Page 56 of Home Is Where the Bodies Are

Nicole slurps nearly half of her drink, and her lips relax as she releases the straw. I consider telling her to slow down, but I know she’d do the opposite, so I keep my mouth shut.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Nicole asks.

She’s referring to Mom’s funeral, if it can even be qualified as one. We haven’t really talked about it, aside from listening to the instructions from the lawyer, that her ashes should be spread around our land. It feels so lackluster. Like emptying a dustpan into a garbage can.

“We’ll walk the property and spread her ashes at sunset,” Beth explains. “It was her favorite time of day, when the sun would slide past the horizon, creating a mosaic of colors. Mom said it was the only thing she could count on in life.” She gulps her beer.

“That’s pretty depressing,” I say.

“Well, do you blame her?” Beth looks to me. “Knowing what we know now.”

Nicole leans over the bar, so she can address both of us. “I’d like to read something I wrote at Mom’s funeral.”

I’m not sure if she’s asking for permission or just telling us.

Beth nods. “That’s fine. Also, Lucas and Susan are stopping by... just for a bit.”

Nicole’s eyes double in size. “What? Why?”

Beth shushes her. “Because he asked. And what was I supposed to say? ‘That’s not a good idea, because my mom and dad had something to do with your sister’s disappearance, so it’ll be awkward for us’?” Beth clenches her jaw so tight her teeth just might crumble into dust.

“Well, how are we supposed to act with them there?” Nicole huffs.

“Like you never saw that tape.”

“And what about Christie Roberts?” She eyes Beth and then me.

“You agreed you’d give it a rest until after Mom’s funeral,” I remind her. “We’ve got a lot to do, and...” I lower my voice, craning my neck toward her, “pinning every unsolved missing person case on Mom and Dad isn’t the best way to honor Mom’s memory.”

Nicole rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t pinning it on them. I was just asking questions.”

Beth chugs the rest of her beer and slams the glass against the bar top, signaling the end of the conversation. The bar lady notices almost immediately and offers her another one. This time Beth orders a double whiskey, specifying that she wants rail. I’m not sure if she orders that because it’s all she can afford or because she’s trying to punish herself.

“Hey,” I call out, putting my hand up to get the bartender’s attention. Her eyes flick to me. They’re dull, clouded over. Her body’s defensive mechanism to mask the reality of her surroundings.

“Yeah, Michael,” she says in a cheery voice.

I wish I remembered her name, but I don’t. She’s an Edith, a Ruth, or a Maureen, something unremarkable and dated.

I scan the whiskey bottles set on the glass shelf behind her. It’s a dive bar, so they don’t have the best, but I pick out the best they have.

“Make it Elijah Craig instead, and put it on my tab.”

If Beth is set on punishing herself tonight, at least I can make sure it tastes good.

The bartender grins. Generosity and money always garner a smile. “You got it,” she says with a nod. “Anything else?”

I finish the rest of my beer and pass the glass to her. “Yeah, I’ll have the same as her, and whatever you want, put it on my tab.”

Her dull eyes seem to brighten, only for a second or so. It’s all they have in them. She thanks me and starts pouring drinks.

“I was fine with rail,” Beth groans.

“I know.”

There’s no point in arguing with her because I know she’ll drink it... begrudgingly, but she will.

The entrance door opens with a high-pitched squeak, and a gust of cold air floats into the stale bar. I notice a change in Nicole. Her posture straightens like a marionette being yanked taut. She smooths out her hair and adjusts her oversized top. I follow her gaze. A police officer enters the bar. He’s dressed in a waterproof shell jacket and a two-tone uniform, dark brown on top and light khaki on the bottom, complete with a tie and high-gloss oxford shoes. The patch on his shoulder tells me he’s from the Walworth County Sheriff’s Department. The gold badge pinned to his chest tells me he takes himself seriously. His chin isn’t held high, so I know he’s not here on official business. There’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes when they land in our direction. He looks familiar, but like the bartender, I’ve forgotten him too. The officer strides toward us. He’s taller than nearly all the patrons he passes by. Many exchange greetings with him. Others look away, slumping their shoulders like they’re trying to appear as small as possible. I assume the ones shrinking into themselves have open warrants.

---