Tainted Waters

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Keegan put on the headset, moved his mouse around, and opened the program on his computer.

"We have to talk." The sound was muffled.

Beggars can't be choosers. He thought he'd done pretty good at planting his first bug. The first two bugs, anyway. That he was getting anything at all impressed him.

"Look, I need to meet with you. I need you to run interference for me, with HIM."

He sat up straight. Who was Donner chatting with?

"Could we meet today?

"I only need a few minutes. You owe me.

"Okay, this afternoon. I'll be here."

There were a lot of rustling sounds and then footsteps leaving the office. Keegan took off the headset. That's when he realized what time it was. Grabbing his keys, he sprinted out of his house.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today …"

Keegan, who was running a few minutes late, was greeted at the door by a solidly built man who looked more like he'd been an enforcer in his day. He stepped in front of him, stopping his forward momentum, but offering him a pleasant smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Please don't go barging in. That wouldn't be very polite. Mrs. MacNeil was well known and well respected."

The man gave him a hard look, which disappeared so fast Keegan wondered if he'd imagined it.

"I'm Mr. Assenby. I own Rest-In-Peace Funeral Home." He smiled pleasantly, but it never went past the upturn of his lips.

Keegan, who felt thoroughly chastised, smiled back. "Can I go in now?"

Mr. Assenby looked over his shoulder through the stained-glass window on the door. "Go in, turn right, and sit in the pew in the back. Please don't make your way to the front. Next time, maybe you'll be early and show your respect for the deceased." He pulled open the door, Keegan slipped through the slim opening and did as the man said.

Once seated, he looked down at the pamphlet that had been slipped into his hand.

Mrs. Cora MacNeil

Born: July 1, 1922

Died: July 15, 2012

He skimmed through the rest before raising his head and listening to what was being said. A woman, who identified herself as Mrs. MacNeil's daughter, got up and told some of her mom's history.

Keegan thought back to when he'd met the ninety-year-old woman six months before. She owned the lake lot beside his. She was supposed to have been living with her sister for the last three months. That's what she'd told her family and what she'd finally admitted to him, after he'd told her his secret. They'd promised to keep each other's to themselves.

She'd been an amazing person. Especially for her age. He'd been embarrassed as hell when she'd come over and fixed his leaky pipes. Mr. Tennison had put piped water into the cottage when Mrs. MacNeil had done hers, years before. Since they had been rarely used, at the one Keegan was staying in, they were giving him some problems. The fact that a ninety-year-old woman had more practical skills than he had made him feel mighty stupid. But she wouldn't hear of it, didn't want to be treated like an old woman. All he'd wanted was the name of a good plumber and a reason to meet his neighbor. She'd appreciated the opportunity to fix it for him. They'd become good friends. He hadn't wanted anyone to know he was living there, and she'd been fine with keeping it a secret. She'd understood wanting to be alone. Her kids never visited her when she'd lived in town, so she'd decided it was time to move out to the country. If she was going to die, it would be where she could be close to nature. Even though she was almost deaf and nearly blind, she'd loved the solitude.

She'd kept going out to the cabin on weekends, after her husband of fifty years had passed away, two years before. Her kids had tried to get her declared incompetent because they'd thought she'd been nuts to want to move way out there at her age. They'd stopped going out there, years before. She'd conceded the battle by telling her kids she would live with her eighty-three-year-old sister, two hours away. They'd been relieved. They wouldn't have been, had they known, she really was living at the lake full time. Since they never stopped by to see her, it hadn't been an issue for them. Keegan could say he'd never met a more self-reliant person in his life. Someone had been looking after her though because she always had groceries, her medication, and her vegetables from her garden in town. She'd planted and weeded a large garden, canning what she couldn't eat or giving it away, for most of her life, she hadn't been about to stop. At least once a week, she'd gone to town, to tend her vegetables. He'd never asked who was assisting her, but he knew it hadn't been her kids. She said they'd have had her committed if they'd known what she was doing. And he hadn't felt it was his place to question or interfere.

A few times a week, he'd made a habit of visiting her. To keep an eye on her but mostly because he'd loved her company. Unfortunately, he'd been too late the one day and found her sitting on her deck, in her rocker, a place she often sat. At first, he'd been sure she was sleeping, but not after checking her pulse. She was gone and had been for hours. The anonymous call he'd made to the hospital, still bothered him. But he knew she'd understand his not wanting to get involved. If her death had been ruled anything but a heart attack, he would have come forward.

As it was, he still had some searching of his own to do. He'd never shared with her the real reason he was there, and he had tried to get information about his grandfather from her. She'd told him some but hadn't wanted to talk about some of it. He hadn't pushed. Now he was almost rethinking that. He thought he'd had lots of time to find some information and then ask her about it.

It made him sad to think he wouldn't hear her deep belly laugh that always made him smile. He looked around at the overflowing room. She had been well liked. Or at least that's how he interpreted the fact that the large chapel was full.

He bowed his head and listened to the summary of her life. They'd had many good talks and she'd shared lots about other people but very little about herself. He was surprised to learn she'd been a respected schoolteacher, she'd raised five kids, and she'd been the head of many organizations for years. He couldn't help but smile that his tiny friend, who hadn't topped out at five feet, had done so much.

Twenty minutes later, the empty, symbolic casket was carried down the aisle. He felt himself choke up as it went by. He glanced toward the front of the room where her urn was encased in a glass container. It was so final. Just like when he'd lost his grandfather. A man Mrs. MacNeil had known, but one that Keegan had never told her he was related to.

Standing, he followed the crowd out, more out of not having a choice than really wanting to go with them. Several minutes later, he found himself in the reception room at the end of the long hallway. Debating whether or not he wanted to stay, as he had some research to do, he realized he was hungry and knew that there would be some amazing homemade desserts. Cora would have been happy with that; food solved all problems. She had loved baking him sweets.

He made his way to the line of people getting food. After he'd filled his plate with one sandwich, more for looks than anything, and several treats, he looked around for the family. He wanted to pay his condolences. He ate quickly, also wanting to get out of there. He made his way through the crowd and saw one of the daughters slip out of the room. He headed after her. The hallway was long and wide, there were a few rooms off to the left with the chapel where the service had been farther down the hall. She stepped into the second room on her right. Keegan assumed it must be the family room. He turned the doorknob and gently started to open the door. The conversation within had him stop.

"How come she was all cut up? Did you get an answer, Randy?"

"Nope. I'm sure it was because of the autopsy."

"They weren't doing an autopsy on her. They said there was no reason. She had all the signs of a heart attack. So how come her chest was cut open."

"How do you even know that, Della? She was cremated."

"I felt it, too."

"Right, like you even touched Mom, Corrine. It's been a few years since you even talked to her, isn't it?"

"I knew there was a reason I quit coming home."

"Shut up, Dale. We all spent time with her before they cremated her, Randy. If you hadn't been so scared to touch her, you'd have felt the welts on her chest. I peeked. Something isn't right. Since you're buddies with George, ask him. He should be able to find out if he doesn't already have the answer."

"I don't know George well enough to bug him about that. He hooked me up with a guy who needed some road work done and some gravel. We're hardly buddies. Leave it, Della. She's gone. We've got enough to worry about. Her house has to be cleaned out. Who will take on that awful task? I'm not. What the hell was she doing out there, anyway?"

"Maybe we shouldn't have made such a big deal about it. If we'd known she'd moved out to the lake, we could have kept a better eye on her."

"If any of us had really kept in touch, we'd have known—"

"I need a drink."

Footsteps were crossing the room toward him. Keegan backpedalled as fast as he could before the door opened. The man came barging out but jerked back when he saw Keegan.

"Hi. I'm Tim. I knew your mom. I wanted to offer you my condolences." He thrust out his hand as he walked toward the man.

"Oh yeah, thank you." He shook it and walked away. Keegan quickly followed him outside, wanting to get away from there. Funerals never sat well with him.

Why would they have cut open her chest? That makes little sense.

Keegan hopped into his 1995 Ford Taurus and then reached into his pocket to pull out his phone so he could put a few notes in it, only to remember it was sitting in his cabin. Almost from the day he'd moved out there, he'd gotten in the habit of leaving his cell phone behind. It had felt good not having it strapped to his hip and part of his every move. Shrugging, he grabbed his notepad from the back seat and wrote down a few notes. Once done, he tossed it on the seat beside him and was just pulling away, when he saw that woman. Or at least he thought it was that same person—although this one looked very different. Immaculate and tidy and all dressed up. Long, curly auburn hair trailed down her back. A navy-blue dress hugged her curves. High heels.

A horn honked behind him. He jerked his attention back to the road. It struck him as odd that he hadn't seen Sam before. Or at least that's what he thought her young friend had been calling her the other night when they'd met. In the ten months he'd been there, he hadn't seen Sam once, but in the last week, he'd run into her twice and seen her one additional time.

Who is she?