At Witt's End

21

Nan closed the folder and tapped her pen against her desk. “Oh, it's you,” she said, a weary sigh escaping her lips. Paul walked toward her through the mortuary lobby.

"I'm glad to see you, too.” Paul embraced Nan from behind and nuzzled his lips against her neck.

She leaned into the embrace. “I'm not enthusiastic about anything, I'm afraid. I have another body to prep. Then I've got a family coming later this afternoon for their first viewing."

"You can't continue to do everything yourself. You need to get someone to help you."

"I have someone. Mr. Bakke does a good job. I can't afford anyone else."

Paul turned her chair and knelt in front of Nan. “I'm taking you out to dinner tonight."

"Not tonight, Paul. I'd be lousy company."

"That's not true.” He ran his thumbs over her hands as they rested in her lap. “You're always good company. And besides, I have a surprise for you."

Rising, Nan said, “I hit another dead end trying to locate information about that man my father was searching for."

"What man?"

"How come you don't remember the man? Mr. Bakke remembers. We were talking about it a few days ago. It's that man who took dad's invention and filed a patent. Dad thinks he took all the credit. I'm guessing the man made a fortune and dad found out about it."

Paul rolled his eyes. “I don't know why you torture yourself like that. That's in the past. If your father couldn't find him, what makes you think you can?"

"I won't find him if I don't try.” Startled by her shrill tone, Nan reached for Paul's arm. “I'm sorry. I'm taking it out on you and it's not your fault."

Paul pulled Nan into his arms.

She reveled in his strength. If she lingered there forever, her troubles might evaporate. What was wrong with her? Paul had offered to help, yet she couldn't generate the enthusiasm necessary to commit. Had marriage to Clay ruined her?

"Everything that could go wrong today went wrong. I didn't need another hurdle.” She breathed deep as if one hearty intake would replenish her resolve. “I'm concerned about Aanders. He's too chipper and he refuses to talk about Tim's death."

Paul tipped Nan 's chin upward. “He's dealing with it the best he can. It's going to take time, so let him set his own pace."

"I'm thinking about booking an appointment with a counselor. Maybe he'd open up to a professional."

"You don't want to waste money on that,” Paul said. “You've got more important things to think about."

"Waste money?” Nan pulled back from his embrace. “Aanders’ wellbeing is my priority. I don't consider that a waste of money."

She drew in another fortifying breath. “But you're right. Money is an issue. It keeps me awake. After Sadie told me about Carl's lawsuit, I haven't been able to sleep."

"That's another thing you don't need to waste your time on,” Paul said.

"How can you associate with a monster like Carl?"

"He's been my friend since high school. I don't necessarily agree with him, but I'm not going to end the friendship because we have a difference of opinion."

Nan wriggled free from Paul's embrace and moved toward the lobby. She sorted through a stack of stray brochures scattered over the credenza. After placing the brochures in the appropriate slots on the display rack, she gathered several boxes of tissues and placed them on the end tables.

"If Carl's such a good friend, why can't you talk some sense into him?"

"I've tried. Believe me, I've tried,” Paul said. “But you know Carl. He thrives on controversy."

"I can't believe he'd do that to two old women. They've lived there all their lives."

"That's what I said, but he didn't care. He also said he's got plans for this building when he wins the lawsuit."

"You mean the mortuary?” Shocked, Nan dropped onto a long, tan sofa that separated the two visiting clusters. “Can't you tell him I'm trying to buy the land the mortuary sits on?"

"I did. But he won't listen. He's got a marketing plan ready to go."

"Carl's disrupting four lives and he could care less. What a creep."

"Quit worrying about the Witt sisters. They'll take care of their own problems. If the judge rules in Carl's favor, you've got a decision to make. I hope to be part of that decision.” Paul perched on the back of the sofa and pulled Nan between his legs. He rested his chin on her head. “It'll get better. I promise."

"It doesn't seem like it.” Nan tipped her head as Paul massaged the back of her neck. “It's one thing after another. Do you remember when I sent that letter to the patent bureau to see if a patent had been filed using the drawing I sent them?"

Paul nodded.

"Their reply came today. It's on my desk.” She waved her hand toward the office. “They can't help me unless I can cite a patent number."

"I'm not surprised,” Paul said. “Think of the volume of patents they process. They probably don't have time to sift through those files."

Paul never displayed an interest in her attempt to locate the information. His lack of empathy concerned Nan. “There's got to be a way to get that information. That was Dad's handwriting on the patent application and his drawings, so I know he designed the apparatus. I sent them sheet three of four. I never found the other three sheets, so I don't know what the device was. From what Mother said, she thought the man stole the idea and filed the patent in his name about six years ago."

"But you don't have the guy's name,” Paul said. He drummed his thumb against her shoulder. “There's not much you can do without a name or a patent number. And you said your mom didn't seem to think it was important."

"Nothing about Dad was important to Mom. I already told you that. It was a love-hate relationship. All I want to do is talk to the man and find out what happened. Maybe it was just an idea that never materialized."

"You might as well give up. I doubt you'll ever find him."

"You're probably right. I've got enough to worry about."

The phone rang. When Nan returned from her office, she said, “The family is about five minutes away. I've got to pull a few things together before they get here."

Paul leaned on the French doors leading into the office. “I'm picking you up at seven and I won't take no for an answer. We'll work on eliminating one of your hurdles."

"Hook, line, and sinker.” Paul sat in the cracked-vinyl visitor's chair in front of Carl's desk. “I think I'm about to reel in the big one. If Nan contacts you about continuing her land lease, don't talk to her. Tell her your attorney will contact her.” Pointing at Carl, Paul added, “I want you to tell her all negotiations have to go through him. I don't want my plan to fall apart."

"You sorry sack of shit,” Carl said. “You're preying on that poor woman's misery to get her to marry you. What kind of bottom feeder are you?"

A furrow of irritation creased Paul's forehead. “Same species as you. Except you're dealing with two old women you intend to put out on the street. But I don't need to remind you, do I?” If Carl wanted to take a position for the sake of arguing, he'd better choose his words wisely.

"Please. Remind me,” Carl said. “It excites me. My middle initial doesn't stand for Raymond, it stands for Revenge.” Carl's lips curved into a crooked smile as he put his hands behind his head and leaned back.

"I'm going to present an offer Nan can't refuse,” Paul said. “I also bought another piece of land south of town on the highway. It would make a good spot for a new mortuary. She doesn't know about it, though.” Paul stretched his long legs and crossed one foot over the other. “I'm keeping that surprise on hold in case I need ammunition. If she turns me down, I'll sell it to someone else."

"Is she still on a kick to find that man who screwed her dad over a patent?"

"She mentioned it again today."

"Do you think she'll find him?"

"I doubt it. I told her to give it up, but you know Nan. It's all about family loyalty."

The dispatcher entered the room and lifted the lid on a plastic container she carried. Angie waved the box under Carl's nose. “Try one. My daughter baked them this morning."

Carl inhaled one of the gooey cookies in two bites before grabbing a second one and stuffing the whole thing in his mouth.

Paul took a cookie and broke off small sections. Staring at the chocolate smears on Carl's lips, Paul placed a piece in his mouth before flicking at the crumbs on his grey slacks. He didn't want chocolate stains to soil his new three-hundred-dollar pants.

"By the way, Carl,” Angie said, “I forgot to tell you Mr. Fossum's sister called yesterday. She won't be back for a few more days. She wondered if you'd keep an eye on the Fossums’ property.” Angie handed Carl three more cookies. “She's meeting a realtor out there when she gets back."

As Carl licked the chocolate off his fingers, Lon Friborg entered through the side door. Lon rummaged through the stack of papers in his hand, pulled out an envelope, and tossed it at Carl. The envelope slid across the desk and hit Carl in the stomach. “Here's the letter you wanted. It looks like the union's going to back your election."

"Holy shit,” Carl said with a whoop. “It's about time they back the better candidate. With their vote and your campaigning, it'll seal my victory tighter than a virgin's ass."

"Congrats, buddy.” Paul grabbed Carl's hand and pumped it. “Things are going your way."

"I wonder why?” Lon said under his breath.

Carl pulled the cookies out of Lon's reach. “If you've got something to say, say it to my face.” He shoved a whole cookie in his mouth, glaring at Lon.

"I wonder why things are going your way. It wouldn't have anything to do with that fishing excursion with Judge Kimmer, would it?"

"That's none of your damn concern, Deputy,” Carl said. “You better keep your nose out of my business. If your brain was as big as your ears, I wouldn't have to remind you."

Carl gestured with a stab of his finger. “You're trying to sabotage my election by conducting an investigation behind my back. You're going to get somebody in a whole shit load of trouble, and it ain't gonna be me."