27

By Thursday, Simon stank—no super-sniffer required—and I still had no plan for how to get rid of him.

Even after the painstaking process of cleaning out the kitty litter (which I still found in random corners and crevices in my bathroom) and covering him with ice, he was beginning to bloat.

I refilled the diffusers with more lemongrass and sprayed so much lavender mist that it coated the tile floor and turned it slick, but air freshener and essential oils did little to help the odor, which in turn did little to help my mood.

On top of everything else, the groomer hadn’t called back. I’d bathed Mango two more times, until finally, annoyed and desperate, on Wednesday I’d bought a pair of clippers from the big box store because I figured, how hard could it be to shave a dog? Turns out—very.

The blades kept getting clogged and Mango yelped as if I were hurting her. By the time I gave up, she looked worse, as if she’d lost a fight with a lawnmower.

Every single time I left my house, I could feel Mr. Percival’s eyes crawling over me, staring from behind his curtains.

Things weren’t good.

Simon’s mouth had fallen open then frozen rigidly in place, and his eyes were caught in an eternal hollow-eyed scream.

“Oh, shut up.” I blasted him with a squirt of Lysol. “Why are you screaming? You aren’t the one with anything to lose.”

The gunmetal gray of his irises had faded to the frosted-over color of muddy ground after the first winter cold snap. Purple pooled in the hollow spaces of his face. The gash in his neck was a black hole. No way Diane would find him handsome now. “It’s all your fault, anyway,” I snapped. “If you’d have left my family alone, neither of us would be in this mess.”

I closed the bathroom door, feeling a little like Joanie for ignoring the problem.

Mango weaved through my ankles, chortling until I pulled a dog treat from the pocket of my robe and tossed it to her. She nabbed it midair, and my frown softened. “Good devil dog.” We’d been working on the trick for a few days.

I sank into my sofa and picked up my phone.

ME: Hey you!

DIANE: Hey yourself.

ME: Where’ve you been, stranger? Long time no see.

For most people, going a few days without contact wouldn’t be considered long, but I’d talked to Diane at least once each day since we were dormmates.

Three full days without as much as a text was unheard of. I was a bad friend for not checking in on her, but between feeling guilty over her heartbreak and not having a plan to fix things, I worried I’d make everything worse.

DIANE: Physically I’ve been here. Emotionally? All over the place.

ME: What happened?

As if I didn’t know.

DIANE: Simon.

…

…

DIANE: He still hasn’t shown up or returned my texts. Don’t say a damn thing. I can’t handle I told you so.

ME: I’d never say that. Are you going to work today?

DIANE: No. I’ve been taking sick days this week. What if I run into him? I’m pathetic.

No, she wasn’t.

ME: I’m coming over.

DIANE: You’re the best.

ME: I know. You’re lucky to have me.

DIANE: Bitch.

---

***

I knocked twice, then let myself into Diane’s.

With Sugar at school, her house felt too quiet. Sweaters hung from the backs of chairs, and the floor was littered with abandoned shoes. Tattered paperbacks sat in a tumbling stack across a small table near the front door, next to a lipstick-stained mug that seemed to be at least a few days old. Diane’s sloppiness had driven me crazy when we were roommates. Now it was simply a part of who she was.

“Honey? You downstairs?” I called out as I crossed the living room.

I’d brought with me a box containing my French press and some breakfast goodies. I shifted it in my arms, then slid it onto her dining table. “Diane?”

“In here.” Her voice came from underneath a mountain of blankets in the living room. I’d walked right past her and hadn’t noticed.

“Oh, babe.” I sat down near her feet. “Tell me all about it.”

She sat up, pulling her covers tightly around her shoulders. “I thought he loved me—or at least liked me a lot. I’m such an idiot.” She groaned. “He didn’t even care enough to call and break up. I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt when he missed the hiking trip, but he never called.” She fell back into her nest. “Samantha was at my parents’ house spending the night. I didn’t tell you because I was embarrassed, but I’d planned for that night to be the first time he slept over. Hell, it was going to be our first time…you know…”

“Fucking?” I offered.

“God, Cordelia. No.” She frowned. “With Simon, it was supposed to be more than that. It was supposed to be special. Or at least I thought it was.” She grabbed a chartreuse throw pillow and pressed it over her face as her body shook with sobs.

I squeezed her foot and let her cry. This was the part I’d dreaded: Diane’s epic heartbreak.

After a few minutes, she screamed into the pillow and then threw it across the room. “Tell me the truth. Is there something wrong with me? Am I so gross that a person would choose to disappear rather than sleep with me?”

Simon hadn’t chosen to disappear, but I couldn’t tell Diane that. “There’s only one explanation.” I patted her foot. “He’s an idiot.”

Diane, with her tear-streaked cheeks, puffy eyes, and runny nose, was miserable, and seeing her this way, knowing I’d had a hand in it—it made me miserable too.

“Aren’t you glad you found out now instead of later? The guy’s a loser and totally not worthy of you.”

She shrugged. “I thought he was different.”

“You always think they’re different,” I said. “You love love. It’s sweet.”

“I’m not sweet.” Diane scowled. “Don’t call me that.”

“Sure, honey. I didn’t mean anything by it. Now lie there while I fix you some coffee and a bagel. You want cream cheese and raspberry jam? I got it at the farmer’s market downtown and it’s amazing.”

“I’m not hungry.” Diane moaned.

“I’m going to make you one. You don’t have to eat it.” For a moment I felt as if we were college kids instead of thirty-three year old women. Some things never changed. I’d always take care of Diane when she needed me, no matter what that entailed. If it meant putting my own freedom at risk—well, it was a burden I’d carry time and again. No question.

Diane sobbed silently into the pillow, and my head spun with contradicting thoughts. I was a horrible friend for killing Diane’s boyfriend. I was a great friend for taking out a predator who meant her and Sugar harm. She’d hate me if she knew. She’d love me if she knew. Unable to handle it, I grabbed the remote and clicked on the television to drown out my thoughts. Diane still had cable, and the commercial playing caused me to do a double take. It was the singing kitties—the one shitty-kitty Betty had blathered about. I shook my head as I went into the kitchen to put the kettle on and toast the bagels.

“Aren’t you going in to work today?” Diane called from inside her cocoon.

“Ha. That’s…complicated at the moment.” I scooped the proper amount of coffee into the press.

My three scheduled clients had cancelled their appointments because of Bosephan. They had to blame somebody, and as the evil drug rep who’d touted its safety, I was their most obvious scapegoat. It was great time to finally use some of the sick days I’d banked.

Then there was Practical Family Medicine. That awful office manager had left two more messages. I couldn’t put them off much longer.

But Diane didn’t need to know any of this. She was dealing with her own stuff.

“I hope everything’s okay? I heard things have heated up with the lawsuit…” Her words trailed off.

“Don’t worry about me.” I popped the bagels into Diane’s dollar-store toaster. If they didn’t burn it’d be a miracle. “I’m always fine.”

“If that isn’t the absolute truth. You were a cat in another life. You always land on your feet.”

I hoped she was right.

When the coffee had steeped long enough, I brought the French press to the table in front of the sofa, along with two mugs and the food, which I’d attempted to arrange artfully on Diane’s favorite yellow trays.

I settled in next to her, and she asked, “Where do you think he is? Do you think he met someone else?”

“Who?”

“Simon. Jeez.”

The coffee steamed as I filled her mug. She sat up, and I passed it to her. “I don’t know.” The lie was effortless. “Anyway, who cares? I know I’m a broken record here, but he wasn’t good enough for you.”

She took a deep drink, then set her mug on the table and sniffed. “Obviously.”

I passed her one of the saucers with a bagel on it, and she took a bite. With the curtains closed tight, Diane’s face glowed in the television’s light. On the screen, a woman appeared way too excited about dryer sheets.

Diane spoke around her mouthful of carbs. “What if he’s with someone at work? I’ll be so humiliated. He was always insistent that we didn’t let anyone at the hospital know we were together. He blamed human resources. But what if it was because he was seeing someone else?”

My mind flashed back to the woman from the restaurant. Was she missing Simon, same as Diane? Was she out there looking for him? Reporting his absence to the police?

I studied Diane’s face. She needed reassurance. Compassion. “Doubtful. Who’d want him?”

“Cordelia, really?” Diane set the rest of the bagel on the coffee table, then licked her fingers clean. “That’s cruel.”

“I meant he won the lottery with you. And lightning doesn’t strike twice; he couldn’t do any better.”

“Thanks. I think?”

On the television, two officers escorted a familiar face into the police complex. I froze.

The man stared at his feet, and his comb-over was mussed, with the sides of his dark hair obscuring his face, with only his hawklike nose peeking through, but I’d know him anywhere.

“Help me find the remote.” I grabbed throw pillows and tossed them to the floor. “Come on—quick.”

Diane pulled it from between the couch cushions. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Shh. Turn it up!” My hands flailed. “I know that guy!” I pulled the remote from her fingers and cranked up the volume. Her brows pushed together in confusion.

The voice of a male reporter spoke as scenes flashed over the television screen.

“Clarence Elgin of Slaughter, Louisiana, was arrested in a bust of his Baton Rouge business, located on Industriplex Boulevard. The fifty-six-year-old is being charged with fraud, though our source says that further charges are likely, possibly including murder. Elgin is listed as the owner of Spirited Gifts. The company’s website describes the business as a compassionate resource dedicated to helping people donate their bodies to science, contributing to the greater good. But behind Spirited Gift’s benevolent exterior was what our source claims could only be described as a house of horrors. Police were granted a warrant to search his facility after neighbors complained about blood in the parking lot, and a stench like rotting meat.”

The camera flashed to a woman. The words scrolling across the screen identified her as a worker from the tax office next door to Spirited Gifts. “The smell was… You wouldn’t believe it,” she said, shaking her head.

Tanisha Harris came on the screen. “This report contains disturbing content and viewer discretion is advised.”

“Jesus, Clarence,” I mumbled. “What kind of operation were you running?”

“Wait, you mean you really knew that guy? For real?” Diane’s eyes rounded.

“Yeah. From a pharmaceutical convention. Now, shhh.”

“Bodies of at least two missing Baton Rouge men were discovered among the recovered remains, which included a freezer drawer filled with hands and at least four heads in a meat locker.”

Fucking shit. I thought of the phone call on the levee, and of Clarence’s panicked voice. I’d wondered if he was working with the police or if he’d been arrested. Now I had my answer. A chill laced my spine. I’d been close to getting caught.

The reporter continued.

“After multiple complaints were filed, police traced the stench to the yard behind the facility, which is enclosed in an industrial twelve-foot privacy fence. A torso, believed to be male and Caucasian, appeared to have been lying in the open for days.”

The camera cut to another business owner, and on the other end of the couch, Diane’s mouth hung open. “I can’t believe you knew someone so evil.”

Tanisha sat behind the news desk. “Our source tells us the investigation took an even darker turn when two of the bodies were discovered to have died under suspicious circumstances. Police are awaiting autopsy.”

The couch squeaked as Diane wiggled from her nest to perch on the edge of the cushions. “What the hell is wrong with people? Who could do that? Maybe I need to get a dog. A German shepherd or Doberman or something…”

The reporter continued. “Stay safe, Baton Rouge. It seems we might finally have the name of the Red Stick’s serial killer.” Tanisha looked solemnly into the camera until the screen went to commercial.

I bristled at the word.

No mention of Old Hound Road. At least there was that. The police must be keeping it under wraps.

Diane sniffed back tears.

“Oh honey, what’s wrong?” I scooted closer and put my arm over her shoulders. “Look, no one said anything about missing women. We have nothing to worry about. But if a puppy would make you feel safer, then get one. I’ll even help you pick it out.”

Not only had I caused Diane’s heartbreak with Simon, but thanks to Clarence getting himself busted, I’d inadvertently scared the shit out of her as well. Those suspicious circumstances the reporter mentioned—that was me. I was a terrible friend.

“It’s not that. What if…?” Her voice trailed into sobs. “I’m sitting here thinking the worst about Simon, but what if he isn’t ghosting me. What if he’s dead? What if he’s in that awful place all cut up, and I’m over here cursing his name?”

“Sweetie, listen to yourself.” My voice was stilted, but Diane didn’t seem to notice.

“I know. I sound crazy, right?” The look in her watery eyes begged me to tell her she was wrong.

Simon was dead, but I could truthfully vouch that he wasn’t in Clarence’s house of horrors.

“A little bit,” I said. “Those guys on television? As horrible as it was, they were probably mixed up in something terrible. Simon is probably—”

“Probably off dicking around with some other woman.” Her shoulders slumped forward, but at least she was no longer sobbing.

“It’s weird, because if he’s cheating, then I could kill him. But when I think of him as…that”—she gestured toward the television—“I…” Her voice cracked.

I shook my head. Frazzled brown hairs escaped from my stubby ponytail and swished around my face. “This isn’t healthy. Get dressed. We’re going for brunch. My treat.” I glanced around the messy room. “You’ve got to get out of this house.”

“I don’t feel—”

“No excuses.” I stood and clapped my hands. “Chop, chop.”

“But we just ate,” she whined, making no move to stand.

“Do you have something against a second brunch?” I pulled her to her feet. The mountain of covers and pillows fell to the floor. “Go put on those ugly overalls you love and let’s go.”

My friend needed to get her mind off Simon.

So did I.