Rene Gutteridge - Listen

“What for?”

“For helping me through this. You didn’t have to get involved in this mess. But I’m so thankful you did.”

Kay pulled off the top of the box. Inside was a tall lavender candle encased within a hurricane lamp. Engraved at the bottom was the word friendship.

Jill said, “I hope I’m not being presumptuous. But I do consider you a friend.”

Kay pondered a moment how drastically her impressions of Jill had changed. And how much she’d judged this woman, even unintentionally at times. “This is beautiful, and yes, I believe with all we’ve gone through, we are now officially friends.”

Jill laughed and held up her mug. “Cheers.”

“To a coming year filled with fewer complications and more blessings.”

Jill nodded and they touched mugs. “Well, it doesn’t look like things are going to get less complicated anytime soon with this town.”

“Oh?”

“Haven’t you heard? There was a new post this morning on that Web site. I haven’t read it. I’m trying to cut back.”

“You’re late,” Edgar said before Damien even reached his desk. “Busy morning?”

Damien cast a forlorn look at him and kept walking. He reached his desk and threw his coat over the back of his chair. Edgar was still on his heels.

“I wasn’t even sure if I should come in today.” Damien glared at his desk to keep from glaring at Edgar.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have.”

“So you’re convicting me before I’m tried; is that it? Besides the fact that you’ve known me since I was twenty years old and know that I’m not capable of doing something so damaging. Why aren’t you at least giving me the benefit of the doubt?”

“I did. I gave it an honest shot. I went home to Luanne, and we talked through it. I think I was more upset that you’d hidden the note from me than anything. But none of it made sense. I mean cerebrally, yes, I could see where your overzealous nature could lend itself to something like this. You’re a passionate man, especially when it comes to our fine town. You’re a person who loves words of all sorts. So connecting those dots was not difficult. But you have to take it a step further. You have to look at the man, his character, and I did that. I had to consider your ineptness at the computer. I even considered you were telling the truth about the missing note.”

“But?”

“But then you go and do something stupid. Something unbelievably stupid. It’s so stupid that I honestly can’t imagine what you were thinking. You must think we’re a bunch of morons around here.”

Damien grabbed the back of his neck, rubbing it fiercely as he tried to ward off a headache crawling up the back of his skull. “Okay, yeah, maybe it wasn’t that smart, but I couldn’t let it rest.”

“So you’re saying you did it?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t trying to hide or sneak around. But I had something to say. And I don’t believe in hiding out and keeping my mouth shut, at least in most instances. So I went and confronted the jerk.”

Edgar blinked. “What are you talking about?”

Damien sighed heavily. “You’re not going to make me repeat myself, are you? I’m talking about that maggot Gavin Jenkins. He’s the one who started that whole nonsense about Frank being involved in the Web site.” Even at the mention of his name, Damien felt his blood pressure rise. He shook off thoughts of Gavin and looked at Edgar, whose face had frozen in an odd expression. “What?”

“You went and confronted Frank’s rookie this morning?”

“That’s what I just said and what you just said. What are we talking about here?”

“The Web site. There’s a new post this morning.”

“What?”

Edgar’s eyes narrowed. “Now you’re going to act surprised?”

“Yes, I’m surprised!” Damien’s patience was growing thinner by the second. “Why wouldn’t I be surprised?”

“Because it’s about you.”

“What are you talking about?” Damien sat down at his computer, hurriedly typing in his password. An error came up and he retyped, trying to slow down. Another error message.

“Stop.” Edgar’s voice was sharp.

Damien turned back around in his chair, feeling like a small child who had just been scolded.

“Get your things and get out of here.”

“Edgar-”

“I mean it. You’re on administrative leave until this has been resolved. And if you’re involved in this, you can kiss this job good-bye.”

“Wait-”

“I think you got your wish. Frank’s name is about to be cleared.”

Damien stood in the doorway to Frank’s house with the key firmly gripped between his pointer finger and thumb. Except the door did not need to be unlocked. It was already wide open. A high-pitched, hollow-sounding whistle passed through the gaping hole.

Damien took a step in and saw a man walking through the back door.

The man looked up and noticed Damien. “May I help you?” he asked, wiping his feet on the small mat before walking to the front door.

“I’m Damien Underwood, Frank’s friend.”

“Damien, yes. We spoke on the phone. Duane Morley, Frank’s landlord.” He shook Damien’s hand. “Listen, I’ve got to get this house ready for rental again. And nobody has called to claim this stuff. Any idea what he’d want done with all of this? I’m going to have to do something with it.”

Damien scanned the room, each piece of furniture, each knickknack, each piece of technology ushering in a different memory. There were so many. Damien gazed at the coffee table that had held heaping piles of hot wings and various boxes of fast food. The television, dark and dusty, seemed the perfect symbol for Frank’s passing. That TV had probably never been turned off since it arrived at the house four years ago. Damien remembered the day Frank bought it. He’d helped him move it in. He’d been so proud of his flat screen.

“Mr. Underwood?”

“Yeah, sorry. Um, Frank would want this all donated to charity. He was that kind of guy, you know?”

“Sure. Of course. I really liked Frank. He was one of my best tenants.” Duane headed toward the door. “Tell you what. I’ll start getting this stuff moved out this weekend. That’ll give you some time to look through everything, see if there’s anything you want to keep.”

“Thanks.”

“Just make sure everything is turned off before you leave.”

Duane left and Damien walked quietly through the house, gazing at dusty picture frames and books lining the small bookshelf. Kay had come over and cleaned out the refrigerator and pantry so the rodents wouldn’t get any ideas.

There was the obvious absence of Christmas decorations, which Frank had purposely protested since his divorce.

He made his way to the basement, clicking on the light. The computer, set atop an old desk he’d found at a flea market, was still on.

Sitting down and leaning back in the ergonomically correct chair, he stared at the beams supporting the ceiling, wondering how Frank would tackle this problem of being wrongly accused.

First of all, Frank would want to know what was posted. Damien’s stomach turned at the thought that someone had been listening to his conversation. And, it seemed, someone deliberately posted his conversation, knowing full well he was a suspect. It couldn’t be coincidence.

He’d gone to the library and printed out the conversation but hadn’t had the guts to read it. Not yet. He took it out of his back pocket but couldn’t get himself to unfold it.

Did he really want to read it? No. He did not. But he was going to have to find the courage to read it anyway.

He carefully unfolded the paper. Frank had done the same thing, read a conversation, and it had ended in his death. What would this bring for Damien? for his family?