Heads You Lose - Lisa Lutz [56]
Paul was up first the next morning, despite having been up late reestablishing the plants in the basement. “Happy anniversary,” he said as Lacey trudged into the kitchen.
“A year since we found the body?” Lacey deadpanned.
“Close. A week.”
“What did you get me?”
“A basement full of high-yield pot plants.”
“Aw, you shouldn’t have.”
“It was my pleasure,” said Paul, raising his coffee. “Here’s to a less eventful week two.”
“Whatever.”
Lacey poured herself a cup to go and headed out the door. She worked full eight-hour Tarpit shifts on Thursdays and Fridays, and for once she seemed content to have two days of mindless work ahead of her. Paul noticed that her inquisitiveness seemed to have waned since Terry’s death.
Paul called Deena just to check in on her. Several of Terry’s friends and relatives had converged on Mercer as soon as they’d heard about the tower collapse. It seemed like a good idea to have some kind of memorial service while they were still in town. Deena said she’d put the word out. She was glad to have something to do other than, as she put it, “sittin’ around thinkin’ about old shoulda-beens and usedta-coulds.” The coroner wasn’t ready to release the body, but why should that hold things up? She agreed to arrange things with Tate. That afternoon, Deena’s friends put signs up around town: “Timberline. Friday 6pm. JAKES’ WAKE. All friends and family of Terry Jakes welcome.”
With those details sorted out, Paul couldn’t help wondering how a tower stands firm for decades and then spontaneously collapses. Maybe it had been on the brink for years, and Terry was as suitable a last straw as any. Stranger things had happened, including several in the past week. In any case, Paul wasn’t about to go poking around the place, which was no doubt being scrutinized by Mercer’s finest.
Paul’s thoughts turned back to the list of WINO names from the cabin. If he couldn’t begin to untangle the mystery that seemed to have Mercer by the neck, maybe he could tie up a loose string from the past. Or at the least get some reassurance that the two weren’t parts of the same thread. He took out the list: Blakeys, Collaspos, Sundstroms. The Sundstroms were the only couple Paul thought he could picture, but their address was way out in Easternville. He decided to start with the closest address: Grace and Victor Collaspo, who apparently lived on the north end of town—or did when the list was made.
As he walked up to the house, he could see a small, plump woman washing dishes, her head barely visible in the window. She came out to her porch and hugged him. “Paul Hansen. You look just like your mom.” She embraced him as though his parents’ death had happened last week. Paul didn’t recognize her. “Come in, come in,” she said.
Sitting with Paul at her dining room table, she didn’t ask how he’d found her or what he was looking for. Paul hadn’t planned what to say, so he winged it. “I was just wondering about the time, you know, with my parents’ accident. My, uh, therapist thought it would help me get some closure on it.”
“Well, that’s just great. Good for you,” said Grace. “I don’t know if I can help you, though. I hadn’t seen your folks for a while when the accident happened. Victor and I were going through a rough patch at the time.”
“Sorry to hear it.”
“Don’t be. We split up a good three years ago. And I do mean a good three years. Are you married, Paul?”
“Nope.”
“That’s fantastic. What’s the rush, right?”
“So where’s Victor now?” Paul asked.
“Florida, I think. He went off with Jas Blakey. All I can say about that is they deserve each other.”
“Ah. She was part of WINO, too, right? Is her . . . is Walter Blakey still around?”
“Wow, I’m surprised you remember his name. Yeah, he’s in the same house up in Emery. I think he even still uses the cabin.”
Back in his truck, the reality of Terry’s death started to hit Paul. He’d visit Walter Blakey when he had time. For now, he had some deliveries to make, some soil amendments to buy, a plot of young