Dead Letters(32)

“Ma, I got one for you too,” he says, handing her a cup.

“I don’t drink coffee anymore, Marlon. It leads to breast cancer. You know that.” She looks over at me pointedly. “And you know it’s bad for you too,” she adds, clucking at her son.

“Great,” I say. “I’ll give it to Mom. She’ll appreciate it.”

Marlon sets the bags on the counters and starts opening cupboards, trying to figure out where everything should be put away.

“Well, Marlon, what did you learn from the police?” Opal asks. My dad clears his throat uncomfortably.

“Well, they found some, uh, human remains,” he says. I almost drop my coffee.

“What? What do you mean?”

“There are some, I guess, bones? A skeleton? They have to do DNA testing to make sure it’s Zelda.”

I’m speechless, totally without words. Sweet Jesus, Zelda, who was in that barn?

“Ava, did you hear what I said?” Marlon prompts me. “They’d like you to come in. They want to use your DNA to confirm whatever they find. They say it may take a few days before they have any results, but they need a family member to confirm. I offered mine, but they said yours would be better.”

“Okay,” I say blankly.

“They, uh, also want to ask you some questions.”

“What on earth for?” Opal says.

“They say they have reason to believe that there’s been some kind of…foul play?” Marlon sounds deeply unsure that he should be telling us this. Opal and I are both silent. I wonder if we’re thinking the same thing.

“They think she was murdered?” I ask.

“Apparently, there were a few, well, red flags. The doors seem to have been chained shut, and the fire was very intense. If it had been started by natural causes, it should have been slower, they’re saying. Something about an accelerant.”

I want to sit down. I want to get drunk. I want Zelda to walk into the house this second with a silly grin on her face saying, “Surprise! I just wanted us all in the same room, a family again! LOL!”

“So they’re investigating a murder,” Opal says slowly. “My granddaughter was murdered.” She is settling into the role, writing a script for herself as an entirely different kind of bereaved grandmother. Cooking up her own story.

“They don’t know for sure yet. They say the first thing is to confirm that it was her. They say she had a text message, before she died? Saying she was going to be at the barn?” Marlon directs this last part at me.

I nod. “That’s what they told me.”

“It seems she was also caught up in some, uh, unpleasant stuff. She has a drug dealer friend? Do you know anything about that, Ava?”

“Zelda’s always been wrapped up in ‘unpleasant stuff.’ It wouldn’t surprise me in the least,” I answer. “Do they think it’s related?”

Marlon shrugs. “I don’t know.”

We all look around the kitchen silently, thinking. I sip my coffee, which is now room temperature, the way I like it. Marlon clears his throat.

“There’s something else.” Opal and I both turn to look at him. “Did you write this, Ava?” He tugs a newspaper from one of the shopping bags and hands it to me. It’s open to the obituary page.


Zelda Antipova passed away this summer solstice in a fiery blaze that prematurely claimed her young life. She was incomparable. She was a shooting star in a darkened sky. She was a cascading waterfall in a lush hidden glen. She was the full moon and the summer sun, a brilliant flower that faded too soon. Of faults we shall not speak but, rather, forgive all those small shortcomings and missteps and bid her farewell with a desolate heart, void of recrimination and blame and, indeed, anything but bitter anguish that she was taken from us so soon. She will be missed, she will be remembered, she will be mourned. She was very special, very loved, and treasured by everyone she touched with her short, too-short life. Etc. Etc.



“Yep,” I finally answer through gritted teeth, after reading the eulogy a few times. I can hardly lay the blame at Zelda’s doorstep without revealing what I know. Which she knows, goddamn her. How did she get the thing printed? I will try to remember to research how you go about getting an obituary in the local paper. Though this will no doubt look a bit odd, given that I’m meant to have just done it. “It was a mistake. I’d had a few glasses of wine, was feeling maudlin.” I shrug. “I emailed it yesterday. We can print a retraction if you want.”

“Why in God’s name would we do that? I think it’s lovely, Ava.” Opal leans over and gives me a wet kiss on the cheek. “It’s honest, spoken from your real heart. I think everyone can appreciate that.” She rubs my shoulders insistently. Marlon doesn’t look convinced, just raises his eyebrows and sips his coffee. I feel one of the phones vibrate in my pocket.

“I have to go give Mom breakfast,” I say quickly, trying to beat a fast retreat. “Then I guess I’ll head back to the station, answer their questions.” Marlon nods.





8


Hardly able to convince my mother to choke down the banana I offer her, I throw up my hands in exasperation after five minutes of negotiation. I imagine this is karmic justice for some refusal of mine as a child, but this thought does nothing to assuage my irritation with her. I prop her up in bed and leave her with my laptop, the screen open to Netflix. I think she’ll be able to figure it out, but I tell Marlon to check in on her occasionally. Opal is hard at work scrubbing the kitchen and bathrooms, which I appreciate. She may be obnoxious, but at least she’s tidy.