People are wild. Take for instance the ones who gate-crash funerals. Some do it for the drama of the occasion. The chance to dress up and attend an event. To feel all of those heightened emotions swirling around them. While others are there strictly for the free food. I hate funerals. But there’s no way I would miss today. Not after the family invited us.
I tie my hair back (it’s slowly growing longer) and put on a black pantsuit bought just for the occasion. It’s cold as fuck outside. But I stand waiting by the roadside in my grey woolen coat. The late autumn breeze is bracing—reminding me it’s good to be alive.
“Is it that girl’s funeral today?” asks Mrs. Lawson from her yard.
“Avery Lauder. Yes.”
“Sometimes you stabbing him nineteen times seems like showing too much restraint.” She frowns. “I’ll be praying for her family. For all of their families.”
“That’s good of you.”
I’m not saying the neighborhood loves me now. There’s still too much drama associated with my name for that. But any media or tourists who hang around making a nuisance of themselves are likely to receive a sermon from my neighbors. It makes me feel less isolated to know I’m no longer so much of an outsider. Not so much a pariah. Just famous for all the wrong reasons.
Muriel and Hana pull up in a bulky SUV. Today is the result of almost a decade of work on our part. It’s a bittersweet sort of feeling. With the help of the map pins, all of Ryan’s victims havebeen found. We’ve now moved on to searching for other women who have gone missing in the area. The victims of other crimes. Because sadly there will always be more.
“The first of four,” says Muriel from behind the steering wheel. “What a day.”
Hana sighs. “I am glad they released the body to the family, finally.”
“I honestly thought it would take longer.” I put on my seatbelt in in the backseat and off we go. “How did your date with the cheese maniac go?”
“He covered me in Cheez Whiz.”
I snort.
“I’ll take things I never wanted to know for five hundred,” says Muriel.
“Wait.” Hana’s brows draw down. “Was that a disrespectful thing to say when we’re on our way to a funeral?”
“No,” I say. “We need to live. Too many lives get cut short. You never know how much time you have. And now I sound like a bumper sticker.”
“Just maybe don’t bring up the Cheez Whiz at the funeral,” suggests Muriel.
Hana smiles. “Got it. Where would I be without you girls?”
“I don’t want to ever find out,” I say with a smile.
“Question time.” Hana turns in her seat so she can easily see us both. “Would it be weird if I gave talks about our work? How we researched the places he might have hidden the bodies and what we’ve learned about the true crime community and so on? And how some of my study intersects with what we’ve been doing.”
“Like at conventions and conferences?” asks Muriel.
“Yeah.”
“No, it wouldn’t be weird,” I say. “If you want to talk about your experiences that’s absolutely your right to.”
Muriel nods. “Agreed.”
I curl my hands into tight fists. “Talking about talking. A publisher approached me. One who actually sort of seems to get what we went through. Or at least is open to presenting a not-so-sensationalized view of things.”
“You said you were never going to write a book,” says Muriel with wide eyes. “What made you change your mind?”
“I don’t know. Maybe all of the misinformation. He’s dead and the missing women have been found. My name has finally been cleared. But some idiots are still trying to push conspiracy theories.”
“Some idiots will always be trying to push conspiracy theories,” says Hana wisely.
“Yeah,” I agree. “But just once I think I would like to tell my side of things. Get my story out there so I can really feel like it’s been put behind me, you know?”
“Then do it,” says Muriel.
