Note: Jeez, one-shots are so distracting.

6.

Dorothy Parker was known for many things. Showing up out of the blue wasn’t one, I realized, as I yanked the front door open. And there she stood, Celia gurgling happily from her hip. Dorothy was wearing her uniform, probably just off of work, and her eyes were droopy and bloodshot.

Surprised, I leaned forward, bracing myself against the doorframe—unable to do much of anything else. The article had turned everyone in Bedford County against me, and Dorothy had joined the bandwagon. But just taking one look at her, I knew that the bandwagon hadn’t been too kind.

“Dorothy,” I finally stuttered out.

Her eyes darted frantically across the front lawn before she looked back. “Can I come in?”

I took a step backwards, mulling over her words. Come in? The same girl who snubbed me at Cathy’s because of a newspaper article? Anxious, I slid to the left, allowing her room to squeeze through the small foyer. It was a fact that I didn’t hand out second chances like people threw away pennies, but something about her state had changed that.

“The second room on your left is the kitchen. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

Dorothy stiffly nodded before she turned and took large strides through the hallway. Once she was in the kitchen, I turned towards the door and stared. The road was desolate, and there was no sign of the nosey neighbors. I should’ve been relieved, but I wasn’t. The mere thought that Michael was prancing around town, hiding in hedges, and waiting for the perfect moment to snap his money shot had my gaze linger.

I had allowed Michael to ruin my reputation with an article, and I wasn’t about to serve the same fate to Dorothy. She had been there for my brother when Riley hadn’t, and it was obvious she held my respect. Despite the fact that she threw me out to the wolves didn’t faze me.

I had bigger fish to fry—namely Jude Carlson.

As I slammed the front door, and carefully locked it, I decided that Michael West was rising higher and higher on that list.

Why couldn’t he mind his own business?

- - -

We were silent over a cup of coffee, extra cream and sugar. It was the kind of silence I wanted to end, but I held my tongue. Dorothy had something good to say, and I wasn’t about to jeopardize that.

She wrapped her frail fingers along the mug. “I’m sorry,” she finally whispered. “Coming here was probably a bad idea, but I need to get something off my chest.”

Her tone made me stop breathing. And I didn’t have to listen to know that my heart was erratically thumping. It made it hard to breathe in oxygen, so I stared at her long and hard for a minute before I dared to speak.

““Go on,” I urged her gently, not sure if I wanted to know what she had to say anymore.

“I know that you’re investigating your brother’s death. And I have some information for you.”

I gripped the counter, hard. In a week’s time, Dorothy had held back vital information. I wasn’t sure what to make of it. But I knew I was angry. I had spent every waking moment since Max’s funeral wanting to avenge his death in whatever way I could.

“Your brother was murdered,” she stated coolly. “In cold blood because he knew something he wasn’t supposed to know.”

I gulped. “Don’t tell me he really was affiliated with Jude’s gang?”

Dorothy shrugged. “I can’t say for sure, but if you ask my opinion, Jude must know something. Everything that happens in Bedford is cleared by him first.”

I nodded, wishing I had cleared my head enough to realize that. Jude was a mogul, if not more, and he controlled a lot of the underground, illegal operations passing through the town. And before something big happened, it went through him first—all because he held that much power and fear amongst everyone around him.

“He’s suspect number one,” I said. “I’m just digging up whatever I can bust wide open. The last thing I’m going to do is show up in Carlson’s turf without any solid proof. And getting some training in self defense probably wouldn’t hurt, either.”

“Good idea,” Dorothy pointed out, “but I don’t think the brunt of your investigation should be focused on Jude.”

I raised my eyes. Did she know something I didn’t?

“You have possible suspects.”

“I do,” she confirmed. “Max and I talked about everything because we were best friends. And I’m pretty sure that a few nights before his death – that he was hinting around at some people that were interested in serving him on a silver platter.”

I bit my lip so hard it drew blood. “Such as?”

“Michael West, Riley Jacobs, and the Cranford’s.”

“That’s crazy,” I blurted. “While Michael is a snake, I don’t think he’d have to motive to kill Max, would he? Max and Michael never had problems. And Riley, Riley was Max’s girlfriend. She loved him more than anything else in this world.” I paused. “But the Cranford’s, that’s where I see cause for concern.”

Dorothy eyed me wearily. “Ruby, if you know what’s good for you, I wouldn’t let your personal relationships with these dictate what they’re capable of. It’s always who you least expect.”

Words rushed through my head, but they didn’t leave my lips. As Dorothy took my silence as her cue to leave, she shot me a suspicious look before she picked up Celia and stomped through the narrow hallway, rattling the loose hangings on the way enough that they were all hanging at funny angles.

And all I could do was gape.

In Michael’s wake, he had kicked up so much dust and debris, that finding Max’s killer wasn’t quite as easy. And I couldn’t help but think that pretentious Michael West had done it all on purpose.

I refused to be beaten down.

No matter what, Max deserved justice. He deserved his name cleared of all that Bedford had seen fit to drag it through.

And there was only one thing left to do before I took action.

- - -

The air was crisp and unforgiving as I power-walked and weaved between headstones. It had been just shy of a week and I was already missing my brother. The truth was—I was missing him long before his death, but losing him had thrown my universe all out of whack.

I was angry, really angry. And the old Ruby Porter never got angry. Well, never was a stretch, but I couldn’t help but be angry at Max for dying and getting himself tangled up with bad things.

“Hi Max,” I whispered, my voice cracking.

I dropped onto the grass, crossing my legs. My fingers found their way to the new, shiny headstone. I traced the contours of his name, silently sobbing, as I wished that the past two weeks had been a nightmare. I had taken on Mrs. Cranford. I had taken on Michael West. And more than anything, I had taken on myself.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “This is all so surreal to me,” I admitted, blinking and shedding tears. “Riley’s been a phenomenal best friend, you know. She hasn’t said much or talked much since your funeral. And Dorothy made up for it—by leaps and bounds—by visiting me today,” I broke off, staring at the sky.

“I think she’s trying to do the right thing—just as I am. But it’s hard Max. It’s so damn hard—pretending that you’re okay and that I’m trapped in a nightmare. Every night, I go to bed hoping that you’ll be there in the morning. And every morning, reality hits me hard.”

I stretched my legs and blinked back tears.

I was really there, staring at his grave, and talking to him.

It was one of those times I wished our parent’s had the nerve and decency to call or return home. Max was their only son. He deserved that much if they’d offer nothing more. But I wasn’t holding my breath. Our parents were notorious for putting their social lives ahead of anything else, and we had learned to deal with it.

But it didn’t make it right. God, nothing they could say could make up for missing their son’s funeral. I knew, from that moment, that they’d never care. I knew enough to know that they weren’t going to win any parent of the year awards, but that wasn’t the point.

Max was their flesh and blood. They brought him into the world, and it stung to realize that they didn’t give two shits when he unexpectedly left the world.

Some people were incapable of changing.

“And Michael West is up to no good again,” I blurted suddenly, staring at the brownish green grass sadly. “He made it ten times harder to find your murderer—if you were murdered. I never understood how someone could hold a grudge for so long—about something I didn’t even do.”

“I’m not holding a grudge.”

I tipped backwards, slamming into the cold, wet grass.

Michael sure picked the best moments to show up.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: So, I’ve been planning like crazy. I decided that I’d like for Michael and Dorothy to be somewhat of regulars, so I had to make sure they could be connected to the story. And I know I rushed things a tad, but I realized that Ruby wasn’t really “dealing” with her brother’s death—besides thinking about it to herself.

Over the next couple of chapters, more loose ends will be tied up, and I’ll be doing a bit of editing on earlier chapters to make things smoother, cohesive, and not all over the place. Believe me, when I say that I’m extremely pressed in time. I work all year, and the busy season really started in March, so I’m not doing very well with prioritizing and updating, but believe me, I’m working on it.

I promise, promise, promise that this story will be worth your while. And for those curious at Jude’s big reveal, it’ll probably be in chapter 12. I have a few flashbacks to add between them, and a very vital scene that will set this story up for its climax. Yes, this story will not be insanely long. Yes, I don’t like writing mystery (but I love reading it), so the sooner I set things up, the less chance I have to screw something up.

Thanks for all the hits. Hit-and-run readers are just as appreciated.

Faded Soulfire