Monday Mourning

Closing my eyes, I made a conscious effort to take control. Deep breathing.

By the time we arrived in Candiac, my neck muscles were taut as guitar strings.

Blinds were drawn across every window in Rose Fisher’s house. Soft yellow light oozed through one set.

“Hm.” Ryan slid to the curb and killed the engine.

“What?”

“I don’t remember leaving a light on.”

“Is the place still sealed?”

“No point. Crime scene finished processing days ago. Took the tape down.” Ryan opened the driver’s side door. “Stay here.”

I gave Ryan a few seconds, then followed him up the front walk and onto the porch.

Ryan rang the bell.

Inside, chimes sounded faintly.

Wind flapped my scarf.

Ryan rang again.

Seconds ticked by. Another gust. One tear cut loose. I pulled my hat lower.

Ryan was sorting through keys when a light went on in the living room. Locks rattled, then the knob turned. The door opened a crack, and a face peered out.

It was the last face I expected to see.

23

“WHO ARE YOU?” THE WORDS SOUNDED WET AND SLUSHY, LIKE someone speaking with a mouth full of peas.

Ryan held out his badge.

“Polishe?” Fearful.

“May we come in, Mrs. Fisher?”

“Where’sh Louishe? Where’sh my shishter?”

Dear God. She didn’t know.

“We’d like to talk to you about that.” Ryan’s voice was calm and reassuring.

The crack widened. I saw a pumpkin face, oddly concave around the mouth.

“Wait.”

The door closed.

The raw wind whipped my collar and scarf. I lowered my head, stomped my feet.

I felt leaden. Ryan and I would be the bearers of bad news. Our words would change Rose Fisher’s life forever. I hated what I was about to see. It was not ordinarily part of my job, and I was thankful for that, but when involved, I hated it.

Minutes later the door reopened, and Ryan and I stepped into the house. The warmth made the skin on my face feel soft and loose.

Rose Fisher was not plump. She was enormous. A bad dye job and perm gave her swollen face a clownish look. An overabundance of cosmetics didn’t help.

“Where is my sister?” The fear lingered, but the slush was gone. Though wrinkled and coated with lipstick, Fisher’s mouth now looked normal.

The leaden feeling intensified. Sweet Jesus. The woman had inserted dentures and applied makeup. For strangers.

Ryan laid a hand on Fisher’s shoulder. “May we sit down?”

A pudgy hand flew to the fire engine mouth. “Oh my God. Something’s happened to Louise.” Mascaraed eyes darted from Ryan to me.