Ellie clicked off the line. Her shoulders dropping faster than the call. It was hard enough burying someone, making all the arrangements, taking their wishes and balancing them with your own ache for someone you loved. A mother, a father, even a selfish, two-faced monster in law. . . Ellie had buried them all. Both her parents, though decades apart, plus his mother, and now him.
A knotted chain of thoughts darted between the cords of Ellie’s throat, pulling everything in. Tighter. Closer. She tried to swallow, force the racing liquid of tears back down directing them instead to loosen the chokehold she had put herself in.
Most women who bury their exes kill them and end up on Snapped. Most people who met James, people who he didn’t need anything from, probably wanted to hurt him, stab him, cut him back down to size. If he had the body of a GQ model, there would have been no doubt in Ellie’s mind that he was the devil. As it stood, the devil for all intent and purposes was a sexy beast – at least in all the dark romantasies she read – and James, well. James wasn’t. Charismatic, charming, cute, sure. . . but chiseled, handsome, hung like a horse, and sexy not so much. He didn’t have to be, not even when he wanted something.
For a while, he had wanted Ellie.
She coughed, loosening the memories’ tight grip. Ellie swallowed and returned the phone to the cradle. It wasn’t practical per se, but the retro styled phone had been the perfect touch in the kitchen. The silver, matte chrome, the rotary dial with the actual telephone chord. If they were only going to get discounted pricing by having cable, internet, and a phone line, Ellie was going to have a phone. One that added that extra detail to her vision.
Even James, who had originally mocked the idea, had come to love it. It had taken some time, before she could unpack all 65 boxes from her condo and the 35 from his apartment. Her furniture had to be moved in and set up, which included a coffee table, a kitchen table, four kitchen chairs, a butcher block, a couch, a chaise, a rocking chair, two desks, a desk chair, four bookshelves, three night stands, two dressers, a smaller square table with four matching chairs, and two rugs. Plus her mattress and bed frame. His stuff was a little easier. There had been a couch, a mattress, a bed frame, and two dressers. Most of his stuff fell into one of three categories: clothes, sneakers, entertainment. By the time Ellie had been done unpacking her stuff they had a fully stocked and loaded kitchen, a packed linen closet, two under the sink cabinets filled with cleaning supplies, and a house fully decorated in a blend of modern bachelor and eclectic book nerd.
Ellie smiled looking around the kitchen. Yes, it was her stuff, but even James had said she made it look like their house. The lump returned. If only they had managed to work together to make it a home, rather than just looking like one.
The time had come and gone on that. Weeks before his physical they had started talking about separating. Salvaging what could be saved, attempting to fix the rest, or just dissolving it all together. While the house would have to be figured out, they still had the business, would still be co-owners, but no longer a couple. A team.
Ellie moved into the living room. A team, she laughed looking at the sports paraphernalia standing out against her books. They had made a worse team than the 1976 Tampa Bay Buccaneers. A fact she only knew because of James.
He had taught her a lot, about football, about negotiations. Mostly though, he was her poster child for why therapy was imperative to human growth and that Freud wasn’t entirely off base with his Oedipus complex.
She didn’t want to be his mother. One day, while looking down at the fun design she had made with his pills, she realized she had become something worse than his mother. She had become a good one. The one that made everything fun, who tried to encourage better habits to help combat some of James’ health conditions, but who also made sure that his meds were taken. Laid out. She enabled him. Her salvia had become sharp and bitter tasting as if the acid from her stomach was trying to destroy her. It had been the last day she laid out his pills.
For the last few months of his life, James had been taking care of himself. Ellie had still cooked, done most of the cleaning, while still clocking 70 or so hours a week at the store. Her 60% ownership hadn’t come cheap, but it was her dream. She had wanted it, and still loved doing it; James had backed her play. It had taken months of pitching and the final threat of taking out a personal loan or opening up partnership opportunities to their friends, but he had finally jumped on board. 40% ownership and zero involvement. He would get his monthly checks and fire people for a nominal fee if she couldn’t sack up to do it herself.
She had thought about puncturing his sack that day. Oversized and utterly useless. A waste of sperm, but she had her Fun Factory Big Boss. Which, Ellie thought looking toward the living room, she needed to see about getting a replacement charger. She found her purse by the front door, hanging on that hideous shoe rack she had petitioned to get rid of for months. Her to-do list was sticking out to the top.
Removing it, Ellie crossed off confirming the booking for the repass and added FFBB – extra charger. It had made sense when she had gotten her apartment to move her small treasure trove of sexual pleasures, the shoebox from her knee high winter boots from last year, to her own space.
The apartment was conveniently closer to the store, enough to not raise suspicion that she and James were having troubles. Something he had stipulated in their verbal agreement for space. If Aaron Beck had known James, he could have created a separate subset of CBT.
Ellie had told one person about her conversations with James. While a therapist herself, Kelly had her own issues with CBT. Not that her method of practice mattered. At the end of the day Ellie had to be the one to decide what she wanted to do about the relationship. A pang swept through her chest as she pressed the football playing gnome into her chest. She thought she had to decide. It seemed that good old Father Time and Mother Nature had made the decision for her. Kelly had recommended a grief therapist for her. It would cost Ellie a penny or two, but it would be worth it to come out the other side of this stronger, more her than even before they had started their layers and layers of intertwinings.
The gnome took its place back on the shelf. Tucked neatly next to the picture of them at their first game together and a stack of sports romance novels. She had thought of every detail.
Now, she thought to herself, the work of unsorting began. What to donate, what to trash, what to keep. . . Ellie continued her walk through the house, making notes, adding and crossing things off. There were a few t-shirts from events, gifts, things that time and the downward spiral of their relationship hadn’t tarnished. Sports trinkets like the gnome, that represented more than just their time as boyfriend and girlfriend, it just sounds so juvenile, that no one could make her forfeit. His old ratty towels, stained and torn, those she would break down, heavily bleach and use as cleaning rags. The guest room with his bed frame and mattress would be donated. The sheets on the other hand, there wasn’t enough bleach in the world to make those salvageable. What else did he really have?
Ellie walked into his office. His mini-man cave lined by dozens and dozens of framed and itemized sports memorabilia. Not like the trinkets. No, these were expensive toys, trophies, like her. They were not to be played with, they were there on display across social media and splattered across the walls to show pride and possession. Ownership. James’ dear old friend control. Ellie felt her eyes as they rolled, the sea of stuff tumbling in her view.
There were things she would keep for herself. Certain pieces she had advised him to buy as investments, others that were just too cool to let go of. . . a pair of Muhammad Ali signed boxing shorts. Some things even had meaning for her, like Bobby Wagner’s jersey, only her favorite football player ever. Everything else she would sell. Reinvest in the business, in herself. The profit from the house would be small comparatively. They hadn’t put much into it and Ellie just wanted to be able to start over again in a townhouse. It had been what she wanted before it seemed that a house was the sure way to fix their relationship. She had never wanted kids, neither was particularly enthralled by marriage; the obvious “gotchas” people stumbled into in hopes of creating a healthy, loving relationship. They had gone for a house. It could have worked.
It could have, if both of them had wanted it to, Ellie sighed as she sat on James’ office couch. Like everything else he had taken from his basement apartment, the one his mother owned, was marred by neglect. In the years she had known James, the apartment complex was never truly managed, but it worked. Most of the time it was an easy fix. James would call one of his tradesmen friends and have whatever it was repaired. Problems with the rent? James’ shadow spilling through the doorway blocked by his massive frame quickly persuaded renters to pay up or move out.
Ellie took out her list. Another thing to do. Greenery Terrace – ???
It had been inherited by James. Most of his tenants didn’t know his mother passed. Nothing changed for them. Things would have to change now, Ellie just wasn’t sure how.
Her foot slipped into the tear in the couch as she curled into herself. It had been days. Already it felt like weeks. There were so many things to do. The things would keep her going. That was her. That was how she lived, tackling projects, getting her hands dirty, moving forward one step at a time. James would tell her she didn’t know how to relax. He would know, she would tease, watching his shows, his sports; working and hunting down the next collectable. He hated travel, any outdoor activity, cooking, reading, crafts, even going for a drive was a waste of time. Unless it was the usual bar, with the usual friends, it wasn’t for him. He spent his whole life sitting, she wanted to live.
Now he was gone. There had been so much unsaid. So much that was miscommunicated, misunderstood, mistaken and taken for granted. Now, there was no going back.
Ellie sniffled in spite of herself. The back of her hand slid across the tearstained boogers leaking from her nose. She untangled herself from the couch, and stood, making her way to the bathroom.
His bathroom.
Ellie plopped back onto the toilet lid before it or the seat had the chance to fully close. Her jeans rubbed against each other as she crossed her legs. Her toes sliding down the ceramic tub, bouncing the shower curtain. She blew her nose into a tissue; the scent of Irish Spring steamed deeply in its soft blend of cellulose fibers pulling at her memories.
They had been somewhere. Somewhere hot, sticky, and swampy. Georgia if she wasn’t mistaken, maybe Louisiana? It had been one of those blended trips. A tricolor pasta with all the fixings. Ellie would be meeting with a new potential vendor for the store, an exclusive contract – it would be the first one for the store, after which they would be spending the weekend celebrating (or wallowing if it died on the line as James had said), before it would just be the two of them.
The meeting has gone well. Really well. It had been one of the best deals she had ever brokered.
It had been an almost perfect night. They had gone to a bar, one that looked like a renovated garage. Narrow with a metal door tucked against the ceiling, concrete flooring and the lingering hint of oil underneath eons of stale beer and spilled whiskey. Slightly off the beaten path, but still a hotspot for locals and tourists of a certain flair alike. Sitting there, waiting for James to come back from the bathroom – or had he stepped outside to make a call – Ellie had checked her email. The confirmation was there flagged for follow up, shining bright like a super moon.
Above it, a new email. Three of her vendors, mom and pop type shops that she had been a patron of long before she started her business. Three of them, gone. Signed an exclusive contract with The Enemy, the hub of online shopping. She was happy for them. It was a great opportunity to be seen, but damn. Ellie had felt the jolt so strong it brought tears to her eyes, as the joy of her contract collided with the news. James’ looming presence announcing his return. They didn’t really talk about the business. His involvement was minimal, but if he could celebrate with her. . . She told him, more surprised at his support than the fact that she even bothered. With each shot of tequila she mourned the loss, softening the blow.
It was sometime after shot number four, but before she passed out in their hotel room. Perhaps it was the walk back? She had said told him how even though she didn’t say it, wasn’t a sap about it, she did love him. When she woke up the next morning James was angry. She thought it might have been because of the clients. But she had assured him that their bottom dollar would be okay. That it was going to be okay. That she loved him, truly, and everything about him, even those less pretty parts.
The less pretty parts indeed. Ellie shifted on the toilet seat reaching into the cabinet for an unopened bar of Irish Spring. She held it to her nose. She had told him very clearly in the middle of the street, as he so angrily demonstrated her at a volume that was described as “cheering,” that she loved him from his balding head, to his skidmarked underwear, to his pointy toenails. It was inside that counted, no matter how deep down it was.
Ellie had tried to not laugh when he told her this. To think throwing up on her shoes outside of the bar was the most embarrassing thing she had done that night. They had fought the rest of the day. Quibbled more or less, until Ellie finally ate crow and apologize so profusely with an actual song and dance. He finally cut her some slack an hour before their friends arrived. The rest of the weekend was filled with passive aggressive comments, but Ellie knew better than to expect anything different from James.
She had loved him, at one point, faults and all.
Emotions swirled inside her, more that those shots of tequila had. Maybe it wasn’t the best soliloquy ever written, but it was things like that. Rejections of her in her most vulnerable state that grated on her over the years. James did it to her, but never to his friends. One of the many reasons she had tried petitioning for a return to friendship. Why she wished and prayed and set up rituals to the moon to have him wake up gay on each passing birthday. None if it worked.
Ellie looked at the pills before her. No, none of it worked. She reached out, her fingers dancing along the bumpy tops of James’ pill case. It was easier, and smarter, for him to use a pill case then to have to call her each day – before they lived together and from his office upstairs – to see if he had taken them. Ellie felt her face pull. Her chest raged, she should be more sympathetic but an adult man should know, should have wanted to take care of himself. Yet, Ellie had bought this case, brought his pills down to the kitchen table, had enabled him.
The air spilled from her lungs as the pills splattered into the toilet bowl. It felt good. It felt final. At least he wouldn’t have to take them anymore, she thought to herself. With a whoosh the pills danced around the tinted water. Ellie opened the medicine cabinet each pill bottle opened, emptied, and taken away by the hardest working toilet bowl cleaner she could find. The skidmarks hadn’t made themselves.
Ellie had just tossed the last bottle into the trash bin her doorbell rang. She closed the medicine cabinet, freshened up the leftover make up and went downstairs. Behind the glass were two shapes, blurred, mostly hidden behind the large wreath. James hated that wreath, all her seasonal and holiday decorations actually. Ellie took a sharp breath before opening the door, leaving her cell phone on that damned shoe rack. It’s all just one action item at a time.
The door opened to reveal two officers, both meticulously dressed and groomed. One shorter, blonde hair, buzzed, with big blue eyes and ghostly white. His shoulders broad, framed his entire being. Next to him, taller, thinner but clearly defined in her own right, a gorgeous woman. Sharp features, dark straight hair pulled back into a thick ponytail.
“Miss Brothers?”
“Yes,” Ellie nodded.
“Detectives Gallagher and Vassey.”
“Nice to meet you,” Ellie said extending her hand. Still feeling the strong, confident grip of Detective Vassey, Ellie opened her arm and invited the detectives into her house.
She walked them to the dining room table. Solid oak, hand carved, too big to move out of the house and into her apartment, so she had kept it there. Ellie had trusted him to take care with it, the same way she had taken care with anything – no matter how broken, dusty, or junky – his mother had given them. This had been her great-grandmother’s. Outside of the sentimental value, James was well aware of the financial one.
When the two detectives were seated, Ellie offered them tea or water. “I would offer you coffee, but the coffee pot is in my apartment.”
A shadow, something dark, a thought perhaps, moved behind Detective Gallagher’s eyes. Even if there had been anything Ellie had thought to hide, it wouldn’t have mattered. Detectives, good or bad, were apt to find what they were looking for, sometimes the truth, sometimes not.
“Your apartment?” Detective Vassey’s voice was a strong and smooth as her handshake.
“Yes,” Ellie said. “But I have tea and water here.”
She glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. The imprint of James’ ass still framed in his recliner chair, she could almost see the condensation building up on the coaster he resented having to use.
“There might be some iced tea mix in the cabinet, if that would be better?”
“We’re all set ma’am,” Detective Gallagher spoke. “Please, have a seat yourself.”
Ellie sat. She had barely tucked her chair under the table, she hadn’t had enough time to pull her legs up and cross them before Detective Gallagher was sliding a stack of papers her way.
SEARCH WARRANT in big, boxy letters, all capitalized, across the top of the page. They were going to search the house, their house, her house now. She supposed it made sense. James, wasn’t quite 50 – hadn’t been 50 yet, certainly not 60+, the typical age for those silent killers called blood clots. That didn’t change the fact that he was still an obese, diabetic, heavy-smoker with heart failure and high blood pressure whose daily activity included one flight of stairs twice a day (three if it was an online auction after dinner) and one drive to Dunkin’ for a large coffee, light and sweet with hazelnut; a bacon, egg, and cheese on a bagel; and two donuts – always one for now, the other for later.
Her eyes read through the opening summary faster than her thoughts pulled together a list of action items.
“Of course,” Ellie said. Her head nodded quickly. “You can begin your search, I’m just going to call my attorney so they can be present.”
The chairs chaffed against the rug as they all stood. Too bad, Ellie thought, Detective Vassey could have helped me solve a case of a dead dildo. Her chest pulled in tightly, painfully choking back a laugh. If James were here and not the reason for the visit, he would have tormented her. Intimidated by a powerful, attractive woman. Knowing that no matter what boxes she checked, Ellie would still have found the deceive downright sexy. And she was. That didn’t change the fact that everyone knew, no matter how much or how little true crime they consumed, laughter of any kind, for any reason, shouted “GUILTY” to an officer of the law, especially when you were the romantic partner of a dead man.
Ellie walked back to the front door, picking her cell phone. She unlocked it and scrolled through her contact list until she reached the “S” section. There, she said, her thumb pressing down.
“Henry Scharon,” the clipped voice answered the phone.
“Hi Henry,” Ellie said.
It had been too many weeks, months actually, since Detectives Gallagher and Vassey had sat down across from her at the same table she was now seated at. In front of her this time were two pens instead of two people, along with a timer, a notepad, a tape recorder, and her phone showing a picture of the sly and cunning Cuckoo Bee, very representative of Henry’s skills, as her call started.
“To sum it up: it seems that he changed you to his next of kin. Left you everything either because he cared or to allegedly, as the cops now believe, frame you. In part from some half-assed letter he wrote to his childhood friend. Had the wrong address, the dates didn’t make any sense, and he used a stamp that he borrowed from you. Not that you left in the house, borrowed from you. Medical reports show his pills were being taking inconsistently. Since the remaining pills were flushed there was no way to test what was left or for your DNA on them, though the cases along with everything else in the house had both your and Mr. Ashford’s DNA on it. Outside of intention, which I can’t speak to, it seems he didn’t know much about his medication, or didn’t care to research. The coroner doubled down on the manner of death to be natural and the cause of death just an old fashion blood clot. There will be no charges pressed, and all assets will be available to you. The detectives appreciate your corporation and cleared you. Lily will send you a bill in the mail for all services rendered, including today’s call.”
Henry coughed once into the phone. Ellie hit pause on the recording.
“Off the record, Detective Vassey was pleased to hear that you’re no longer a person of inquiry. Give it a few more weeks. You never know.”
Henry coughed again. This time, Ellie resumed the recording.
“Thank you very much for the update, Henry. I’ll send a check and a Hanukkah card with Christmas cookies.”
“Check now, everything else later.”
“December will be here before we know it.”
“Stay outta trouble, kid.”
The line dropped. Ellie looked down at her notepad, the rough form of a woman, strong and toned, with long dark hair draped down and around her body had taken shape. In her hands were a bottle of pills tossed into the air like confetti. The holidays would be here soon, already she had so much to be thankful for, and apparently she already knew whose stocking she wanted to stuff under the Christmas tree this year.