“Oh, Price. I’m so sorry,” Tracy said. “But this is Mrs. Bentley’s funeral.” She placed a steadying hand on my shoulder, concern in her eyes. “Darn it, somebody should have told you. Are you all right?”
No. I was very much not all right. I was no-place-to-live, no-job-to-go-to, fiancé-kicked-me-out-on-my-ass, too-proud-to-beg-one-of-my-not-so-interested-parents-to-take-me-in not all right. Shoot, shoot, shoot. I took a deep breath and lifted my chin with a smile. “Of course, I’m great, thank you. Just a little surprised.”
The ceremony ended to the sharp applause of the taller of the two irreverent old women and the continued grumbling of the third old woman beside me. The crowd dispersed before I had a chance to realize what was going on and I got the sneaking suspicion that most of the people had attended out of obligation, not love. Perhaps Agatha Bentley hadn’t been all that well-liked in the community. Maybe she wasn’t a very nice person, and this was the universe’s way of protecting me from a bad experience. I ground my teeth together and tried to convince myself the world was acting in my best interest instead of taking another gigantic poop on my already poop-stained head.
As I watched the mourners flee from the park, I felt a stab of sympathy for the deceased thrift shop owner. I wondered who would stay by my coffin if I dropped dead. My cell phone contact list was jammed to the brim, but I couldn’t count a single true friend on it. Gerard, my ex-fiancé, had taken all our friends in the split, and I guessed he’d already handed them to Ivana; my friends, my bed, my life. But not my clothes. Because she had a perfect juicy butt to go with her toned tummy and her full bust. She had no need for my push-up bras or narrow leggings, so Gerard had packed those up for me and Fed-exed them with a gift hamper and a card thanking me for the seven years we’d spent together and my understanding response to his need to move on. The note was written in his secretary’s handwriting. Douchebag.
I clenched my back teeth and forced myself back to the present moment to discover the crowd had almost entirely disappeared , except for the priest, leaving the coffin alone in the middle of the park. I raised my eyebrows. What a weird funeral.
Tracy hung back with me, as did the strange old lady who continued to mutter under her breath as she glared across the field at the backs of the retreating funeral guests. I was unsure whether to stick around or head back to the apartment, the note on the door had merely told me to go to the park, nothing more.
“So.” Tracy turned toward me. “What are you going to do now?” I felt a swell of gratitude that I’d somehow happened upon one of the less bizarre inhabitants of downtown Salem. It offered some comfort that I at least wasn’t totally alone while I headed toward the verge of a total meltdown.
“I’ve no idea.” I shook my head. “I genuinely have no clue what I’m going to do.”
“Wah, wah, wah.” My head jerked back as I stared at the old woman. “You young people are always complaining,” she sniped. “What could you possibly have to complain about apart from the fact that your pants are always ten sizes too tight for your weird skinny little bodies?”
My eyes grew wide as I watched the old lady roll her eyes, clearly unimpressed with the look of me. I quickly glanced down at my stretch-denim pants and frowned. “I…”
“You’ll figure it out,” Tracy interrupted, completely ignoring Bitchy Mc Grayhair. “I might be able to—”
“Excuse me, ladies.” A tall man with a thick mustache approached, carrying a large envelope in one hand and bouquet of flowers in the other. He cut across Tracy with a respectful nod before he fixed his attention on me. “I’m the local mayor, are you Priscilla Jones?”
“Price Jones,” I corrected. “And yep, that’s me.”
“Price,” the old woman spat, her voice shrill. “What kind of a stupid name is that? Young people these days have no respect for proper names.”
I waited to see how Tracy and the man would react to the old woman’s insulting rant, but they stared right through her. I bit down on my lip and did my best to follow their lead. Maybe if I ignored her she’d go away? There were plenty of old people in Portland, but I’d never seen anyone quite like the three women at this funeral before.
“Price Jones, my apologies. Priscilla was written on the deeds. This is for you. Mrs. Bentley’s attorney asked me to make sure you got it.” The mayor handed me the envelope before turning to Tracy, his eyes bright and his smile wide. “And these are for you. I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for Max. You truly are a miracle woman.”
“Just doing my job, Larry. Thanks.” Tracy’s expression was blank as she accepted the flowers. She turned her back to him pointedly, so she faced me once more. “Everything okay, Price?”
Deeds? Did he say deeds? I peered inside the envelope and saw a series of large metal keys on a ring sitting amongst a thick stack of printed paper. I pulled out the key ring and inspected it, conscious of the furrows forming on my brow. Gerard’s voice rang in my ears, reminding me that most women in their late twenties were already having Botox injections to get their complexions’ fresh. As fresh as Ivana’s peachy butt, probably. I pursed my lips.
“Are those Agatha’s keys?” Tracy raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Well, looks like you have a place to stay, after all.”
The mayor looked as if he were about to say something, but having been so clearly dismissed by Tracy, he turned and walked away from us with hunched shoulders and a downturned face. Tracy looked at her watch and cursed. “Oh crap, I’m going to be late for my next client. It was great meeting you, Price.” She rummaged through her pocket and pulled out a small square business card. “Here’s my card. If you need anything at all, or if you fancy grabbing a coffee, give me a call anytime. My office is just down the street from Agatha’s store.” She gave my shoulder a tight squeeze before turning and following the other mourners across the field.
Chapter Two
I stood frozen in place as Tracy walked away and tucked the card into the envelope with the other papers. The keys felt heavy in my hand, and I wrapped my fingers tightly around them, considering what I should do next. I needed to sit down and figure out what the hell was going on. I also figured I should at least go move my bags inside before someone stole them, hoping that they hadn’t already. Not that I had much left to steal. In the seven years we’d been together, while I had helped him through grad school and starting his yogalates business, what had been mine, had been Gerard’s. But as it turned out, what was Gerard’s, was just Gerard’s. Goodbye car, goodbye home, goodbye everything but my panties and my clothes. The bastard hadn’t even sent on my little buzzy…friends.
A shadow moved at my side and I realized the old lady was still there. She glared at Tracy’s retreating back. “Well, I’ll be, accepting flowers from the mayor, is it? I can’t believe that woman has got herself another lady date already. What a hussy.”
I pinched my lips and turned my back to the cranky old woman, slowly making my way across the field toward Agatha Bentley’s apartment. To my dismay, the old woman followed, babbling incessantly. I increased my pace, hoping that she would get the hint, and I let out a sigh of relief when I noticed she had disappeared by the time I rounded the corner to the block the apartment was on.