“Go ahead, it is kind of funny.” I smiled, too. Somehow, in Sean’s presence, Bill’s infidelity didn’t sting as much. “But that’s all in the past. Trey and I have been fine without him. My son will be going to college in the fall. I have a new job. We’re doing okay.”
“Speaking of your job, it seems like Bentley Burlington-Duke is a bit of a cold fish, taking off with a dead man in her office.” He stroked his chin. “Somewhat suspicious, I might add.”
Did he truly suspect that Bentley had anything to do with Marlette’s demise? “Have the medical examiners established it was murder?” I asked. “I keep thinking about poor Marlette.”
A look crossed his face that resembled a gate closing. “Lila, I know I just brought up the topic by commenting on your boss, but I can’t discuss the case with you. If we’re going to be friends”—his cheeks dimpled as he smiled—“then details about this case can’t enter our conversation. Deal?”
I nodded.
“Unless I need to bring you in for questioning. That kind of conversation would be official,” he added, a flicker of steel in his eyes.
I finished the rest of my coffee and grimaced. It had grown cold.
Chapter 6
I SPENT THE REST OF THE WEEKEND PACKING. AFTER telling Trey to load the things he couldn’t live without from his room into suitcases, I carefully wrapped framed photographs and fragile knickknacks in newspaper. Upon leaving the café where I’d had coffee with Sean, I stopped by the UPS Store to pick up supplies and then, while eating lunch, read an informative article on the Internet about preparing one’s house to be put on the market. The author recommended removing all personal items and clearing surface areas of clutter so prospective buyers could picture themselves putting their own possessions in the house. I followed this advice by boxing photos, books, and various keepsakes. I also emptied the closets of clothes, coats, and shoes, frowning at the scuffmarks on the walls and the dust bunnies that had been hiding behind my winter boots and galoshes.
Once I’d removed everything from the kitchen counters, including my English cottage cookie jar, the ceramic canisters for flour, sugar, and tea, my rotating spice rack, and a pottery utensil jar, I took all the magnets off the refrigerator and tossed them into the garbage.
That afternoon I fielded a phone call from a member of the school board. We scheduled a meeting to discuss remuneration for the damages Trey inflicted on the football field, and I jotted the date and time in my day planner.
On Sunday, I vacuumed, dusted, and polished until my arms ached. Trey had just finished mowing the lawn and weeding the flowerbeds when my mother arrived. The rumble of her pickup’s engine preceded the old truck. While Trey and I sat drinking sweet tea on the stoop, the 1970s C-10 came into view.
My mother had bought the truck for a song ten years ago and driven it straight from the used car lot to a detail shop in Raleigh where it had been painted a custom turquoise reminiscent of the waters off the coast of Fiji. She then slapped a magnetic sign to each door advertising her services as Amazing Althea, Inspiration Valley’s famous psychic.
Now here she was, laying on the horn to announce her presence as though the sound and hue of her truck could somehow be missed. Trey began to mumble a torrent of complaints about how bored he’d be living in the sticks.
“She doesn’t have cable or Internet access,” he groused. “How am I going to check my email or download new tunes?”
I pointed at the nearest box and told him to carry it to the truck. “Maybe you’ll land a summer job at a company that has Wi-Fi.”
“Right.” Trey rolled his eyes. “Like all the losers flipping burgers and delivering pizzas are booting up laptops during their breaks.”
I was too tired to get into another argument with him, but my mother saved the day by throwing her arms around Trey and saying how happy she was that he’d be living under her roof. “It’ll be like the sleepovers we used to have when you were a little tyke,” she said, beaming. “Remember that time we painted the room with all those wacky creatures from Where the Wild Things Are? And then we pretended the bed was a boat and we had to catch Swedish fish for our supper? Oh, I’m tickled just thinkin’ about those magical nights.” She reached way up and ruffled his hair.
He immediately shook his long bangs back into place over his brows. “That was fun, Nana, but I’m not a kid anymore.”
My mother studied him carefully. “No, you’re not. You’re caught in that place between boy and man. Can’t decide whether you should be flexin’ your wings or hidin’ under the covers until the tough times pass on by. But bein’ away from Dunston will do you a world of good. This town is as worn-out as my favorite pair of boots. You need to breathe fresh air and be around young folks who know exactly what they want, like those interestin’ people up on Red Fox Mountain.” She looked at me, her eyes alight with mischief. “That’s where Marlette lived, you know.”