Page 12 of Jacob Michaels Is Not Jacob Michaels

Lucas, Oma, and I were seated around the kitchen table, all of us with a mug of coffee and half-finished plates of food. None of us had found that we had a massive appetite after the Sheriff’s Department showed up, so we all had some eggs and toast left on our plates. Somehow, we had all found the ability to eat all of our bacon. Funny how that happens—even death couldn’t keep a person from wanting to finish any bacon that has been cooked. We all sat there, sipping at coffee, merely exchanging glances instead of talking, while the coroner worked out in Oma’s backyard and Sheriff Department employees milled about. Some were coming into the kitchen for coffee, which Oma happily kept making for them, while others were walking around the backyard and the woods. Apparently, in upper Ohio—especially within the city limits of Point Worth—a burned up naked woman wandering into someone’s yard, collapsing, and dying was a strange event.

“So, none of y’all know who this is?” Sheriff Dennard, who I had met for the first time an hour prior, poked his head in through the backdoor. “Because she obviously doesn’t have a purse or a wallet with her.”

“I done told you we don’t know who she is, Wesley!” Oma turned sharply in her chair to growl at him. “Stop pokin’ your damn head in here and asking every five minutes.”

Lucas and I glanced at each other.

“You got a dead naked lady in your backyard, Esther Jean Wagner.” He grumbled back. “You ought not act so rude to me.”

“Unless you’re gonna charge me with murder or interfering with your investigation, get your damn head back outside.” Oma wasn’t bothered one bit. “You’re letting all the damn stank out.”

My nose turned up of its own accord as Lucas snorted into his coffee mug. Sheriff Dennard squinty-glanced at Lucas, then snarled at Oma before he pulled his head back and closed the door.

“Bastard.” Oma spat as she turned around in her seat to reach for her coffee mug again.

“I heard that Esther Jean!” Sheriff Dennard hollered from outside.

“I hope to hell you did!” She shot back over her shoulder. “Didn’t exactly whisper it did I?”

“Oma.” I reached over and squeezed her hand.

“Well, I’m older than his damn parents.” She looked at me. “He can go take a running leap off—”

“Just stop.” I shook my head at her as Lucas snorted again.

Shooting a reproachful, though amused glance at my boyfriend, I was glad to see that he had the common sense to look at least a little bit chastened. Though Lucas realized laughing at a situation such as the one we found ourselves in was inappropriate, Oma seemed to be taking everything in stride. She was so unbothered by everything going on that I had to wonder if there had been other incidents in the past where she had to explain dead bodies on her lawn to the police. In slightly more than a quarter-century of living, I hadn’t had a single run in the with the police. At least not in a way that I would have been questioned.

Police often provided security at film premieres, film festivals, at Hollywood events, or even private parties. However, I’d never had to sit in a kitchen and pretend that nothing was wrong while a dead body was dealt with a few yards away. Considering the fact that I was pretty sure that I knew how the woman had been burned on one half of her body made me uneasy. I found myself stuck between pretending I knew nothing and was completely innocent and confessing to Sheriff Dennard that I shot fire out of my hand while the woman was in wolf form and burned her all to Hell. Of course, the only thing a confession such as that would lead to was me in a “Me Time” jacket in a padded room where I would be watched through one-way glass. Additionally, I hadn’t been honest with Lucas about the night before, nor had I mentioned anything to Oma about the incident.

All around, and in every way, I was what the kids referred to as “fucked.”

Whether I liked it or not, whether or not my conscious was happy with the decision, I had no choice but to sit and be Robert Wagner, innocent and normal. Sheriff Dennard hadn’t asked much about Lucas and me when he first arrived on the scene, and it was evident that he was well-acquainted with Oma. Of course, if memory served, Oma had fired a shotgun at the Kelly kids once for sneaking into her yard, so even if Sheriff Dennard hadn’t been from Point Worth, he knew of her. Also, I remembered that Jackson Barkley, Lucas’s grandfather, who owned the hardware store, had said that Sheriff Dennard had been the one to deal with the case of the old lady and the shotgun.

Regardless, due to his familiarity with Oma, and probably Lucas, Sheriff Dennard didn’t ask us many questions. Being Oma’s grandson probably made him a little suspicious of me, but at least I qualified as a “local.” That got me excused from a lot of initial questions. The fact that I was trying to rein Oma’s mouth in probably won me brownie points with the Sheriff, as well. Of course, once the woman’s body was gone, I didn’t doubt that Sheriff Dennard would have follow-up questions. If I could get through the day without being outed as “Jacob Michaels,” I would go to bed shocked.

“Ya’ think they’ll take much longer?” Oma sighed.

“They’ll take as long as it takes, Oma.”

“I’m sure it won’t be much longer,” Lucas added.

“Well,” Oma grumbled, “I was thinking about doing some planting today. Ground ain’t gonna freeze back, the ground’s nice and soft, it would have been a perfect day. Come afternoon, the sun’s supposed to be high in the sky, and I thought—”

“Do you think they can figure out who she is?” I interjected, suddenly nervous as I saw two people—coroner employees, maybe?—lifting a gurney with a filled body bag. “She obviously didn’t have ID on her, and it was kind of hard to make out a lot of her face.”

“I’m sure they’ll figure it out.” Lucas patted my hand, reluctant to actually hold it with all of the police around. “Surely, someone will report someone missing, two-and-two will get put together, and they’ll find out who she is. Then maybe they can figure out what happened to her.”

“Great.” I swallowed.

“Probably a meth-head.” Oma clucked her tongue.

“What?” I frowned at her.

“Burned all over.” She shrugged. “Been a lot of them places been blowin’ up, catchin’ on fire. Hell, watch the news any night of the week and, well, them idiots just don’t know when God is tryin’ to tell them somethin’.”

“Oma.” I shook my head.

“I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ bad about her for fuck’s sake.” Oma rolled her eyes and waggled her head. “Just sayin’ that this is probably something innocuous like that. I doubt anyone went and set her on fire is all’s I’m sayin’. Poor thing probably just didn’t have enough sense and done did the wrong thing, and—”