Chapter Five

“Can I go with you?”

The words popped out of her mouth before she realized she even wanted to go with him.

They were headed back to her house when she spoke and Curtis turned to her sharply. “To Twin Lakes?” he asked, with a quick glance to the truck’s back seat where Jamie and Atticus were buckled in. He lowered his voice. “Why would you want to go up there? It’s a death.”

The truck bumped over the deeply rutted logging road they had taken to the mountain trail. The dirt route was graded once a year by the forest service whose rangers would drag a leveler across the ruts, but heavy logging vehicles sunk divots back into the road before summer was out. Recent rains softened the soil, settling the earth further into practiced wavy patterns.

Meredith licked her lips, debating what to say. “I know.”

Her first thought upon hearing someone died in a Twin Lakes church was of the man she’d met in the library. It was ridiculous, she knew, to think it could be him. It would be a terrific coincidence the one death she’d heard of would be of this one particular, peculiar man. But Twin Lakes was barely a small village. How many people could die each year up there? There had to be some reason they’d need a coroner to take a look. If the dead person was the paranoid and unhinged man in the library, the sheriff needed to hear what he’d told her about his wife plotting his murder. If it weren’t, of course, she would sound paranoid and unhinged. She would be the creepy one, interested in dead people.

“I could use more homework time in the library,” she finished in a weak voice. “My car’s having a tough time driving up and back so much.”

Guilt flooded her at the outright lie. More homework time was always valuable, but her interest was in learning about the death, not chemistry. If only she’d told him about the man sooner; his death would be partially her fault for not speaking up. I ignored his fears just like Brian dismissed me all during our marriage. Her mind spun and for a moment, she was launched back to a year earlier when she was powerless and under Brian’s thumb. She closed her eyes and trembled. Just when she was enjoying a sense of awakening and strength, the past came roaring back.

Curtis had been about to say something to her on the trail, before Jamie interrupted to point out the herd of elk. Now she was glad he was interrupted. I’m not ready to be more than friends. I’m damaged goods.

He was staring straight ahead at the road in front of him, apparently lost in his own worries. “It was the coroner who called; the one you met when Brian…died.”

They bounced heavily once and then were on the smooth main road again, tires clicking noisily from pebbles stuck in the treads until they spun free. She recalled the short man with graying hair who showed her Brian’s body so she could identify him.

“He’s headed to Texas with his wife this afternoon to visit their daughter for a month,” he continued. “I’m chief deputy coroner when he’s gone. Means I give the scene a once over and confirm a natural death. There’s a doctor in Twin Lakes, though, so my part in this is pretty routine.”

She nodded; he’d already told her this, but there was a tinge of anxiety in his tone. She wasn’t the only one disconcerted by the death. “What if it’s, you know, messy?” She could have bit her tongue as soon as the words were out.

Curtis took this in stride, having once before confessed his difficulty with unpleasant deaths. This was a failing he couldn’t hide, having fainted in her driveway the day he told her Brian was murdered, a messy death with two shots to the head.

“It’s a heart attack. The doctor up in Twin Lakes believes that’s all. But I’ve been asked to go up. Just a report to file.”

“I’d give the sheriff one of my bunnies,” Jamie piped up from the back seat. “If he wanted one.”

They traded glances. The tension in the truck eased somewhat. “That’s very generous of you,” he said. “I’m honored.”

Meredith’s heartbeat stabilized at the kindness in his tone. “I could go along for moral support, ride up with you. I need to go to the library anyway,” she said again.

He swallowed, considering. “I suppose driving up together wouldn’t hurt.” He still sounded doubtful, but she knew he’d let her go. “But we don’t have to talk about it, after everything you’ve been through…”

She didn’t wait for him to say more. She twisted around to face Jamie and Atticus. “How about a visit with Honey?” she asked. “For a few hours.”

****

Honey had no problem with the unannounced visitors. She produced a coloring book and crayons for Jamie and a blanket and pillow so Atticus could nap. “You two take your time, don’t worry about the kids,” she chirped as though they were a couple heading out to watch a movie instead of to investigate a death. “They’ll be just fine here and I can give them dinner if you’re late.”

The woman shooed them out the door, practically shutting it on their faces.

“I think she likes my kids more than she likes me,” Meredith said when they got back in the truck.

“She likes the company. It can get hard out here if you don’t have family around.”

Meredith hadn’t considered this. If I didn’t have my kids, I wouldn’t stay here for a second, she thought. Hay City had grown on her but options for a social life were limited. Even if she wasn’t hoping to remarry someday, there were no coffee shops, restaurants or even churches, if she was so inclined, in Hay City. No book clubs or nightclubs. No parks, shopping centers, museums or even a flea market. Just a bar and the hardware store where she worked part time. There was a small grocery store where the sullen, snarky deli boy lurked, tossing barbs at her every chance he got.

She’d met a disturbed man at the Twin Lakes library and now was on her way to see if he’d been murdered. No wonder people in far-flung areas hang out in bars, she thought. For companionship and to chase away the shadows in their own minds. If Honey wanted to babysit her children for companionship, it was a win-win situation.

****

More snow had fallen in the mountains and midway up, the road took on the appearance of a pearly strip. They chatted about neutral subjects on the way: remodeling plans for Jamie’s school, a noise complaint about a neighbor snoring, Atticus cutting another tooth, a black bear sighting in the valley. Meredith tried to put the man in the library out of her mind as she soaked in the scenery through the window. The white granite rocks splintered and crumbled down the mountainside and pines were sprinkled with snow.

“May have us an early winter this year,” Curtis pronounced as they rounded another corner and the road steepened in the final miles to Twin Lakes. “If it keeps up, the road’ll be closed by Thanksgiving.”

She considered the remoteness of her own home, in an unknown town, in a rural state, and couldn’t imagine living even further removed in a place with no escape at all. “How do they get groceries? Or anything?”

He shrugged. “Most residents in these mountain areas stockpile their pantry and freezer; you learn how to cope. A lot of people have snowmobiles. Really, most people who stay up here enjoy the solitude of winter. Deep snow keeps outsiders out.”

She glanced at him. This style of life didn’t faze him. To her, living in Hay City was remote enough. She couldn’t imagine being home bound for months in these high mountains with the unpleasant librarian as her only friend and a possible murderer living down the street. “If they don’t want outsiders, why do they have the county’s only public library way up here?”

“It was a pet project of a former mayor,” he explained. “Twin Lakes won the funding. The mayor’s wife is the librarian. Or I should say, the former mayor’s former wife. After they got divorced, he moved away.”

She thought about the gun-packing librarian who read thick books behind the counter. What could her husband have been like? Was he the reason she carried a gun on her hip? Stop it, she ordered herself. You’re seeing murder around every corner, in every mind.

She sought a change of subject. “How did you become chief deputy coroner along with county sheriff? That’s pretty impressive, isn’t it?”

He shrugged, but she noted his pleased expression. “Just the way it works; coroner’s often a dual position in these areas. There aren’t enough cases to warrant somebody doing it full time. Our coroner doesn’t mind it being a part time gig. When he’s away, he can deputize someone; typically, it’s me.”

“Did you go to some type of coroner school for it? To learn what to look for and what to do?”

He quickly disillusioned her, going on to explain: “That’s not how the system works. It depends on where you live. In Idaho, coroner is an elected office. In theory, no experience is necessary, just public confidence. Usually, people do the right thing and a medical professional or someone skilled in investigations is elected. He or she can deputize someone they believe is capable. The process works in reverse here too; when I’m gone, I deputize the coroner as sheriff.”

“Huh.” She gave a small laugh. “No experience required. I could run for coroner then. And be the back-up sheriff, too.”

Curtis didn’t comment or laugh along with her. She shifted in her seat, aware she’d said the wrong thing. Recently elected as the youngest sheriff in the state at age twenty-seven, he was still proving himself. She could relate to needing to prove oneself; she’d been doing this her entire life.

“Your silver star,” she said quickly to change the subject once more. “It’s nice. Traditional.”

Curtis touched one hand to his chest where the star was pinned. Whenever he was on duty, the star was there, gleaming and glinting as though he spent evenings polishing the old-fashioned badge. “This was my grandfather’s,” he explained. “He was sheriff out here for thirty-five years and was my best friend until he died. He taught me how to fly fish, ride a horse and build a campfire, and he made the best barbecue you’ve ever eaten. People out here respected and trusted him to do the right thing. I wanted to be him when I grew up. I still do, I suppose.”

Meredith considered the star differently. It was a badge of honor, and a promise of sorts, to live up to his grandfather’s memory. “When did he die?”

“Two years ago,” he said briefly. “That’s when I decided to run for election. I think most people believed they were electing him again when they voted for me.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes before she returned to the reason they were heading to Twin Lakes. “This case, though…the doctor said a heart attack,” she prompted. “A coroner needs to be there too? What if you disagree?”

He stared straight ahead at the road. “A coroner comes in when a death isn’t clear-cut, just to look things over and make sure nothing appears suspicious, whether an autopsy is required. Apparently, there’s some conflict of interest in this death. Just standard procedure.”

As Meredith mulled this over, the pines thinned. The truck’s tires crunched through the milky crust as they rounded the final corner. The church’s white steeple rose above the frosted pines, smoke drifting from chimneys, and already a tiny snowman stood guard in front of one house. Twin Lakes made an idyllic scene, one begging to be miniaturized and put inside a snow globe. Not a scene for murder, at all.

****

He dropped her at the library, then headed to the end of the block where the Catholic Church loomed. The library was closed, not all too unexpected for a Sunday, and its interior was dark and still. Meredith stood at the glass front door staring at her reflection for a moment, knowing this is what she’d really had in mind: an excuse to shadow Curtis. Her mirror image peered back at her, a slim young woman with large eyes and worry lines on her forehead. The woman in the reflection appeared too young to have two children at home, to have gone through all the challenges she’d already faced in life. She rubbed at the lines, smoothing them flat, and then headed down the block to the church. Curtis was just stepping out of his truck in the church’s parking lot.

“Hey!” she called out and then jogged toward him. “Library’s closed today,” she panted when she was a couple of yards away. She stopped before him, her lungs laboring to draw in the thin mountain air.

He regarded her, biting his lip. “I guess you could wait in the truck.”

“I don’t mind…” she started. “I don’t mind what’s inside. I can take notes for you if you’d like, while you check it out.”

He shook his head firmly. “The scene’s bound to be unpleasant. Anyway, you’re not official. Your being there wouldn’t look good.”

“I’ve seen bodies before,” she said. “I can handle the situation. I promise.”

She’d seen her mother, and her husband, dead. Her mother died slowly at first, one drink at a time, with her body wasting away to nearly nothing. The end was terrible and fast; her mother suffered hallucinations about a man chasing her and refused to come out from under the bed. By the time paramedics arrived, she was convulsing. She died three days later in the hospital.

Then there was Brian, murdered in the spring, with two bullets in his brain, laying cold in the coroner’s office. So, no, there would be nothing to fear in seeing a stranger’s body, an empty shell devoid of life. She’d never been superstitious about death. In any case, she was determined to know who died in the church. The man in the library never introduced himself so she didn’t know his name; the only way she’d know if the dead man was the same person was to go in the church and see for herself.

Curtis handed her his notebook with a shake of his head. “Stay back a bit. If you need to leave, don’t worry about it.”

Clutching the notebook, she followed him up the steps and into the church.

Father Michael, the church’s only other priest, met them as they entered. “It's the first time in eighty-four years our church hasn’t held Mass on Sunday,” he explained dolefully. “Father Karl, the elder priest, is holding Mass over at the grange hall down the block.”

“We’re not here for Mass,” Meredith piped up, drawing a sharp nudge from Curtis.

“This way,” the priest said, and led them farther into the church.

The church was hushed, echo-y quiet as only a church can be, and filled with the scent of burning candles and incense. As they approached the booth, she spotted a man’s leg sticking out from the bottom of the enclosure, the rest of the body still hidden inside.

Father Michael gave his report of the morning’s events. “I don’t know what happened,” his tone monotone and indicating he was repeating his story yet again. “I was inside early, waiting. Today was a slow morning. Some Sundays are just slower than others. Either everyone in town wants to confess or no one does. This was one of those slow mornings.”

Itching to ask questions, and peek inside the confessional to get her own look, Meredith scribbled notes from her place a few steps to one side.

“I took advantage of the quiet to pray,” the priest continued. “I heard a bump as the door opened on the other side of the booth. There’s a screen that opens between the two sides, but he never opened the screen. I just heard him coughing and then choking, and then…”

The priest paused, then gestured toward the floor. The three of them stood there, silently staring at the man’s leg, as though paying respect for his untimely passing. She felt terrible for the dead man, whoever he was, left for hours waiting for the county sheriff-deputy coroner to make his routine report. A pungent odor emanated from the confessional booth, a smell unlike incense and candles.

“Did he say anything?” Curtis asked the priest. “Last words?”

“Nothing.” Father Michael pressed his lips together and shifted on his feet. “Of course, even if he’d said something, it would have been in the confines of confession, privileged, inviolable. I told all this to the doctor. We’ve waited a long time for you to get here.”

The priest glanced at her and then gave the slow-arriving sheriff a disapproving stare. She sensed they’d been judged and found wanting. Today was Sunday and neither of them were wearing church clothes. She studied the priest, thinking she saw something change in his demeanor. Defiant, she thought. And anxious.

She glanced up at Curtis, wondering if he was nervous about approaching the dead man. “We had to drive up from Hay City,” she broke in, trying to sound official. “The sheriff got here as soon as he could. He’s chief deputy coroner, you know; he has to sign off on the death certificate.”

The priest frowned at her, as though he knew more about her than she knew herself. She glanced away from him and to statues of saints, the large crucifix behind the altar and rows of pews. Guilt washed over her even though church was never a part of her upbringing. She was suddenly glad she didn’t belong to a religion requiring confession. Where would she begin? Where would she stop? I could go on for days.

“Who are you?” Father Michael’s tone sounded as if he wasn’t prepared to believe anything she would have to say.

“Just a helper,” she answered, guilt intensifying. This wasn’t technically a lie. She was helping, after all, even if she had somewhat ulterior motives for doing so.

“She’s my assistant,” Curtis said at the same time, then gestured toward the confessional. “I guess I should take a look now.”

He paused, took a deep breath, and squared his shoulders as though preparing for battle. “I’ll talk and you take notes,” he murmured, a slight tremor in his voice. “Let me know if you need to leave, if it’s too much for you.”

She followed close behind as he stepped closer to the booth. Without touching the body, he peeked inside the half-opened door and started his observations. “The body is inside the confessional except for one leg,” he intoned, his voice cracking. “It appears he was already inside when he collapsed. There are no marks on the body. The man is mid- to late-thirty’s, maybe older, Caucasian…”

“Excuse me,” the priest interrupted, exasperation in his tone. “I know this man. Jacob Burns. He lives around the corner. And the doctor already knows this. Why don’t you just talk to her?”

Meredith had been waiting all this time, wanting to see the man’s face, to see if she recognized him. The name meant nothing to her since the man in the library never introduced himself. She needed to see him to know for sure. If it was the same person, Curtis would be impressed by her insider knowledge.

“This is just procedure in deaths like this.” Curtis glanced over at the priest and then returned his gaze to the crumpled body. “I need to make my own observations and make my own report.”

Father Michael made an impatient sound. Meredith watched him from the corner of her eye. She didn’t have much experience with churches and especially not the Catholic Church. Priests, with their black garb and white cutout collars, made her think of chanting and vows of silence, although it didn’t make sense someone taking a vow of silence would chant so she wasn’t quite sure about that. She did know priests took a vow of chastity and for some reason that made her uncomfortable in his presence. She wondered why such a normal looking man would enter the priesthood, and then immediately chided herself for stereotyping. People of all sorts would get callings for religious service: tall, short, handsome, homely.

“…puddle of vomit on the floor,” Curtis was saying, his head back inside the booth. She hurried to write his comments down, worrying she missed something important while she’d focused on the priest. “No wounds on the body.”

He backed out of the confessional and wiped a hand across his mouth. His face was pale; she hoped he wouldn’t faint. He took a deep breath. “I guess I’ll go talk to the doctor now. Compare notes. We’ll get someone to remove the body.”

Father Michael nodded and gestured toward the church doors, as if inviting them to leave.

Meredith peered over at the confessional, trying to see inside at the man’s face. She crept closer, feeling ghoulish but needing to know. The man she’d met in the library was so certain he was going to be killed by his church-going wife. Then, here was a man, about the same age, coincidentally dead in a church.

“Probably a heart attack,” the priest was saying. “The doctor said so several hours ago.”

She turned toward the priest. “Wouldn’t you need an autopsy?” she asked. “To confirm a heart attack?”

His Adam’s apple twitched beneath his collar. She sympathized; he’d have had a terrible shock, with a man dying right in front of him. “That’s up to the doctor,” Father Michael said. “She would know, as a medical professional. I’ll pray for the family.”

Curtis cleared his throat. “I’m done here. We’ll get him out of your, uh, box soon enough. I’ll talk to the doctor about this…this unfortunate event.”

As Father Michael took a step toward the entrance, she saw her opportunity slipping away. “Curtis,” she whispered. “Flip him over.”

He looked horrified at the suggestion. “What?”

“Flip him over,” she hissed. “So you can see the rest of him. For your report.”

Father Michael took another step toward the entrance. “I don’t know if that’s necessary,” he said. “The doctor will examine the body in more detail later.”

Curtis focused back on the booth and his shoulders slumped. She sensed he didn’t want to touch a dead body and felt sorry for him. On impulse, she stepped in front of him, grabbed the man’s leg and tugged, hauling him out of the confessional. The two men stood frozen, as though in shock.

“Meredith, stop!” Curtis protested. “What are you doing?”

“Assisting your investigation,” she grunted as she dragged the body out of the confessional. After heaving the body over, it flopped face up on the wood floor. A sour stench of vomit rose up. While sheriff and priest winced at the smell, Meredith’s focus remained on the man's features cruelly twisted to one side.

“It’s you,” she said. “I knew it would be you.”