Tomb With a View

“Then it really cannot possibly matter, can it?”

I would have argued the point if Jeremiah Stone didn’t poof onto the scene. He was carrying a stack of papers and he tapped one finger against it. “You really must get these papers signed, Mr. President,” he said. “They are quite essential.”

“Yes, of course.” The president turned to me. “As you can see, I have matters of import to deal with. The ship of state cannot captain itself, and I must provide Mr. Stone here with the proper example. It is my high privilege and sacred duty to educate my successors and fit them, by intelligence and virtue, for the inheritance which awaits them.”

Like there was anything I could say to that?

They vanished and I stood there alone in the crypt, wondering what to do next. I mean, besides wait for the cleaning people. In the hopes they might show up sometime soon, I went back upstairs and thought about everything that had happened and all I didn’t know and couldn’t figure out.

“But Mr. President . . .” Jeremiah Stone was nowhere to be seen, but his voice floated on the air from the nothingness he’d disappeared into. “We must get your signature on these papers, sir. It is imperative.”

Signatures made me think about Marjorie and all that stuff—including the Garfield autographs—she had in her house.

And thinking about visiting Marjorie that night made me think about Ray.

And thinking about Ray . . . well, I knew Ray might not have all the answers. When it came to my investigation, he might not have any of them. But something told me that a guy who had the nerve to actually visit Marjorie at home just might be a good place to start.

7

I would much rather save my empty calories for the occasional martini than waste them on fast food. Which was why, though the rest of northeast Ohio was flocking to a new franchise called Big Daddy Burgers, I had never been inside the front door of one of the distinctive purple and white buildings. The next day was Saturday and apparently a whole bunch of people were out for lunch celebrating the weekend. It took me a while to find a parking place at the BDB nearest to the cemetery, and even longer to get up to the front of the line so I could ask one of the harried-looking teenagers who was packing the orders and ringing the register if Ray Gwitkowski was working that day.

“The old guy?” The girl’s eyebrow was pierced, and the little silver stud in it jumped when she gave me a look. Clearly, she was trying to figure out why someone as young and stylish as I was needed to speak to Ray. She poked a thumb over her shoulder toward the kitchen behind the counter and I noticed Ray flipping burgers at a grill. He was wearing an apron that matched the purple shirts of the kids taking the orders. “It’s not his break time. I know, because he goes right after me, but, well . . .” She glanced around, and since none of the workers looked as if they were old enough to drive and nobody seemed to be in charge of the chaos, she shrugged. “I don’t think anybody would notice if you went back there. If anyone sees you, they’re going to think you’re from the main office, anyway, since you’re old, too.”

So much for young and stylish.

Insult aside, I managed a tight smile and ducked behind the counter before anyone could tell me I didn’t belong. I’d like to say Ray was happy to see me, but truth be told, he was so busy flipping burgers about the size of a playing card, adding cheese, and stirring the chopped onions browning nearby, he didn’t exactly have a chance.

“I checked your file at the cemetery,” I said by way of explanation, even though Ray didn’t have time to ask for one. “I saw that you have a part-time job here and—”

One of the kids at the counter interrupted me with a shrill, “Big Daddy special. Hold the onions. Extra cheese.”

“Hold the onions. Extra cheese,” Ray mumbled under his breath. He tossed a few more frozen squares of meat on the grill and flipped like his life depended on it.

“It’s just that I’ve been thinking about everything that happened at the cemetery and—”

“Baby Big Daddy! Extra onions. No cheese. Extra well done.”

“Extra well done.” Ray slid a burger nearer to the center of the grill, where it sizzled like mad.

“It’s just that—” I dodged out of the way of a skinny kid carrying a box filled with hamburger buns. “With everything that happened, you know, I thought—”