Chapter 14. Condolences and Casseroles

WHITNEY

Colette had made a pot of her creamy mushroom risotto, and divided it in two, one portion for Gideon, the other for Macy, Holden, and Alyssa. She'd sent it along with Buck as he left for work Thursday morning, along with portions he and I could eat for lunch. He stored the dishes in the refrigerator at the fire station, and we delivered the food later that day, just before suppertime.

We went to Gideon's place first. He looked just as bad when he answered the door as he had the day before, when he'd come by the fire station to inform us of Joanna's death. In fact, on closer inspection, he looked worse—hunched and haggard and hopeless. His shoulders slumped and his skin seemed to sag from his bones, as if he were melting.

"You'll enjoy this." I held out the covered foil dish. "It's the ultimate comfort food."

Buck said, "My wife made it."

Gideon took the dish from me, but looked down at it without interest. "Thank you," he said, his voice feeble. "I don't have much appetite right now, but I'll stick this in the freezer for later."

Curious whether he had any new information, I asked, "Did the pathologist confirm whether Joanna had an aneurysm?"

Gideon's grip seemed to tighten on the dish. I couldn't blame him. The thought of his friend being sliced, diced, and dissected like a frog in a high school biology class had to be upsetting. "They haven't had a chance to complete the autopsy yet. They're short-staffed in the pathology department. We were told that a couple of the docs are out, squeezing in late-summer vacations."

Looked like Macy would have to wait a bit longer to determine whether she had a viable malpractice case.

"If there's anything we can do, please let us know." It was a trite expression, one rarely taken up on, but what else could I say?

Gideon gave a small nod and quietly closed his door.

Unlike Joanna's townhouse, which had a separate front porch from the adjoining unit, Gideon's house had a wide, shared porch. We turned and headed across it to the door on the other side. On the way, I stopped to straighten the Dad's Old Fashioned Root Beer sign that hung slightly askew. As I did, I leaned in to consult the thermometer. It had been an exceptionally hot day and, per the weather app on my phone, the temperature had hit the century mark around three in the afternoon. I'd bet it was still in the upper nineties now. I squinted and peered at the thermometer from different angles, but there was no telltale line inside the device. It must be broken. Not surprising, I supposed, with the sign having been manufactured decades earlier. Like Joanna, its life was over. Now, it was nothing more than a kitschy relic from a bygone era, useful for decoration only.

Buck knocked lightly on the Griffins' door. A few seconds later, Alyssa answered, looking just as despondent as her next-door neighbor. Gone was the sassy, vivacious teen from before, who'd modeled her new shoes and pleaded prissily for cash. She seemed a shadow of her former self, a ghost of the girl she'd been. I hoped that, once she had time to get through her grief, she'd return to her former carefree self. The mop-like mutt stood at her feet, but he, too, seemed sad. While his tail had wagged when he'd seen us before, today it hung limply behind him.

The scent of something savory came from inside. Anyone would recognize the aroma of garlic, but having lived with a cook, I also recognized the scents of cumin and turmeric.

"Hi, Alyssa," I said. "We brought y'all some risotto. Buck's wife made it. She's a professional chef." I held out a hand to indicate my cousin, who offered her the dish. As she took the food from him, I noticed a yellow adhesive bandage on her left index finger. Colorful unicorns were printed across it, cute and playful. Who knew bandages could be a fashion statement? "Did you hurt your finger?"

She looked down at the bandage. "I got a splinter from the porch swing at my friend's house. I've tried to get it out but it's too deep."

"Been there." Splinters were an occupational hazard for a carpenter. Luckily, no matter how deep a splinter went, it would eventually work its way to the surface through the natural skin-shedding process. "It'll work itself out over time."

Having heard us at the door, Holden stepped up behind his daughter and their dog. Though his demeanor was solemn, he showed no express signs of being affected by Joanna's death on a physical level. His posture was good, his eyes dry, his voice steady. "Thanks. It was nice of you to bring this by."

I offered the same trite phrase. "If there's anything we can do…"

To my surprise, Holden took us up on it. "Could you help us move this Saturday?"

"Into Joanna's place?"

"Well, it's ours now," Holden said. "My wife's anyway," he clarified. "But Macy said she'd let me and the kid live there with her so long as we behave ourselves." He grinned and angled his head to indicate Alyssa.

I knew humor could be a coping mechanism, but it seemed a little soon to be cracking jokes. It also seemed soon to be moving into Joanna's townhouse. The woman lay in a freezer in the morgue, awaiting her autopsy. But maybe they figured there was no sense in putting things off. Maybe living in Joanna's place would help them feel closer to her, even though she was gone. Maybe returning to her childhood home would bring comfort to Macy at the time when she needed it most. Maybe they wanted to get out of the place they rented from Gideon so he could find a new tenant as soon as possible. Lots of people moved in August, and he had a better chance of finding a new tenant to take over immediately if he could get someone in now.

"We'd be happy to help," I said, volunteering my cousin as well as myself with that we.

Buck was on board, which reminded me that, despite his occasional grumblings, he was a nice guy at heart. It also told me that Colette was working on Saturday. Otherwise, he'd want to be home with her. Buck said, "I'll bring my flatbed trailer in case there's anything you need hauled away."

"That would be great," Holden said. "We've got our own living room furniture, so we'll be getting rid of Joanna's. Her bedroom suite, too. We plan to leave Macy's and Lane's old bedrooms upstairs as they are, at least for now. Alyssa will move into the third one. Joanna's just been using it for storage. She was quite the pack rat. It's going to take us days to get through all the paperwork she's hung onto. Most of it's probably not needed, but we can't take a chance on throwing out something important. We'll have to go through it piece by piece, figure out what's important and what's not."

I pulled out my phone to input a reminder. "What time would you like us to be here on Saturday?"

"How about eight o'clock?" Holden said.

Buck groaned. "You making the coffee?"

While his daughter stood stricken beside him, Holden laughed. "I'll have a pot ready."

The condolence meals delivered, Buck returned to the fire station to lock up, while I proceeded to our townhouse across the street, toolbox in hand. Though I'd bought the new door handles and locks earlier in the week, I'd been in no real hurry to install them. The damage had already been done and it was doubtful that whoever had vandalized the place would return.

I donned my knee pads and was kneeling on the front porch, removing the current lock, when from behind me came a shout of "Da-ba-da!" I turned to see D-Jay, Samira, and their son headed my way. This time, Kavish held on to Samira's hand but moved on his own two feet, wobbling and staggering about like a drunken sailor—or like Joanna had when she'd come into the fire station.

"Hello!" Samira called out, smiling. "We saw you were here and decided to come over."

I'd been at the place for only a minute or two. Has she been keeping watch?

D-Jay pointed at the lock. "Can I help?"

The two had said nothing about Joanna. Their pleasant demeanors seemed to indicate that they were unaware of her passing. I stood, screwdriver in hand. "I guess you haven't heard. Joanna Hartzell passed away a couple of days ago."

"Gideon mentioned it," Samira said, her tone surprisingly nonchalant.

I was silent for a moment, waiting for one or the other of them to express some type of sadness, but they didn't. It was odd, wasn't it? They seemed more than a little heartless.

My thoughts must have been written on my face. Samira said, "We feel very bad for her family, of course. But she was lucky to have lived to nearly seventy. That's a full life."

"A full life?" I repeated. "She'd barely reached retirement age."

Samira appeared hurt by my implication that she'd been improperly glib. A cloud passed over her face. "I am sorry. I did not mean to sound unkind. I was only trying to focus on the positives. Of course, I am sorry Joanna has passed."

D-Jay cut a glance at his wife before turning back to me. "Samira took pots of dal and rice to the Griffins yesterday."

That must've been what I'd smelled when Alyssa had opened the door earlier. I felt a twinge of guilt in my gut. Had I been too harsh toward Samira? "That was very nice of you."

While I showed D-Jay how to remove the old lock, Samira stood in the yard nearby, keeping a close eye on Kavish as he bent down to pick dandelions. Once the old lock was off, I stood back and simply instructed D-Jay as he installed the new one.

When he finished, I examined his handiwork. The apparatus was flush against the metal of the door and the screws were tight. "All that's left is to program a code."

Samira looked over. "Use zero-eight-two-four," she called to her husband.

D-Jay eyed me. "That's Kavish's birthday."

For the second time since they'd arrived, I felt uncomfortable with our interaction. It was awfully presumptuous of them to assume I'd even give them the door code, let alone let them choose it. Nobody other than Buck and I should have unfettered access to the townhouse. But I didn't want to insult them. I'd let D-Jay put in the code, but I'd change it later to something else, perhaps my upcoming wedding day.

I led D-Jay inside so that we could change the lock on the kitchen door, too. Samira followed us in, carrying Kavish now. She plunked him down on the kitchen counter and played a version of patty-cake with him while D-Jay changed out the locks. Again, he'd done a good job, and again, he programmed 0824 as the access code.

I gathered up the tools and returned them to my toolbox. "That's all I'd planned to do here tonight. In fact, it'll likely be some time before Buck and I get back to work here. The fire has caused some setbacks at the fire station, some things that'll cost us more time, and we're on a bit of a time crunch. Plus, Buck and I agreed to help Holden and Macy get moved on Saturday."

"We understand," Samira said. "A delay is no problem. That will give us more time to work out our finances and save more for the down payment. We have found a private lending service that is not so strict with credit history. We believe they will give us a loan."

I could only imagine how high the interest rate would be. Banks were charging rates of nearly eight percent for a thirty-year fixed-rate mortgage, and that was for well-qualified buyers with perfect credit. D-Jay and Samira were surely looking at a double-digit rate.

She pulled out her phone. "Let me show you something I have been working on."

She came over to stand next to me and pulled up images on her phone. She'd used pictures she'd snapped inside the townhouse and Photoshopped them to show what the rooms would look like with different colors of carpet and paint. She'd designed a dozen different mockups of the living room, bedrooms, bathrooms, and kitchen. I had to admit, the living room looked much better with the soft orange paint in the doctored image than it looked in real life with theives still painted on it.

"Which one do you like best?" She tilted her head and scrolled forward. "I think the blue bathroom tile is my favorite, but I have not decided on the kitchen. I like them all."

D-Jay chuckled. "Samira has been watching the HGTV channel all day and night." He reached out to ruffle his son's hair. "Poor Kavish misses his cartoons."

Again, I was feeling uncomfortable. Was Samira expecting me to use her designs in the remodel? Though hers were undeniably good, I'd already come up with some preliminary plans of my own. I looked from D-Jay to his wife. "Samira, I've warned you not to get your hopes up."

"But there is no harm in me having a little fun, is there?" She gave me a broad smile, tilted her head, and raised her brows in question.

I issued a soft sigh. "I suppose not." But if there was no harm in her playing with the designs, why had my guts tied themselves into knots?