The Stranger's Obituary: an Obituary Society Novel, #2

Chapter 1

Unwanted Guests

In Mina's dream, she lay on a beach, millions of grains of golden sand stretching out on either side of her. She couldn't see the ocean exactly, but she could hear it, and imagine the depths of green crested with white foam. Perhaps it reached for her, only inches from her bare toes.

The roar of the waves in Mina's dreams became murmuring voices, then shouts, until she finally accepted the reality that they weren't dreams, but nightmares come to life. She rolled over in her bed, staring at the ceiling as she listened to the chaos outside of her house. She pressed hard on her chest, and waited for the pounding in her ears to quiet.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Mina kept to herself. She only wanted to live in a quiet house in a quiet town. She'd established a rapport with her neighbors: Leave me alone, and I'll leave you alone. So what was going on outside? Had she been discovered?

She shook her head hard. There was, of course, a logical explanation for what was happening, and it most likely did not include a mob of blog readers who had come to Auburn, Nebraska to call her out as a sham. She just needed to get out of bed and find out what it was.

She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her toes curled at the cold touch of the wood floor. She crept to the closet to grab her robe, pulled it tight around her, then peeked out her bedroom window. There was nothing but the fifty year old elm tree, its branches pleading to the bleak March sky to break open and offer sunshine, its roots keeping it safe and secure.

Forcing herself to put one foot before the other, Mina stepped out of her room, down the hall, and into the living room. Dark shapes shifted on the other side of the drawn curtains. Her chest was so tight she was certain it would explode.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Mina tip-toed to the window. Slowly, she pulled the curtain aside. When she saw the crowd of people clutching cameras she breathed in sharply, forgetting to breathe out. A man darted toward her and shoved a large lens in her face. She screamed and stumbled backward, tripping over something and landing hard on the floor.

Her heart threatened to burst through her ribcage as she lay there with her eyes closed. Why were these people in her yard? Did they know something? Her worst fears flooded through her brain, paralyzing her. After all, the reality of her home-bound existence was not the only secret she hid. What should she do? She'd die inside this house before she faced those people, no matter why they were assembled on her front lawn.

An idea came to her, releasing a little of the pressure like a small hole in a balloon. Frank. She'd call Frank. They'd listen to him. Wouldn't they? As she lay there trying to calm her nerves enough to get off the floor, she wondered what she'd tripped over. After all, she never left clutter where it didn't belong.

She turned her head slowly, and a pair of shiny red high-heels came into view. Heels she would never in a million years wear. She shook her head. No.

Mina pulled herself off the floor and turned around. Sure enough, a thin frame lay stretched across her sofa, half covered by the blue afghan Gladys Ellison had made. Perfectly manicured toenails stuck out through the holes near the bottom, pulling the delicate blanket out of shape. Neither the noise outside nor the racket Mina just made had so much as stirred the sleeper. Of course it had always been that way. Her younger sister could sleep through an F5 tornado.

Mina stomped to the sofa and ripped the afghan away.  Why are you here? She grabbed a bare shoulder and shook it roughly. Bernie! Wake up!

A pair of wide, blue-green eyes opened. They looked around the room before settling on Mina. Bernie reached out and snatched the afghan back, then threw it over her head and rolled over. Mina grabbed the afghan and pulled, but Bernie's hands clutched it tightly.  Finally Bernie turned, pulling back harder as Mina's efforts increased. Mina fell backward, still clutching it. Bernie launched forward but refused to let go, sending her off the sofa onto the floor.

Get your foot out of my face, Mina.

Get your face out of my house, Bernie.

Don't call me Bernie. And this is my house too.

You're too good for this house. You belong in a stucco palace in Hollywood.

Mina untangled herself from her sister and scooted back. Why are you here?

Bernie's eyes misted for a moment before she blinked and her jaw hardened. She stood and glared down at Mina.  I was just passing through. I didn't know you'd be so horrified to see me.

Just passing through. Mina got up, inspecting the blanket and attempting to pull it back into shape. After refusing to speak to me for eight years?

"I refused? I didn't see any missed calls from you. And I sent gift baskets."

You mean your people sent them. They were very personal. I'm sure Mom appreciated getting a hundred scented soaps instead of a phone call or a visit from her daughter.

Bernie's lip quivered. You don't have to bring Mom into this.

Her sister's big, sad eyes nearly worked their magic on Mina, just like they had when she used to swipe candy from the pantry as a child, and didn't want Mina to tell. But not being held accountable for her actions hadn't helped Bernie in the long run, had it? Bernie wasn't interested in making things easier for her anymore. Hadn't life been easy enough for her charmed little sister?

Mina gestured toward the window. "You made certain all these photographers knew your every move, but you couldn't tell me you were dropping by?"

Bernie's sigh was harsh and exaggerated. They're paparazzi and tabloid reporters. I didn't know they were coming. I hoped to be on my way before they caught up to me.

Right. Just passing through. I'm lucky I got to see you, and I didn't even have to make an appointment. How did you get in, anyway?

I still know how you think, Mina. I saw a rock that looked like Idaho, and I knew that was where you'd hide the key. Remember how you were going to go white river rafting?

Mina glared, the comment a prick to her heart. First because she never got to go white river rafting, and second because Bernie dared pretend she still knew who her sister was after all these years.

Bernie sauntered off into the kitchen, then poked through the cabinets with a sour expression, like a sou chef in a greasy spoon. She pulled a carton of orange juice and a half-empty bag of bagels out of the fridge. You don't have much to eat around here. Don't have time to shop for groceries?

The pointed look she gave Mina said she knew something, so Mina only crossed her arms.

Frank told me you don't leave the house, Bernie said.

That's ridiculous. I leave the house.

Like, once a week?

You still talk to Frank? Nice to know you haven't forgotten us completely.

He contacted me a few years ago. We talk every month or so. He's the closest thing to family I have.

Mina had been stewing in gasoline and Bernie had just dropped a lighted match. How dare you—You left us without a word.

How do you make a living without leaving the house, Mina?

Not that it's any of your business, but I blog. I'm a blogger. Mina shut her mouth, gathering up her temper, but not bothering to pack up the sarcasm. Not like I could go very far without a car anyway, right?

Bernie pursed her lips. I sent you the money for the car.

Four years later. Don't worry about it. If I'd wanted a car I would have bought one by now. And I get so much exercise walking to the grocery store. Why the sudden concern about me, anyway?

It's not that I haven't thought about you, Bernie said, pouring her juice, but frowning into her cup as if it wasn't up to par. Honestly, I didn't think you wanted to hear from me, especially since you so disapproved of my life.

Mina sighed and rubbed her head with the palm of her hand. The noise outside reminded her that her home had been invaded by people with cameras, as if she was the hotspot destination of the year. She couldn't think. It's not that—just—can you make them leave? She glanced toward the door and dropped down into a kitchen chair, suddenly feeling weak. Please.

Bernie's eyes softened. She held the glass with two hands, her fingers fluttering. Mina felt a pang of sympathy as her sister took a long, slow breath and closed her eyes for a moment. Wasn't Bernie used to being followed by photographers? As far back as she could remember, her sister had always relished any bit of attention she could get. Something was wrong.

Then Mina caught a glance of the Bernie she knew well, stubborn and resolute. Fine. Just give me a few minutes.

Bernie strutted to her suitcase, which she'd deposited in the corner of the living room, and pulled out a large tote covered with Swarovski crystals. Bernie had always loved those. For all Mina knew they could be real diamonds, though. Bernie could probably afford them. After dumping the contents on the sofa, she collected an assortment of powders, a tube of lip gloss, some mascara, and eyeliner. Of course. She couldn't face her public as if she had just rolled off the living room sofa.

Mina sat deflated in her chair as Bernie carried her collection to the bathroom. It felt like her chest was trapped in a vice, and every minute she sat there listening to the crowd outside the device cranked a degree tighter. She knew how long Bernie could take in the bathroom. They'd probably die of starvation before she emerged to make those people leave. Could she make them leave?

Just in case, Mina hurried to her room and grabbed her cell to call Frank. Voicemail. How many times had she begged Frank to keep his phone charged and use it? Nobody could get by in this day and age without a cell, especially the sheriff. She squeezed the phone. No matter. This was a small town. She was surprised Frank didn't know about this already, since even a cell phone was no match for the gossip vine of Auburn. Surely he'd be over soon.

Mina pulled on jeans and grabbed a navy sweater from her closet, then put her hair in a ponytail. She puffed up her chest and walked purposely to the front door before swinging around and walking back down the hall. She was repeating this pattern for the eighth time when Bernie emerged from the bathroom looking, well, like a movie star.

It seemed she was going for the understatedly-fabulous-without-having-tried look, her pale hair combed smoothly over her shoulder, her make-up carefully applied to look natural. Holding her chin high, Bernie stalked past Mina and opened the door.  Mina barely had time to dive out of the way.  She crouched beneath the window and listened as the murmuring outside raised to a roar.

Miss Fairchild, is it true that Hollywood's most cherished couple has separated?

I have no comment at this time. Bernie's back remained straight, her voice firm and confident.

Do you still love Evan Locke?

Miss Fairchild, are you aware Mr. Locke is pressing charges?

Is there any chance for reconciliation?

Is it true that you dyed his dog fuchsia?

Did you attack his Farrari with a stiletto heel?

Bernadette, when did you learn about the affair between Mr. Locke and your younger co-star?

People say you're having a nervous breakdown. Care to comment on that?

I—I have no—

She shuffled backward, putting one hand on the doorframe. Mina's mouth dropped open. The issues between her and her sister fell away, and she wished she had the guts to march out there and tell those vultures where to get off. As blinding lights flashed through the front door, and question after question pelted Bernie, her big sister sat paralyzed under the window. She was supposed to protect her.

Mina slid her back up the wall and slowly turned, pulling the curtain aside to watch the crowd move closer and closer, rabid dogs shoving each other aside to get a piece of meat. Her eye caught on one man, standing still near the back of the crowd. Olive-skinned and dark-haired, he wore a tie tucked into a sweater vest, his white shirt loosely cuffed below the elbows. He was tall and lean, and stood apart from the fray, as if he expected his prey to come to him.

His eyes met Mina's and held her there, even though her first instinct was to duck. Her heart thudded in her chest. She winced as she prepared for another camera aimed at her face. Instead, he cleared his throat. Somehow his voice rose above the others, clear and confident. How long can you hide from the world in there? His eyes never left Mina's as he spoke.

Mina dropped to the floor, breathless. He wasn't talking to her. He didn't even know her. She pushed the sound of his voice, the penetrating dark eyes, out of her mind. This wasn't about her, it was about Bernie, who obviously needed more help than she was willing to admit.

Mina gathered every shred of courage she had left, stood, and headed to the door. She grabbed Bernie and pulled her into the house just as blue and red lights flashed outside, followed by the bloop of a police car.

They waited, clutching each other as Frank's voice bellowed outside. It was followed by the blast of a shotgun. Mina scrambled to the window again. She laughed at the sight of Frank, standing with his shotgun pointed at the sky while the reporters scrambled to their shiny little cars.

When the area was cleared, Frank tromped toward the house and up the steps to the house. He gave the door a heavy thump before opening it and stepping inside. His droopy blue eyes sparkled as he grinned at Bernie. "Look what the cat dragged in.

Chapter 2

Out of the Pot, Into the Frying Pan

The next morning Bernadette shuffled into the kitchen, clawing her hair into submission and pinning it as she walked. How she yearned for just ten minutes with her stylist, Jean André. She wondered what it would take to get him to come to Auburn. Of course, just the idea of a stranger staying in the house would have her sister gasping into a paper bag.

The clock above the sink said twelve fifteen. She glanced at Mina, who was staring at her judgmentally from a dining chair. Bernadette had wanted to sleep through this day and perhaps the next. Coming home was a mistake. She'd leave, but she still didn't know where else to go.

She passed Mina without a word and peeked into the fridge, as if something new might have materialized.

Ketchup packet? Mina asked.

Bernadette groaned. I was hoping for something more along the lines of an egg-white omelet with a side of fresh organic fruit.

I think you have this place confused with a five-star restaurant. How long is this going to last? Mina asked.

Bernadette shrugged. They'll get bored eventually. She kept hoping that Mina would give in first and go pick up some groceries. This was Mina's town, after all, and those scavengers outside weren't here for her. But eventually she realized that what Frank had said was true. She saw it in the look of fear on Mina's face, and the way she tensed up, her fingers curling into bony claws when she peeked outside, which she did a few times a day. Mina wasn't going anywhere.

Couldn't you call Frank or someone?

Probably, Mina said. But I'm sure our sheriff has better things to do than take care of your fan club.

I told you, they're— It didn't matter what she said. This was a stand-off. She stiffened. She needed to show her sister that she was capable of taking care of things herself.

Why don't you call Doug? Mina said, her tone snarky. Ask him to bring you something from the diner?

Bernadette glared at Mina, her stomach turning as if she'd drunk the remains of the expired milk in the fridge. But at least Mina had answered something she hadn't dared