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Lafayette, Louisiana, USA
8th of February, 1:15 p.m. (GMT-6)
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The authorities had not yet released the remains found at the Acadian Village, but the family saw no reason to drag it out any longer. There was no doubt that Eva Chapman was dead and it was time to mourn her. Without remains, there was no reason to engage a funeral home and they held a memorial at her church instead.
They waited until the weekend, to give plenty of notice and make it easier for everyone to attend. The local paper listed the service’s time and location at the end of the obituary, right after the list of who had passed before her and who had survived her. Her kids came back to make the arrangements and found their childhood home much the same as they had left it, only emptier without their mom there.
Eva would have been pleased by the turnout. It felt like the whole city was jammed inside the Good News Baptist Church. Everyone came to pay their respects and the pews were packed. Even her ex-husband came, though he knew better than to take a seat in the front two rows reserved for family. Those were for her children and grandchildren, who played their part solemnly, and her siblings and their families. If there was one blessing in all this, it was that her parents were not alive to see what happened to their little girl.
There was talk about the gruesome details—that couldn’t be helped—but everyone left that at the door when they entered the house of God. The front was covered with flowers as well as an enlarged photo of Eva placed on an easel—the same picture that was in the paper. The church had brought in a professional photographer for family portraits a few years ago, and Eva put on her best hat and came as a family of one. There was music and the choir sang her favorite hymns. The preacher gave a lovely eulogy and a stirring message of hope—despair not, Eva was now with God. There were a lot of amens and open weeping. It was everything church should be.
While the memorial was open to the public, the home visitation afterward was limited to close friends and family. A light lunch was of course provided, but everyone brought a dish or plate of something with them. Food was love and Eva was beloved. It was up to all of them to make sure her family felt loved now that she was gone. The end result was enough food to feed ten times the number of people. There was the typical cries of “Where are we going to put all this food?” but they weren’t really complaints. They were part of the chorus of mourning.
Zoe Miller parked her silver Corolla along the street two blocks down from Eva’s house. She wasn’t officially invited, but neither were half the people in attendance. Everyone wanted to give their condolences personally and thought they counted as close friends. The rush allowed Zoe to enter under the radar and do a lap to get her bearings.
The house was full of adults and small children shuffling around with food and drink while the older kids were outside playing in their good clothes, a pack that was collectively called “the cousins.” Not all of them were blood, but they were family.
The furniture had been rearranged to accommodate visitors, but no one had anticipated quite this many close friends and family. They ran out of seats well before they would run out of food, and those that were seated readily relinquished their seats to older folks and ladies in a long game of musical chairs.
Zoe had never met Eva’s kids before, but she’d seen plenty of pictures and saw them at the service. The eldest was Michael and the younger one Esther. Both them were older than her, but Esther by only a few years. She was in the kitchen trying to sooth a fussy baby on one hip while Michael played man of the house in the living room, mostly to stop his father from trying to.
Zoe grabbed a plate of food and bid her time in a quiet corner, waiting for her moment. She watched the flow of in and out until she spotted her moment—brother and sister alone with no kids, spouses, or well-wishers. She avoided the living room, filled with people reminiscing and telling stories, and aimed for the back door via the kitchen. She heard raised voices as soon as she got to the fridge, bickering the way siblings do even after they become adults with kids of their own. Old habits die hard.
“So it’s my fault Mom’s dead?” Esther asked, incensed. “Excuse me for wanting to have a life of my own.”
“I’m not saying it’s anyone’s fault, but someone should have been here watching out for her,” Michael reiterated his point.
“She wasn’t some elderly shut-in with poor health or a failing mind, Michael. She was an independent woman in her fifties with a good job and tons of friends,” she argued, waving her hand toward the packed house.
“Friends aren’t the same as family,” he said seriously.
“It’s easy to tell me I should have stayed, but you could have moved back at any time,” she reminded him.
“You know Allison couldn’t leave her parents,” he objected.
“And Allison’s parents are more important than Mom was? Now who’s the Judas?” she struck back.
Zoe made some noise in the kitchen and the argument abruptly stopped. She counted to ten before exiting. “Hi. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just wanted to tell you how sorry am I about your mother’s passing.”
It was a variation of a sentiment that had been repeated all day. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you to say,” Esther automatically said for the millionth time.
“You should know that either of you being here wouldn’t have stopped this from happening,” Zoe tried to comfort them.
The siblings exchanged looks and were suddenly a united front. “I’m sorry, who are you again?” Michael pointedly asked.
“I know you don’t know me,” Zoe qualified, “but I worked with your mom and we came to be friends. I was working the day she disappeared and when the police found her remains,” she answered them without giving her name.
The mention of the macabre circumstances silenced them and Michael had to take a seat. “The police said all that was left were her bones. What kind of sick person does that?”
“I saw him. He just looked like a normal guy,” Zoe replied.
“That’s what people always say about serial killers,” Esther said conspiratorially.
Zoe had practiced many variations of the same speech, and this wasn’t going at all how she’d planned. But a promise is a promise. “I don’t know if I’m out of turn for saying this, but your mom recently told me she was really proud of both of you for getting out. She loved you too much to hold you back, even if it meant she didn’t see her grandchildren as much.”
Michael looked up. “Did she really say that?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Zoe added a nod so there was no mistaking her answer. “She’d bake up a storm and bring it by the office so she wouldn’t eat it all. We’d sit and have coffee, and she’d sneak a few in anyway,” she recalled fondly.
Esther smiled and rubbed her brother’s back like their mother used to do when he was upset as a kid. “That does sound like Mom.”
Michael coughed back some tears. “She did love her grandbabies.”
“Sometimes too much—spoiled them rotten! She never bought us all those fancy toys at Christmas when we were kids,” Esther complained, but her tone and face weren’t angry.
Her older brother chuckled. “No doubt, but there were always plenty of Santa-shaped cookies.”
“She did make the best cut-out cookies,” Esther agreed with her brother.
Zoe awkwardly shuffled her feet. “Well, that’s all I wanted to say. I know you have a house full of visitors. I won’t take up any more of your time.”
Esther put her hand on Zoe’s arm and paused her retreat. “Thank you for stopping by.”
THE END
The agents of The Salt Mine will return in Vicious Circle
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