry rose from Aanders’ throat. He looked over his shoulder at the body on the table.
There he was. Tim Fossum. His best friend.
A white sheet covered Tim's body. Three of Tim's fingers protruded from beneath the edge of the sheet. The sheet clung to the boy's body, elevated by Tim's nose and his rigid toes. It looked like one big glow-in-the-dark lump, reflecting a green hue from the embalming machine.
A guttural wail rasped from Aanders. Sensing his legs about to give out, he grabbed the edge of the table and hung on. Nausea spasms rose in his throat. He had often helped his mother lift the heavier bodies when she was unable to manage them by herself, but no amount of exposure to mortuary procedures could have prepared him for the inconsolable loss he experienced. His friend was dead. His friend who he could tell anything to was lying next to him. Gone forever.
Sorrow flowed freely as Aanders’ chest heaved with deep emotion.
Belly waddled over and poked Aanders’ leg with his nose. Waiting patiently for his friend to sort through his emotions, the dog whined and lay down at the boy's feet.
Aanders knelt and pulled Belly close. “Why, Belly? Why did he have to die? It's so stupid. If he'd have just come home with me instead of going with his mom and dad, he'd be alive now."
Belly offered a slobbery lick in understanding before ambling back to the corner. His tail darted in a replay of excitement before he plopped down on his right haunch with his left leg splayed out in front. He stared into the corner. His head cocked back and forth.
Aanders touched Tim's finger tips, letting his gaze settle on the sheet over Tim's head. He grasped the sheet with two hands as he had seen his mother do when she uncovered the bodies for an initial viewing and folded the sheet back against Tim's chest. He gasped at Tim's pallor. Grabbing the table with both hands, he fought the lightheadedness that again caused him to tilt.
Waiting until he could stand unassisted, he said, “I hate you for leaving me. I hate you.” He ran his hand under his nose and wiped it on his pants leg. “You were my best friend. You were my only friend.” He shook as the angry words spewed forth. “We were going to be friends forever."
Belly again nudged Aanders’ leg and snorted when the boy bent to hug him.
Pulling Belly close, Aanders said, “We were going to invent a computer game and get rich. Tim said we'd buy matching trucks.” As if reading from a list, Aanders continued, “We were going to have new friends. We were going to take our moms on a trip. We were going to do anything we wanted.” He buried his face in Belly's neck and let the tears flow.
"Tim didn't care that I lived in a mortuary.” Pounding the floor with his fist, Aanders shouted, “How could he have done this to me? I was his best friend.” He threw his head back and gulped through the sobs. “What am I supposed to do now?"
"You'll always be my best friend, Aanders."
Aanders gasped, choking on air suddenly caught in his throat. His back grew rigid. He turned his head slightly to the right and peeked out of the corner of his eye.
Belly waddled eagerly toward the corner.
Aanders looked back at the body on the table. “Now I'm hearing things. I thought you said something."
Aanders snapped his fingers in command. “Come here you stupid dog. Right now. We've got to get out of here."
The voice from the corner said, “I did say something. I said you'll always be my best friend. No matter what."
Aanders screamed as he turned his head toward the corner. Trembling, he strained to see through the darkness and braced himself against a cabinet.
The voice from the corner also gasped in disbelief. “You can hear me? I can't believe it. If you can hear me, then you must be able to see me, too. Can you see me, Aanders?"
A fearful moan escaped as Aanders felt his way toward the door.
"Don't go,” the voice begged. “Please don't go. It's me. It's me, Tim."
Shrieking louder as he looked from Tim's body on the table to the faint image in the corner, Aanders bumped against a cart containing embalming fluid. The cart toppled, sending plastic gallon jars rolling across the floor.
"You can see me, can't you?” Tim shouted. “You can see me!"
Aanders inched toward the door with his back hugging the counter. The figure shifted forward into the glow of the hall's light.
Aanders jerked his gaze from the figure to the body on the table. It was Tim. It was his friend standing there as well as his friend's body under the sheet on the table. “It ca-ca-can't be.” He pointed in both directions. “You can't be in both places at the same time.” He whispered, “Can you?"
"It's me. It really is. But guess what? If I'm dead and you can see me, then you're a death coach. Nobody else can see the crossers except death coaches.” Tim grinned at his friend. “I can't believe it. Wait till I tell Sadie.” He breathlessly added, “Maybe you already know you're a coach. Have you been keeping it from me all this time?"
Belly circled, stopping long enough during the rotations to offer a paw to Tim.
"Are you crazy?” Aanders shouted. “I don't know what you're talking about.” He pointed to the body on the table and then again at Tim. “Are you dead or not?"
"I'm dead all right. But there's more. We were murdered and I've got to prove it."
Nan watched Mr. Bakke spray disinfectant over the embalming table and rub it vigorously with a white cloth.