The gods are crying, he thought to himself as the deluge continued and made a loud drumming noise on his black umbrella. Once under the protection of the entryway, he closed his umbrella and sized up a gathering of people catching a quick smoke outside before going into the home. He recognized one from pictures in the paper. It was Ryan Archer, Marissa’s father. The man looked tired and haggard and it was obvious the loss of his daughter was taking a toll on him.

  The superintendent lit up another cigarette and a young man approached extending his hand in greeting. Marissa’s father clearly recognized the boy and gave him a hug. Reed knew that Marissa had been an only child, so the young man must be a cousin or other relative. The boy had the build of an athlete, well over six feet tall and bulked up. After the two talked outside for a few minutes, they turned and walked up the steps and into the funeral home. Reed decided it was also an appropriate time to make his way inside.

  To each side of the front entryway stood a man in a dark suit quietly greeting the visitors as they entered and directing them to the proper room for the service. Reed guessed that they were employees of the funeral home, but it was obvious they knew several of the guests. When Reed entered, the man closest to him gave a cordial greeting but also gave him a look of suspicion. The man did not recognize Reed and was probably leery that he was a reporter.

  After a week of being inundated with the media hounding every person they could find for tidbits on Marissa and her family, on this day of all, the community simply wanted to be left alone to mourn their loss and Reed understood. He gave the doorman a nod and thanked him, saying nothing more as he accepted the memorial service program.

  Inside the door people mingled in little groups, the high school students grouping together with their peers while the parents collected in twos and fours and talked quietly. Many were already taking seats in the main room, regrouping back with their respective families. At 11:00, one of the greeters from the front entrance came inside as the other one closed the tall gold trimmed white doors. Then they both invited everyone to please take their seats, so the service could begin.

  Reed entered the memorial room and took a seat at the back, taking in the sound of the organ and low murmur of conversation. When the organ stopped playing, it seemed that all conversation also ceased as if the lack of music was a cue to stop talking. For what seemed like an interminable period, the only sound in the sanctuary was the dull rumble of rain on the cedar shake roof mixed with occasional sniffs and the shuffling of feet on the tile floor.

  The music began again quietly, and Marissa’s parents entered the sanctuary and took their seats at the front. Several aunts, uncles, and cousins had already taken their own seats in the front row where Marissa’s parents now sat holding hands. Reed noticed that the athletic young man was not among them. Instead, he sat about halfway back with a group of students. He must just be a good friend of the family, Reed thought.

  Shortly after the service started, one more person entered the room quietly and unnoticed and sat down in the rear next to Reed. When the service ended, the young man slipped out the same way he came in, quietly and unnoticed. Reed instantly knew why. It was Keith Martin.

  The service ended with one of Marissa’s cousin’s singing Amazing Grace as the family walked down the aisle and out to the reception area. Then the ushers released each pew in order as they worked their way to the back of the room.

  Accusations

  Reed was the last to leave the main room and enter the sea of people in the crowded foyer exchanging greetings and sharing memories of Marissa. As he made his way through the crowd to the funeral home entrance, he could hear a disturbance outside and sped up to see what the commotion was about.

  Once outside the doors he heard someone yelling “Get out of here or I’ll beat the crap out of you. You’re going to hell for what you did.” It was the large athletic boy yelling at someone down the street. Reed looked in the direction of the boy’s attention and saw Keith, in a long black leather coat, running off down the sidewalk.

  “You know he probably killed Marissa. And now he has the balls to come to her memorial?”

  “He never did strike me as too smart.”

  Two teenage girls were standing next to Reed and he couldn’t help but overhear their comments. Both a little on the chubby side, one was wearing blue jeans and a blue denim jacket and the other a white skirt and short red wool coat.

  “Excuse me, but I heard what you just said. Are you from West Seattle?”

  “No. Why would you think that?” the one in denim asked incredulously.

  “Well, it sounds like you know Keith, and he is from West Seattle not Gig Harbor.”

  “Who are you? Are you a cop or something?”

  “No” answered Reed. “I write a blog on crime. Marissa’s death is tragic, and I am just trying to learn more about her. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  He had no idea how that cover came into his head, but it seemed to lower the girls’ guard, and both started talking.

  The girl in red went first. “A lot of people here know who Keith is. When he started seeing Marissa, he would hang out in town a lot.”

  The one in blue chimed in. “Then Keith and Steven got into some crazy ass fights after school when Steven caught Keith waiting outside for Marissa, only it was totally one sided with Steven pounding on Keith. Can you believe Marissa would break up with Steven to go with a loser like that?”

  Red jumped in. “Steven told Marissa’s father about Keith and that he was a stoner and Mr. Archer forbid her from seeing Keith. Mr. Archer always liked Steven and I think he thought Steven and Marissa would stay together. You know. Like forever?”

  Blue. “Yeah, what is there not to like. He is good looking, smart, and is going to the U next year on a football scholarship.”

  Red. “Mr. Archer just wanted what was best for Marissa. And it’s not like she was the greatest catch or anything? She was a little mental you know. One day on top of the world and the next, all Miss doom and gloom. She didn’t know how lucky she was to have someone like Steven interested in her.”

  Blue. “Do you think you know who killed her? Do you think it was Keith? That’s what everyone here is saying.”

  It took Reed a second to recover from the one-sided staccato conversation that had just taken place before he answered the two fidgeting girls, “Why do you think he would? People don’t usually kill someone they care about and go out of their way to be with. Is there anyone here in town that might have wanted to hurt Marissa?”

  The girls shrugged their shoulders in unison. From Reed’s response they determined that they weren’t going to get any additional information from him and decided the conversation was over.

  Blue spoke up. “Well, um, it’s been nice talking, but we gotta go. See ya.”

  They both turned and walked off toward the parking lot, their retreating figures reflecting off the wet asphalt drive as they picked their way around several shallow puddles that dotted the way.

  Reed opened his umbrella and turned to walk in the opposite direction toward the last place he had seen Keith when the boy ran away. Maybe this would be a good time to hear Keith’s side of the story if he could find him.

  The voices at the funeral home faded as Reed walked down the driveway and fell into a contemplative state while he listened to his feet make a methodic slap-slap-slap sound on the blacktop. He noted that the pitch of the sound changed as he stepped from the smooth blacktop onto the course concrete sidewalk. After a few more steps he noticed that there was a second set of footsteps just slightly out of sync with his, coming from not too far behind.

  “He didn’t do it.” A voice came from just behind him.

  Startled, Reed spun around to see a young girl only a few steps back. “Excuse me? What did you say?”

  “I said he didn’t do it.”

  Reed found himself looking at a young girl dressed in black boots, short black skirt, and black hooded sweatshirt. Medium height and build, the girl’s long copper red hair was interspersed with streaks of pink. He guessed she was a local middle school student or possibly a first-year student at the high school.

  “I heard you talking with Buffy and Princess. They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

  “Talking with whom?” Reed asked.

  The girl shrugged. “Oh, that’s not their real names. I just call them that ‘cause they’re a couple spoiled little brats that think they know everything. You were just talking with them at the funeral home. I think you should know that Keith did not kill Marissa.”

  “And you are?”

  “I’m Grace. I was a good friend of Marissa’s. She was two years older than me and we only had a couple of classes together, but when we met, we became best friends.”

  Reed thought for a second and made a snap decision not to continue looking for Keith for now.

  “Are there any good coffee shops around here?”

  “Odd question, but yes, there is a small one that I like to hang out in not too far from here.”

  “Well, here’s another odd question. Would you like to join me for a coffee? I would like to learn more about Marissa and her friends. And I want to get inside out of the rain.”

  Grace smiled. “Are you a reporter?”

  Reed answered, “No. Actually I am just someone who likes to solve puzzles. My brother works for the Seattle Police and sometimes I help look for clues the police may miss.”

  “Really?” She smiled, “Have you ever solved a case?”

  “Actually, yes. The evidence was there but those directly involved with the investigation were simply too close to see it. Sort of like ‘not seeing the forest for the trees’ as they say. Anyway, right now I am trying to help find out what really happened with Marissa.”

  “Okay. I would love to join you for coffee. Besides, nobody else has talked to the people that were closest to Marissa. Her father is telling everyone that Keith hurt her. There is no way that is true. I know, and I bet I can tell you some things that nobody else is talking about. We can go to Crème Café. It’s in an old gas station on the main street at the top of the hill. You can’t miss it.”

  Reed’s spirits lifted. “That’s great. Can I give you a ride?”

  “No thanks. I have my own car. I know. I look too young, but I just turned sixteen.”

  She pointed toward the funeral home parking lot. “I parked just up there. See you at the café.”

  Grace turned and made her way up toward the funeral home as Reed walked the opposite direction, across the street and back to his car. He wondered what the girl knew, if anything, and hoped their meeting would be worthwhile.

  Invitation

  Kim returned to school Friday and her friends were curious about her absence the day before. They told her that Keith had been there all day, so they knew she wasn’t with him. She explained her day off with her mother and the conversations always ended there. It seemed that nobody wanted to make small talk with her anymore, since the incident last weekend. She was beginning to question what friendships really were and how her friends stacked up when it came to being there for support.

  During chemistry class, she asked Keith what he thought about coming over to her house after school and meeting her parents. To say he was shocked was an understatement. He wondered if it was some sort of trap and asked what was behind the invitation.

  Kim felt awkward and didn’t know what to say next.

  “I kind of told my mom that I think you and I could be friends under different circumstances and that what is happening to you now is just some genuinely bad shit and crappy coincidences. Well, I didn’t actually say bad shit and crappy coincidences to my mom, but that was basically the message.”

  “And?”

  “And she said she would like to meet you and you could come over and stay for dinner after school today if you like.”

  Keith was not totally comfortable with the idea yet and asked, “What does your father think?”

  Kim answered, “He’ll be okay. He’s a good guy and I’m sure he doesn’t think you have anything to do with what happened at Alki. Anyway, mom said, if he makes a fuss, we can leave.”

  Keith was still uneasy, “Give me time to think about it. I might have other plans tonight. I will let you know at lunch.”

  Crème Cafe

  Marissa’s father and her ex-boyfriend were standing on the funeral home steps as Grace walked through the covered drive thru.

  “Hey Grace. Who was that you were just talking to?” Steven asked as she drew even with the two. “Mr. Archer and I were just saying that neither of us recognizes him.”

  Marissa’s father added, “I hope you aren’t giving bad information to reporters or anything.”

  Grace didn’t exactly know what it was, but something in his voice felt threatening and made a chill go down her spine.

  “He is just someone that cares about Marissa and what happened to her. Anyway, what are you afraid I might say?”

  Mr. Archer forced a smile and answered, “Look, I have had enough of people invading our privacy. That man probably didn’t even know Marissa and now he has the nerve to come to her memorial. If he is a reporter, he is just out to make headlines with some theory about what happened. You don’t need to be talking with people like that and giving them ideas. You understand little girl?”

  The confrontation rattled Grace. She had never liked Marissa’s father or Steve and the feelings were clearly mutual. Steven was a bully and Mr. Archer had a reputation for being strong headed and used to getting his own way. She tried to put on a look of impassivity and responded to Mr. Archer. “Whatever.”

  Then she turned and continued along the driveway, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.

  A block away, Reed reached his parked Mini.

  “You need a bath” he said out loud noting the muddy brown residue that covered car. Reed was almost fanatical about keeping his car clean. “You’re getting a wash first thing tomorrow.”

  Leaning across the large puddle that occupied the space between the curb and car, Reed supported himself with his right hand on the roof and leaned down to open the car door with his left. The puddle appeared to be shallow, but Reed’s left foot was still soaked up to the ankle from stepping into it earlier and he was not about to repeat that misstep and track mud into the car. He awkwardly dropped down into the Mini, barely missing hitting his head on the door sill as he swung in. He started the car and pulled away from the curb hitting a shallow pothole that sent a muddy spray up and over the passenger side of the car.

  “Okay, now you’re getting a wash as soon as we get back today.”

  His left shoe made a squishing sound when he pressed the clutch pedal and shifted. As he drove to the coffee house, he continued to mutter about the pothole and how it better not have knocked his wheels out of alignment. When he reached the main street, he turned right and looked for the coffee house. After driving for a few miles and passing a sign that read, ‘Thank you for visiting Gig Harbor’, Reed decided that he must have turned the wrong way and made a U-turn back into town. About two blocks past where he had initially turned onto the street, he spotted what appeared to be a 1950’s era gas station painted white with green trim. A blue neon sign in the front window blinked - Crème Cafe. Next to the neon sign hung a rainbow flag. In front of the glass-paneled garage bay door, several vacant tables sat empty, their large umbrellas down and dripping, folds slapping in the wind. The garage door appeared as though it could be raised during warmer weather to open the entire cafe out to the street but now it was closed, protecting those inside from the blustery weather.

  The parking lot was empty except for two cars, and Reed pulled into a space directly in front of the entrance. As he opened his car door he was immediately struck by the smell of roasting coffee.

  ‘Ah, now that is the smell of heaven.’ he thought. ‘A well-made espresso or depth charge is pleasure enough but, combined with the smell of fresh roasting coffee beans.... that just can’t be beat.’

  Inside the door Reed took a moment to soak up the aroma coming from the roaster next to the window in the front corner of the shop not too far from the door. The brass trimmed burgundy machine made a swishing sound as it rotated and heated its contents of green coffee beans, roasting them to a deep caramel color. The heat from the roaster radiated into the cafe and warmed Reed’s damp face and hands as he removed his jacket and shook it off before hanging it on a rack by the door.

  The Crème Cafe was not large, and he spotted Grace in the back corner of the former garage bay next to a large bookcase stuffed with board games and used paperbacks. He walked over and saw that she was setting a backgammon board onto a wire spool table that sat between two worn red velvet wingback chairs. “Do you play?” she asked.

  “As a matter of fact, my wife and I play backgammon several times a week. May I treat you to a coffee? We can play a game while we talk.”

  “Sure, I’ll have a latte with a shot of vanilla. Thanks.”

  Reed walked back to the front of the shop and ordered a vanilla latte for Grace and a dark roast coffee with espresso shot for him. Reed gauged the man at the counter to be in his mid-thirties. He sported an earring and full-sleeve tattoos with nautical themes. On the left pocket of his flannel shirt he wore an engraved brass name tag that read, Dylan Hewitt, Barista.

  While the man retrieved two mugs from a shelf on the wall Reed tried to make casual conversation, “This is a nice shop. Cool atmosphere and good music. I bet if it were in Seattle it would be packed.”

  “What do you want with Grace?” the man inquired, not showing a hint of a smile and ignoring Reed’s complement.

 

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