Fadeout Page 2

  “What…?” Framing her face with her hands, she shook her head, embarrassed or dizzy, or both. “What happened?” Her gaze fell to the piece of paper at her side. She grabbed it and hurriedly folded the contents inside while she struggled to get up.

  Roman took her elbow, helped her rise and led her to the sofa, easing her onto the cushion. “Look, I’m sorry if I…” he began.

  She ignored him, her attention on the letter she held in her hand.

  “Could I get you some water?”

  “No, I…” Pressing a palm to her forehead, she said, “I’m fine. Really. I over-sunned today in my war with the weeds.”

  When she made a move to stand, he shook his head. “Relax. Give yourself a little time to recover. Water’s what you need. I’ll only be a minute.”

  “It’s happened before,” she said as he returned with the glass. “Listen, I promise I’ll sit here for awhile. Go. Bella’s expecting you, I’m sure.”

  Without saying so, he decided it was too early to leave her alone. He’d wait for her to color up some. Wrong time to grill her on funeral planning, but maybe she’d talk to him about a few other things, such as the Barker memorial. God, he wished he could get a look inside her folder on Barker, but knew it was as off limits as the letter she clutched in her hand.

  While she drank, the color returned to her complexion. What part of the rosiness in her cheeks was embarrassment? After all, she’d slid down his torso, the gap in her halter revealing the warm softness of her curves. He’d held her head and touched her neck, feeling for a pulse; he’d palmed her brow, checking for fever. Maybe her red face signaled anger at him for hinting she was an opportunist. Roman was sure the words in the letter had made her faint, but felt some guilt he’d contributed to her stress even before she read the thing.

  Tough. Getting to the bottom of this funeral-planning business was his job as a journalist and a grandson.

  “Go,” she ordered, as if she’d read his cynical mind. Draping one arm over the back of the couch, she settled into the cushions, making a show of lounging. “Talk to Bella. I’ll be seeing you later, I’m sure.”

  With a parting wave, he left Jan Solvang seated on her sofa, afloat on an acre of bare floor and surrounded by mystery.

  ****

  “Roman Keller thinks you consult with the dead? I like it!” General Walter Solvang stepped in front of Jan, halting their daily constitutional around the golf course. Once he was positioned to gauge her expression, he teased, “You’re creative with the funeral planning stuff, Janny. Maybe the dead are whispering their ideas in your ear.”

  Jan waved away her father’s attempt to lighten her mood. “Just wait until Bella tells him about the thing with Mom’s dog. If he doesn’t turn us in to the police, he’ll probably make us the subject of his next exposé.” She shook her head. “It’s not funny, Dad. The guy’s nosy, rude, and…” At the memory of waking up from a faint to see his concerned expression, a wave of embarrassment hit her.

  “And?” Walter asked. “Nosy, rude, and what?”

  And handsome, she thought, just as Elwood pulled on his leash, sniffing in the tall grass. She recalled Keller’s slightly raised eyebrows after he’d sneaked a peek under her halter top. And interested. Jan clicked her tongue and said “Heel,” to no effect. Her father, whom she privately called “The General,” a rank he’d earned as a career Army officer, matched her stride while the dog lagged behind.

  “And?” the General demanded.

  “Trouble. For me, you, the business, Elwood. Everything.”

  “We have nothing to hide, Janny. So you faint sometimes. Big deal.”

  Jan sighed, not sure which she hated more: the offhand reference to her lifelong curse, Syncope, or the reminder that her father had never taken it seriously—taken her seriously.

  She decided it best to focus on the Syncope, for which she had to eat regularly and take her medications. Still, a few times a year, when she was frightened or startled, like this morning, she’d collapse, experience a fast-forward dream, then wake up about three minutes later, fairly refreshed.

  Usually refreshed. But her speed-dream this morning was strange and unsettling. Through the whole faint, she’d heard the sad sound of people crying.

  Damn letter. Damn Frank. Damn that Keller had witnessed her swoon.

  The General went on. “You think the guy will bug us about the dog? Elwood’s role is a fun little thing your mom cooked up. So, she named him after a guy who sees giant rabbits. No one’s buying our services because we have a shadow-obsessed dog, for God’s sake. Buck up. We’ll tough it out like we always do.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Jan said, stiffening at his exhortation to fight enemies seen or unseen.

  The General probably figured she’d flee, as usual.

  She drew in air, striving for calm. “I adore Bella, but her grandson seems mean-spirited.”

  “We’ll get him calmed down. He’ll see we’re helping Bella, not ripping her off.”

  “We’ll never please a guy who’s so judgmental.”

  The General shrugged, seeming not to care how much Keller bothered her. Typical. Jan pulled in a breath, remembering Keller’s comment about Barker’s “bent” pals. “Plus we’ve got the ever-expanding Barker memorial and the weird behavior of his children. Can you believe they all refused to eulogize their father at the same time scores of people are hounding us for chances to speak at the memorial? I suggested a small service to the widow, but she’s determined to make it a big event.”

  His bushy brows a stark white line against his tanned face, the General said. “So? You’ve been tested like this before.”

  “Have been. Past tense. Twelve years at HighTech gave me a lifetime of challenges.” She held up her hand to keep him from responding. “I’m supposed to be a snow bird, Dad. The plan was I’d escape Seattle’s winter gloom and spend more time with you and mom.”

  “Instead, you got stuck with me.” Wrinkling his nose at Elwood, he added, “And your Mom’s leftovers.”

  When Jan stopped to let the dog snuffle under a Coyote Brush, the General halted, too. They both stared intently at the dog, their agreement about Elwood’s neuroticism providing a rare moment of peace. Standing so close to her father, she noticed he had shrunk. In the past they’d fought eye-to-eye, but now he stood an inch or so shorter than she was. Diminished this way, he seemed less intimidating, more Dad than General.

  “Solvangs never quit, Janny,” he said. Translation: she’d turned tail too many times already. Maybe this was her father’s way of saying Jan wasn’t a Solvang.

  “No,” she said before she could stop herself.

  “No, what?” He squinted at her like she was a buck Private about to countermand an order.

  “No. We never quit.” She shook the leash, signaling Elwood to heel. The dog ignored her. Irritated by the dog, the letter, Keller, and her argumentative father, she said, “You caught me when I was weak. Grieving.” She looked both ways before she crossed the street, expecting dog and father to keep up. Perversely, she enjoyed having the General follow her.

  With a tug on her visor to better shield her eyes from the sun, she forced herself to shelve the contents of Frank’s letter along with this morning’s odd dream, and concentrate on business. “I agreed to take Mom’s place only until you hired a partner.”

  “But you’re good, Janny. And funeral planning has helped you handle Mom’s passing; you’ve said so yourself.”

  She blinked at the compliment as well as the fact the General remembered something she’d said. Ah, he was into his strategy mode. A glance at her father, shoulder blades almost touching, chest out, marching as if in review, proved he was still the military man. Taking the next hill.

  God, she missed her mother and the easy way she’d softened Jan’s relationship with the General by playing go-between, interpreter, and referee. On her own, Jan was no match for the infantryman.

  Skirting a skirmish, she said, “I admit I’ve enj
oyed the work up to now, but these last two tricky clients have me thinking it’s time to go home.” She shook her head. “I’ve been gone six months. Frank’s been patient, you have to admit.”

  The General huffed. “You never married him.” Looking off into the distance, his white crew cut even with the horizon, he muttered, “Probably a good thing.”

  “Dad…” Jan warned, lengthening her stride, determined to end the walk and the talk.

  Stepping up his pace to match hers, he said, “Okay. I won’t start in on Frank. You’ve been a good soldier, Janny. I understand you want to return to Seattle.”

  But did she? That was one question she had no answer for. He took her elbow, wafting Old Spice cologne her way. She remembered how the oranges he used to peel and section for the family smelled faintly of his cologne. Over time, orange and Old Spice came to her as paired memories.

  “I promise to get someone to replace you after our ninth client,” he said.

  Jan looked down when she heard Elwood breathing hard, the dog’s drooping tongue telling her she needed to slow the pace. Don’t let the General rile you.

  “I’ll finish number eight…Bella,” she said, as she eased her arm away from her father’s grasp.

  “And the Barkers,” her father amended, seeming unfazed by their brisk walk, while Jan’s bad knee throbbed.

  “Bella, only,” she repeated, losing energy, certain the General would soon use the mother card.

  “Come on, Jan. If you won’t finish the Barker job for me, do it for your mother.” Ignoring Jan’s raised eyebrow, he added, “It’s too big for me to do alone, Janny, and the money’s really good on this one. Finally, we’ll be able to set aside something for the grandkids, like Mom wanted.”

  Her father softened his voice, “Janny, help me through jobs eight and nine while I look for the right person to replace you. That’s all I ask.”

  Jan gazed at the thirteenth green, yearning for enough time to play a golf course until she learned its idiosyncrasies. Establish a handicap, join a golf club. Enjoy the company of women her age.

  Instead, she was cornered by a father she hardly knew and burdened with the guilt of never getting the chance to spend enough time with her mother.

  Take nine, entreated a voice sounding like her mother’s. She shivered at the notion she listened to the wishes of dead people, having told Keller otherwise this very morning.

  Deciding her conscience had spoken the words, she repeated them aloud to her father at the same time she turned the doorknob. “I’ll take nine. After the Barker ceremony, I’m done.”

  The General snapped to attention and smiled as if he’d won a pivotal battle.

  Jan had the sinking feeling a bigger war was about to begin.

  Chapter Two

  “He’s dead,” Tess Barker reminded herself as she peered out her window at the setting sun. “My father’s body is stretched out on an embalming table and his soul is in hell. I’m thirty years old, healthy, and finally free of the bastard. Why don’t I feel better?”

  Strange that despite the death of her father, Tess Barker still dreaded the end of the day. As usual, she hurried from room to room, shoving drapes away from windows to make the most of the dwindling sunlight. The rest of the world welcomed dusk as a signal to wind down and kick back, but Tess mourned sundown. Others looked forward to feet-up time in dimly lit TV rooms followed by blessed hours of sleep cocooned in blackness. Not so, for Tess. She despised the night.

  Even though she knew her father had taught her to hate the dark and the way to move on was to learn to love it, she couldn’t. How do you train a well-grooved brain to flip a one-eighty?

  She’d tried. Therapists, self-help books, pills. College roommates chided her for reading late and forgetting to turn off her over-the-bed light. Eventually, she lied to friends and lovers about a “light deprivation problem,” so they wouldn’t criticize her penchant for lamps lit all over the house, day and night. Boyfriends figured she had a healthy view of sex because she liked it with bedroom lights ablaze.

  No one knew it was Cliff Barker who’d ruined the night for all his children and that was the way she and her brothers wanted it: the secret buried with the creep. But if their stubborn mother and the funeral planner had their way, putting on a memorial that made the dead bastard look like a God, Tess wouldn’t be able to hold back. She’d have to elbow her way to the pulpit and reveal to the ignorant worshipers that she hoped Cliff Barker burned in hell for what he’d done to his children. Then, bowled over by the media tidal wave, her brother would surely try suicide one more time.

  No, to save herself and her siblings, she’d have to convince the funeral planner to stop the ceremony…without telling the woman or anyone else how her father had robbed his children of the night.

  Chapter Three

  “You write documentaries about important people, Roman. Why wouldn’t we choose you to eulogize your grandfather?” Bella Keller asked as she cut a small lime in two.

  Lime? He looked at his watch. Ahh, three o’clock meant gin and tonics. The thing with the funeral planner had distracted him from remembering his grandparents’ cocktail schedule.

  Bella’s determined look kept Roman silent while she filled two giant glasses with ice, squeezed half a lime in each, rubbed lime peel around the rims of the glasses, then poured two jiggers of expensive gin in each. Tonic followed.

  If the day was sunny, as most fall days were in the Central Coast of California, Bella and Sidney had a “pre-cocktail hour” gin and tonic. But Sidney wasn’t joining them this afternoon.

  “He’s here,” Bella said, as if she’d read Roman’s mind. “Your grandfather would kill me if I missed our favorite drink in the sun. Sidney’s joining us, in spirit.” Dumping beer nuts in a bowl, she grabbed her own drink and nodded toward Roman’s glass and the nuts, indicating he should bring them. She led the way to a sun-drenched patio.

  What could he do but trail after his seventy-year-old grandmother, decked out in red shorts and a pink T-shirt that hollered “WICKED” in sequins. Bella had been a flashy dresser all the years he’d known her, much to the delight of Sidney.

  “Isn’t she hip?” Sid would ask Roman. “Don’t I have the youngest-looking wife in all of California?”

  Though Roman knew he was supposed to nod and smile at his grandparents’ eccentricities, he’d always felt like a fool doing it. But today, in the presence of his lonely grandmother, Roman grinned, took a sip of his drink and raised the glass to the tiny woman stretched out on the lounge chair next to him. “Good as usual, Grandma. Thanks.”

  While he drank, Roman prepared his escape plan. In a half hour he’d race to Santa Barbara and dig into his new documentary on Senator Harold Johnson. Deadline a week from today or sooner. No ifs or buts, the producer had warned, leaving Roman wondering if he’d have time to fit in some research on the funeral industry.

  Bella must have seen his harried look. “Don’t you be eyeing the door, Roman. We have a lot to talk about.”

  “But, I—” Roman protested, feeling off-kilter with Bella’s neon-sequined T-shirt winking at him in the sun. He wanted to support Bella, but eulogizing Sidney was not the kind of help he had in mind.

  She raised her hand to stop him from speaking. “I want to know why you didn’t set up a time with Jan Solvang. She promised she’d save two hours for you today.”

  He inhaled the scent of citrus, hoping it might sharpen his thinking. After a generous swallow, he leaned back on the lounge chair, waiting for the bubbly tonic to deliver a jolt of clarity to his frazzled brain.

  Be gentle. Be calm.

  He took a deep breath. “I’m surprised you picked me for the eulogy.” He set his glass on the table between them. “I thought I’d better ask if you were sure about the choice before I worked with the lady.”

  Bella drilled him with a look. “Sidney wanted you, honey, and so do I. Jan helped me run through other possibilities, but in the end, I had to agree with Sidney that you
’d MC the event more effectively than any other relative or friend. Sweetie, he was a historian and you script documentaries. How could he pick anyone else?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Roman said, leaning toward her. “He hated my work.”

  An indulgent smile made her face a mass of deep, brown wrinkles. “He challenged you to dig deeper, build perspective and search for truth.” Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. “I guess that’s my job, now.” She straightened, taking control of her emotions. “His criticism showed how much he loved you.”

  Roman rolled his eyes. “Weekly e-mail and letters of scathing critique said something, but it sure didn’t feel like love.” He took up his drink and tipped it to his mouth, hoping to quell his irritation. Over the years, Sidney’s criticism of Roman’s work was as ubiquitous and painful as a hangnail that wouldn’t heal. “Sid called me a modern muckraker. He never liked anything I wrote.”

  Bella smiled, eyes closed, her face turned to the sun. “Nonsense. Sidney wouldn’t have spent the time and effort to help you unless he thought you could improve, dear.”

  “Improve? This last year he’d doubled his critiques and ramped up his scathing index. He treated me like a novice, Grandma,” Roman said, wincing at the nascent whine in his voice.

  She turned her head to look at Roman, her eyes filled with tears. “I think he knew he was out of time.”

  Reaching over to squeeze her hand, Roman said, “I’m so sorry, Grandma. Men as ornery as Sid are supposed to live to be a hundred.”

  Bella patted his arm. “You were good to visit us every few months. I wouldn’t let Sidney talk about your work when you were a guest in our home, but I had little control over the e-mails and letters he sent you in between visits. Still, I know his remarks were gestures of affection, not meant to wound you.”

  A look at Bella’s sad face filled Roman with guilt. His grandmother had lost Sidney. How could he balk at helping her? What’s more he was scheming about using his grandmother’s experience for a new exposé. Older people were being scammed by herds of opportunists in sheep’s clothing. Cemetery and funeral home directors, trust and life insurance salespeople, reverse mortgage and charity scam artists. They all mined obituaries, targeting the old, the grieving, and the vulnerable. By God, it was his job to bring these death squads to their knees.