Not Another One Hit Wonder

Chapter 3-3

For as long as I’ve known the Durans, there was never a “Mr.” Derek never did tell me what had happened to his father. As we got older, I began to suspect he didn’t know. I guess I could’ve asked around, or maybe even asked Mrs. Duran herself, but it never occurred to me, and now it’s too late.

At the front door, I knock and wait. I could go right in but I never do. I’m just about to knock again when the door opens, answered by Mrs. Duran’s next door neighbor, Ellie Stewart. She’s pushing eighty, and the top of her head barely comes up to my shoulder, but she’s a spry old gal. I often see her power-walking down the street whenever I drop Riley off in the mornings. The pinched look on her face smooths out when she sees me.

“Why, Jamie!” she cries, opening the door to invite me in. “I should’ve known you’d come out here yourself. Such a shame, isn’t it? And who’s this strapping young lad?”

I’m embarrassed I almost forgot about my intern for a minute. “Taylor Smithson.”

“Smithson, Smithson…” Mrs. Stewart narrows her eyes as she looks him over. “Any relation to a Bradley Smithson? Altar boy at the church, used to mow my lawn a few years back. You kind of look like him—”

“Taylor’s not from Ashbury,” I tell her before he can reply. “What happened to Mrs. Duran, do you know? I was just here Friday and she seemed fine.”

Mrs. Stewart patted down her hair absently, more from nerves than anything else. “Oh, dear, I’m not sure. Dr. Tench is with her right now, so you might ask him.”

As if Mrs. Duran’s only sleeping. I look around me—the small living room seems crowded. The curtains are drawn, but from the kitchen doorway, bright sunlight filters into the room, casting shadows. Two paramedics sit on the sofa as if they’re here on a visit. A large policeman with a wide gut stands in the hallway that leads to the bedrooms, blocking the passage with feet spread and hands resting on his belt. One on the buckle, one on the holster at his side.

He catches my eye and nods. “Morning, Mr. Eckert,” he grumbles. Sounds like he hasn’t had his coffee yet.

“Morning, Wade.” I hold out a hand as I approach, which he shakes as he steps aside. “Long night?”

Lt. Wade Mooney shakes his head. “Naw, early start today. Go on back.”

Taylor trails behind me down the short hall. I was just here last week, following Riley to Mrs. Duran’s spare bedroom where she took her naps. This all seems a little unreal to me. Mrs. Duran can’t be gone. Where will Riley go after school?

When I step into her bedroom, I push those thoughts aside. My professional persona takes over, quiet and somber, the quintessential mortician. A man I take to be Dr. Tench waits perched at the foot of the bed, making notes on a prescription pad, and behind him lies the body. The thin bed sheet has been pulled up over her head. I try not to think of her as Mrs. Duran anymore but rather the deceased. It will make things easier for me.

Glancing up from his pad, Dr. Tench nods my way. “You’re with the funeral home?”

“Eckert’s, yes.” I shake his hand. I know the physicians who work in Ashbury, but Tench must work outside of town because I’ve never met him before. Vaguely I remember Mrs. Duran mentioning visiting a specialist in Richmond from time to time. I wonder if this is him. “I’m Jamie Eckert. Do you mind if I ask…?”

“Stroke.” He looks past me at Taylor, then meets my gaze. “Died in her sleep.”

I wince. “You can’t ever predict those. She always seemed so healthy.”

“Well, she wasn’t.” Dr. Tench turns back to his pad and resumes scribbling. Probably making notes he’ll use later to fill out the death certificate. “She had diabetes, high blood pressure, high cholesterol…she’s been heading for something like this for a while now. Will you be contacting her son, or should I?”

“Derek?” My heart skips at the memory of him, of us. As much as I hate to say it out loud, I have to admit, “I wouldn’t know how.”