Liquid Lies (13 page)

Glancing over my shoulder I saw that Jacob had already began work on the porch banister.

“What do you mean I would be honored to give the eulogy?” I said throwing my hands up in the air. “I don’t even know her anymore. I can’t do it.”

“Of course you can. You have to. I mean there is so much you can say. Why don’t you remember all the years you were best friends,” Estelle pleaded. “Maybe tell stories of her. You have a lot. Remember your fifth birthday and how she made you that jewelry box with hearts all over? She was always doing things for others. Oh and all the animals she rescued, and how she never had a frown. She lived life to the fullest, didn't she? There are so many stories. Hey what about the concert for her eighteenth birthday? I’m sure that was a great night too, wasn’t it sweetie?”

Oh sure. And I could hear the eulogy now:
“Good day ladies and gentlemen, family and friends, neighbors. I know we are all gathered here to honor Francesca Pike’s life. There are only a handful of people who come into your world, and touch your life in a dramatic fashion. I can honestly say that there are only a few people who have walked into my life and changed it forever. Yes, Francesca and I were best friends doing all the things best friends do together. Like skinning knees while playing hopscotch, or learning to ride a bike, getting into a few fender benders learning to drive. Shopping for prom dresses, figuring the ins and outs of guys and dating. Yes, there were countless memories of laughter and adventure with her. Oh, and we killed someone together. Yes, we had a hell of a night on her eighteenth birthday…”

While Jacob hammered on the front porch, I helped Estelle clean the kitchen and salvage her burnt lasagna. Afterward, Estelle left for the Cathedral to light candles for Francesca’s soul, and get information from Father O’Doul on Francesca’s memorial service.

Lying on my bed, Skipper at my side softly snoring, the ceiling fan gently humming, I tried to sort out my life. All the while I was thinking of Francesca’s death and her eulogy.

My cell rang. The caller ID lit up. It was Ken. “Hi.”

“Hi Babe, I finally got a hold of you. How are you?” he said.

Really shitty. “Fine. And you?”

“Fine. I’m sorry we haven’t been able to spend much time together recently. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Don’t worry. You’re busy. We’ll have plenty of time in the future,” I said. “So what’s going on?”

“Not much. I’ve been questioned by several officers. Reporters have also been showing up. It’s pandemonium. I guess the lake is off limits for taking my boat out. Sleepy little Round Lake has a murderer on the loose, and the whole town is buzzing.”

“Yes, things have come to a standstill. But I’ve got plenty to do. I have to write a eulogy for Francesca.” I explained to Ken how I got cornered into doing the eulogy.

“By the way, did you know that Estelle and Hazel are causing uproar around here?” he asked.

It wouldn’t be the first time. They once chained themselves to a bulldozer that was going to plow down an empty lot full of trees and wildflowers. They wanted the site saved as a nature preserve. Staying up all night, singing “The Yellow Taxi” song: “They’ve paved paradise and put up a parking lot,” at the top of their lungs into a megaphone. Everyone came out in droves to sign the petition, as much to save their ears as to save the lot.

“What are they doing?” I asked.

“Getting a petition signed. Hazel is the ringleader and got Estelle on board. They’re talking to media, trying to garner support to stop the hospital’s expansion,” he said.

“Could you blame them Ken? They’ll lose their homes. By the way, why didn’t you ever mention that the plans changed?” I asked.

“Come on now. It’s advancement for the whole community. They’ll get a fair price for their houses, and there are plenty of others they can buy.”

Flabbergasted I said, “You can buy a
house,
but not a
home
. They have
homes
.”

“I wasn’t at liberty to tell you about the plans here. We weren’t allowed to talk until all the legalities and permits were set. Hey, I’m all for the hospital’s growth. This is a win-win. I could be a major player in the new cardiology wing in Phase two. And Estelle and Hazel could end up with bigger houses. They might even get lake views.”

My jaw clenched. “They could give a rat’s behind about bigger houses or lake views. They just want to keep their homes.”

“Why would they want to impede progress? It’ll be a big boon for the community. Increased revenue for better schools, roads and more. Round Lake will have enhanced property values and additional jobs. C'mon. You don’t want the city to come to a standstill and deteriorate do you?” he asked, sounding righteous.

I was extremely incensed. “But at the cost of people losing their homes.”

“Are you kidding? You’d take your aunt and her crazy friend’s side before the community’s growth?” he asked.

“Well, yes. And they're not crazy. Why would I ever take the side of a business over family?”

Ken’s voice rose, “Is that how you really feel? Then you’re naïve.”

“Naïve? Are you calling me immature?” I was riled.

“Forget about it. You need to realize that change is a part of life.”

“Don’t tell me about change. I went from having two parents one minute to being an orphan the next. Don't tell me I don’t know about change.”

The truth was I detested change.

“Fine. But you have to get Estelle and Hazel to back off. This will come back to bite me,” he said.

“Is that all you’re worried about? Your reputation?” my voice rose.

“This conversation is going downhill,” he shouted.

“Yes it is.” My heart sank.

“But I have to tell you, I can’t have someone who puts other people before me,” he said.

“What other people? Estelle is family, and for all intents and purposes so is Hazel. I’m not putting them before you. I’m putting their homes before the hospital’s plans.”

“Damn it.” Ken huffed. “I need a break.”

Relief flooded over me. We were going to have peace again and let this disagreement slide. “Sure. Go have a cup of coffee and call me back. Then we can talk.”

“Not that kind of break,” he said.

“Huh?” I asked.

“A break from us.” Ken lowered his voice. I heard a long sigh.

My esophagus constricted, my heart felt as though it stopped. “From
us
?”

“CiCi, it’s too much to have all of this going on right now. I thought I could focus on our relationship and put in the hours at work I need to. I’m really sorry. It’s just not working. Listen, I have to go, I’m getting paged. Goodbye.”

I whispered goodbye into a dead phone line.

Did my fiancé just break up with me?

Dumbfounded and heartbroken, I laid there, stomach churning, tears streaming down my cheeks, my body anesthetized. Watching the ceiling fan blades rotate. I tried to make sense of my life. Then I decided against it, for fear I’d stick my head in the oven and turn it on.

“Hello, anyone home?” Jacob’s voice echoed in the hallway.

I got up from the bed without disturbing Skipper and made my way to the front of the house.

Jacob stood in the half open front door. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“No, that’s fine,” I said.

“Please let Estelle know that I’ll be back in a little while. I need to get another part to finish the repairs.” He paused and surveyed me. “Are you okay?”

My eyes must have been swollen. I uttered, “I’ll let her know.”

He walked over to me, and put his hand on my forehead. “You look like you might have a fever.”

Jacob’s hand on my forehead sent goose bumps down my arms.

“No. I’m not sick. Just a little emotional.”

He inclined against the door jam. “I don’t want to get into your business, but do you want to talk about it?”

This was one of those moments when I did something and had no idea what possessed me to do it. I walked onto the porch and collapsed into one of the yellow wooden Adirondack chairs. Jacob sat down in the other.

I began talking and sniffling at the same time, about Francesca, about the fight with my fiancé, about the police, about the eminent domain. As Jacob listened, he placed his hand on top of my knee. When I finished, I felt relieved to let it all out. Well, everything except the blackmailer part and the truck stop incident.

“What can I do for you?” Jacob said as he swept hair from my eyes.

“Nothing. You’ve done enough. You listened to me babble. I’m so embarrassed,” I said.

Pulling his chair closer to me, he looked me in the eyes, “You don’t have to be. I was glad to listen. Are you sure you’re okay?”

No. “Yes.”

Then a thought occurred, about the fight he had with Francesca on the dock yesterday morning. Since I wanted to try to play amateur detective I needed all the information from anyone who knew her. Maybe the pieces would fall together and I could help figure out what happened to her. “This question may seem out of the blue, but why were you fighting with Francesca yesterday? I mean, Mark had pulled me out of the Lake. I was sort of lying there. You were in the crowd. I saw Francesca and you argue or something.”

“You’re direct aren’t you?” Jacob smiled.

“Did you know her well?” I asked.

He looked away. “She was my boss.”

“Boss?”

“My crew and I were subcontractors on the work at the hospital. Her father owns part of a commercial construction company that was hired to do the work. I guess since she’s been back, he gave her the reins of running the everyday office operation, while he raised money for his gubernatorial campaign,” Jacob said.

“But you never answered me, why were you fighting?” I asked.

“It was business related.” With that, he stood up and kissed me tenderly on my cheek. “I’ll be back later to finish the repairs. Please tell Estelle.”

“Sure,” I mumbled.

Humiliation spread over me as he walked away. I took advantage of his kindness by pouring out my heart out to him. I wasn’t sure what to do next. Perhaps I’d go to the Cathedral and light a candle for Francesca. Maybe while I walked I could start thinking up something to say for Francesca’s eulogy. All I had so far is “We’re here to honor Francesca Pike.” While I was at it I could write eulogies for the death of my engagement to Ken, and of Estelle’s and Hazels’ homes.

Maybe I’d just fling myself in front of a speeding truck.

***

The noontime temperature had warmed up from the morning chill. I headed to the Cathedral.

Kids played in their yards, some neighbors gardened, and others mowed grass or washed cars. People were going about their daily routines, as if an unspeakable tragedy hadn’t occurred. Maybe that was what we needed to do, get back to our comforting schedules and habits. To honor the loss of life is to keep living and not cower to death’s hand.

Neighbors waved as I passed them on the tree lined sidewalk. By now I was sure that everyone knew I found Francesca, and that was easy gossip. But like anything else, like when my parents were killed, it was all anyone could talk about, until the next big event came along.

Yet nothing replaced the loss of my folks. Estelle took over as my mother as best she could. Now that I thought about it, in some way, Ken replaced my dad. Ken was older, in control, protective. Like my dad, except my dad was a big teddy bear, tender in the center of his macho exterior. Ken was like that the first few years we dated. Ken. Now my ex- fiancé.

And my best friend Francesca was dead. I felt heavy like I’d been caught in a torrential downpour, where every inch of me was soaked to the bone.

Nearing the Cathedral, I saw Detective Wurkowski talking to a group of people at the end of the sidewalk. I couldn’t take any more questioning, I was afraid I was going to say something that might incriminate me before they found the real killer. Ducking into the Cathedral, I dipped my finger in to the cool holy water and then made a sign of the cross.

Taking a deep breath I took in the comforting aroma of incense and polished wood. I gazed at the multi-colored stain glass windows, and cavernous ceiling. After lighting a candle, I knelt and said a prayer for Francesca’s soul. Knowing that I was in deep trouble, I asked God for a sign, something to tell me what to do next.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the hairless pudgy Father O’Doul waddle into the confessional. Considering it had been years since I went to confession, probably since before Francesca’s eighteenth birthday, I took that as a sign. Feeling the weight of a thousand emotions pulling down on my soul, I thought confession might offer some relief.

Entering the confessional, I knelt. “Bless me father for I have sinned. It has been about four years since my last confession. My sins are…”
I stopped.

What am I doing in here? Could I really tell him I committed murder? Priests are a link to God. But they are also human. Would he be obligated to tell authorities of any mortal crimes? I wanted to get all the facts in order before I went to the police. Maybe Francesca’s death had nothing to do with the blackmailer from the trucker incident. If it did, and I knew it did for sure, then I would go to the police so they could solve Francesca’s death.