At Rope's End (A Dr. James Verraday Mystery #1)(44)

“I used to fantasize about killing Robson,” said Penny. “But being in a wheelchair limited the possibilities. Sometimes I would imagine hiring a hit man, but they have a bad habit of testifying against their former employers when they need to cop a plea bargain. And it also took away the pleasure of the hunt. So I always imagined stalking him with my car, waiting for him to step off a curb, cross a street, then bam, run the bastard down and blame it on faulty hand controls.”

“How come you never told me that?”

“I try to save that kind of shit for my counsellors. And I was sort of ashamed of having that amount of hate in my heart. When I discovered Buddhism, the monks told me that the only way I would ever be free of my pain is if I forgave Robson. So I tried. I did loving kindness meditations for him, you know, envisioning his pain and whatever made him the way he was, and wishing happiness for him.”

“And?”

“It never worked. Every time I pictured his face, I felt like I was going to puke. What about you?”

“I always had it in my mind that someday, when I figured out how to kill him without getting caught, I really would go murder the son of a bitch. I didn’t want you to know, because then you’d either have to rat me out or be an accessory after the fact.”

She nodded, then looked at him with sudden curiosity. “Did you do it? You could tell me, you know. I’d be cool with it. It’d be our secret.”

Verraday shook his head. “No. Though part of me wishes I had. I feel like the old bastard cheated me out of the opportunity.”

“Did you tell Dad about Robson yet?”

“No. I don’t even know how to tell him. I’m not sure how to process this myself,” said Verraday.

Penny paused to consider it. “I have an idea.”

“What?”

“We should go visit Robson’s grave.”

Verraday looked at her incredulously. “Are you fucking kidding me? Why would we visit his grave?”

“Ritual is how humans mark significant life events. And this is a significant life event. Problematic people, people who have caused us grief and suffering, are in some ways the most difficult for us to let go of in death. Robson’s never going to pick up the phone and tell us he’s sorry. He will never take responsibility for what he did now.”

“And I’ll never have a chance to kill him myself.”

“That too. Seeing his grave, being present at it, will help us let it go. Do you know where he lived?”

“My source says Everett.”

“There can’t be too many cemeteries in Everett. And there’s bound to be an obituary online in one of the papers that will give us the details.”

Penny rolled over to her desk, picked up her tablet, and tapped in a search.

“Bull’s-eye,” she said. “There it is. The funeral was two days ago. ‘Donations may be made to Saint John the Baptist Church. Visitation to be held at Cypress Lawn Memorial Park.’”

“You seriously want to do this?” Verraday asked.

“Yes. Right now. I just need to use the bathroom before we go. It’ll take a while to get there even this late in the evening.”

*

Verraday waited on the driveway for Penny as she set the alarm system, then emerged from the doorway. She rolled herself toward him.

Verraday clicked his remote and the lights of his car flashed.

“Actually, I’d rather we not take your car,” said Penny.

“Why? I’ve only had two glasses of wine,” protested Verraday. “That’s nothing. I’m not even a third of the way to the legal limit.”

“I know. But remember I told you I’ve got that new personal mobility device? I want you to try it out with me.”

Verraday cocked his head and looked at her quizzically. “We’re going to drive to Everett in an electric buggy?”

“Did I say it was an electric buggy?”

Penny reached into her purse, pulled out a remote and clicked it. The garage door began to creak. As it swung upward, the ceiling light activated automatically, revealing a carmine-red Porsche Boxster GTS with a blue handicap parking tag in the window.

“Well? What do you think?” asked Penny.

“I’d say it beats hell out of those buggies at Walmart.”

“They make high-performance hand controls for these nowadays. Comes from racing paddle technology. It’s actually faster than using your feet.”

“Who knew?”

“Not the kid in the Mustang who wanted to drag race me on the way back from getting the groceries this afternoon. You should have seen the look on his face when I left him behind at the lights like he was standing still.”

“And what do the Tibetan monks say about your new ride?”

“They say that attachment to material objects causes us to remain wandering in samsara, bound to birth and rebirth. But that the color suits me.”

*

With Penny at the controls, the Boxster made it up the coast to Everett in considerably less than the thirty-four minutes that Google maps recommended budgeting for the trip. With the aid of her GPS, they were soon at Cypress Lawn Memorial Park, cruising the lanes that ran past the headstones. At last they spotted a mound of freshly dug earth. Verraday got out and checked the headstone, then nodded to Penny and waved her over.