Kevin O'Brien - Disturbed

He glanced at the stains on his sleeves again.

Funny, he was usually so careful when he left a cul-de-sac. He hardly ever had a speck of blood on him.

He caught only fleeting glimpses of her. She was down on her knees, working in the garden on the other side of the bushes. He couldn’t really tell what she looked like. In the middle of the backyard with the rake in his hand, he was too far away.

Chris was curious about her — maybe because Molly had mentioned at dinner the other night that the new neighbor was “quite a dish.” She and Molly were getting to be fast friends. Molly had nothing nice to say about the other two women who moved onto the cul-de-sac over the summer: Jill Somebody and Natalie Something. Chris still hadn’t met either one yet. He’d only seen Jill at a distance — or in her car. And he’d yet to lay eyes on the unfriendly jogger woman, Natalie. He figured he’d probably meet them eventually. He wasn’t in any hurry.

But he was kind of intrigued by this Rachel person. Through the foliage, he could just make out that she had brown hair and fair skin.

Chris wiped the sweat off his forehead and went back to work. His dad had asked him to do something about all the leaves in the backyard. They were having people over for brunch after the funeral on Tuesday. Molly was freaking out, deep-cleaning every room in the house. Apparently, she wanted it looking immaculate, which didn’t make any sense. If ever they had a good excuse for letting the place go to shit for a few days, it was now. Chris imagined telling company, “Sorry I didn’t get around to raking the backyard, but my mother died.”

It was nuts, because he just wanted to be alone to think about his mom — and maybe even have a good cry. Instead, he was running around doing all these chores for the wake tomorrow and the funeral the next day, and the reception after the funeral. They were busting their humps to make sure they were — as Molly put it—“dressed to the nines” in different outfits for each service. She needed to prepare about a dozen different dishes for the brunch, and his dad was stocking up on booze for the fifty or so guests. And the place had to look like House Beautiful. All these distant relatives and old friends his dad hadn’t talked to in years were coming to this thing. Were they ever going to see these people again? Chris wondered if these “mourners” would have cared as much or even known about his mom dying if she hadn’t been murdered.

As he raked the leaves into a big pile, it occurred to him that his mom — more than anybody — would want them to put on a first-class funeral and brunch for her. She was always big on impressing people and keeping up appearances.

He was doing this for her. Suddenly it mattered that the backyard looked nice. He felt tears in his eyes, but kept on working.

Up until last year, he’d attended only two funerals in his whole life — and both of those were for grandparents. His mother’s funeral on Tuesday would be his third in six months: first Mr. Corson, then Mrs. Garvey, and now his mom. He still felt awful every time he thought about what Mr. Corson’s sister and his widow had said to him. He knew it was stupid, but he couldn’t help wondering if they were right. Maybe he was just a lousy guy, and his mother’s murder was some kind of karmic punishment directed at him.

He wished like hell for another dull weekend in Bellevue, another night on Larry’s lumpy foldout bed in the mallard shrine of a study, just one more weekend with his mom.

“Hey, how’s it going over there?”

Chris glanced over toward the neighbor’s yard. At a break in the bushes dividing their yards, the pretty brunette smiled at him. She wore a gray sweatshirt, jeans, and gardening gloves. “Are you Chris?” she asked.

He quickly wiped the tears from his eyes. “Hi, yeah, hi,” he replied awkwardly. With the rake in his hand, he stepped over toward her.

“I’m Rachel,” the woman said. “I was really sorry to hear about your mom.”

He nodded. “You’re the one who brought over the apple pie, right? It was really good, thanks.”

“Well, you’re very welcome,” she said. “I got to meet Erin the other day. Now, except for your dad, I’ve met the whole family.”

“Dad’s at the office today,” Chris explained. “He figured he’d catch up on stuff for a few hours while it was dead there, being Sunday and all.”

Frowning, she glanced past him at the yard. “Are you burning leaves?”

He shook his head.

“Oh, I thought I smelled smoke. Well, the yard’s looking good. Maybe next summer, if you’ve got time, you could mow the front and back here. No pressure. Knock it around and name your price. We can haggle over it later.”

“That sounds good. I used to mow the lawn for Mrs. Garvey.”

“Garvey?” She seemed puzzled for a moment. “Oh, of course, Garvey , that’s the woman who used to live here— with a teenage daughter. The Realtor told me about her. Were you close to the daughter?”

Chris shrugged. “We hung out sometimes. I haven’t really seen her since she moved in with her dad and her stepmother.”

Rachel blinked. “Oh, really? What happened to her mother?”

“Well, she’s dead,” Chris replied, matter-of-factly. Then he saw her stunned expression and immediately regretted it. “I’m sorry. Didn’t you know that? There was an accident. Mrs. Garvey fell and hit her head.”

Rachel stared at him. “In the house? My God, did she die in the house?”

He gulped. “I’m sorry, I figured you knew. . ”

She shook her head. “That damn Realtor, he should have told me,” she muttered. “I think he’s legally obligated to inform me, the son of a. .” She trailed off, and rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry, Chris. Do you know what room she died in?”

He hesitated.

“No, don’t tell me.” She put up her gloved hand. “I don’t want to know. Besides, I already have a feeling where. I’ll bet it happened in the big bedroom. There’s a cold spot in there, right by the door. I get chills every time I stand there.”

Chris just stared at her. He couldn’t believe it. From what he’d heard, that was exactly where Mrs. Garvey had fallen and bashed her head.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a long sigh. “I don’t mean to act like such a baby about it — especially in front of you, after what you’ve been through. It’s still a beautiful home. I’ll just hire a shaman and have the place smudged and blessed.”

She made a face, wrinkling her nose. “Somebody’s burning leaves, because I can smell it. Can’t you?”

Chris glanced over her shoulder and saw black smoke billowing out from the other side of her screened porch. “Oh, Jesus!” he cried. “The house. . ”

Rachel turned and let out a scream, “Oh, my God!”

Without thinking, Chris tore through the bushes and rushed past her. From working in Mrs. Garvey’s yard, he knew the hose connection was by the screen-porch door. As he got closer to the house, the smoke became thicker. Every time he took in a breath, he tasted it. He heard a crackling sound. “Call nine-one-one!” he yelled.

“I don’t have my cell phone with me!” Rachel replied helplessly. “Oh, God. . ”

“Our back door’s open. Use our phone!” Chris reached the outside spigot and saw the garden hose was connected to it. He quickly twisted the valve open. With a hiss, water shot out of the nozzle end. Grabbing the hose, he ran around to the other side of the screen porch, toward all the smoke. He prayed the hose was long enough and didn’t snag on him.

“Chris, be careful!” he heard her call.

His eyes hurt, and he tried to hold his breath as he got the hose ready. He suddenly stopped in his tracks. The smoke wasn’t coming from the house, but from Mrs. Garvey’s toolshed — about ten feet away from the screened porch. A rope of fire shot up from a pile of what looked like old newspapers by the shed’s door. Little scraps of burning paper floated around the shed. Flames licked at the mossy roof, creating plumes of black smoke. But the roof hadn’t caught on fire yet.