No Body, No Crime

PART THREE :: November Flush and your Flannel Cure

Three months had passed after losing my little August, my little ray of sunshine. Whenever I saw someone's pregnancy announcement on Facebook or a baby at the grocery store, it hurt my heart. It seemed as though it was all designed to serve as a painful reminder of the baby boy I wouldn't have, but I was determined to power through.

Over time, the pain of that terrible August day faded from a sharp stab to a gentle throb in the back of my soul. I didn't want to stay hung up on something entirely out of my control at this point, so the memory of the pain slowly faded from my mind.

However, the one thing that continued to nag at me was the phrase I was so sure I remembered Robin saying. Este couldn't be alive. It simply didn't make sense. Robin wouldn't have married me if he wasn't sure she was dead; he may have cheated on Este with me, but he wasn't so unfaithful as to have two wives simultaneously. He knew how deep the town's loyalty went, and he knew that having Este and me as wives would've posed a danger to him and me. Something in the way he said seemed to tell me he'd gone through great lengths to ensure that Este wouldn't magically resurface- something everyone in the community seemed hopeful for.

No, Este couldn't be alive. There was probably some mistake, something I'd missed. I'd been crying a lot, to be fair. I'd probably just been hearing things. Postpartum depression could happen after miscarriages. There was no way that I'd heard Robin say that; my mind was probably just making it up as a way to refocus my attention away from my grief. In all honesty, I could see where my mind had come up with the logic. If I were constantly thinking about how I was so sure that I'd heard something about Este being alive, I wouldn't have time to focus on the pain and sadness that came with losing the one thing you cared about more than anything else.

I pushed the sad thoughts out of my head, at least for now. I had things to do and places to be today, and I didn't have time to linger on the past. The icy November air had set a chill into my bones, so I hurried to my car to warm up. Groceries didn't buy themselves, and we were nearly out of everything.

The fifteen-minute drive to Walmart should've been set to some sort of entertaining music. Maybe Ariana Grande, Alessia Cara, or some other indie record that's much cooler than mine (my teenage music career had lasted twelve days- I never should've put my attempt at an album on Soundcloud). But instead of some upbeat song to sing along to, Painful silence filled it, like a weight I couldn't seem to get rid of. I didn't know if it was the pain of losing August or that I hadn't been consistently eating breakfast, but it felt like a dull pain in my stomach that prevented me from returning to everyday life. I knew better than to listen to a bunch of sad music to help me relate to the pain- I had no desire to live like a Gen Z teen- but I couldn't bring myself to rejoice in happy music. Angry music was quite upsetting, and I only listened to classical music when I read.

Thinking about the days ahead, my grocery list, and the final wedding preparations that had to be made managed to keep my mind from spiraling too profoundly into my psychological response to pain. Whenever I thought about starting a family, or my baby came up, I shoved it into a mental box to deal with later. I knew that the box would explode, and everything would come tumbling back out, but I hoped it would give me time before that happened.

My Walmart journey was pretty uneventful for most of the excursion, which was a surprise. Walmart had an unfortunate tendency to attract the craziest, most newsworthy people in humanity; it drew those who would most likely develop into the next Florida Man or Alabama Man.

I should've known better than to trust the calm nature of my shopping trip- you can't be the mistress of a man whose wife was murdered without people staring and pestering you wherever you go. I was hunting for lactose-free milk alternatives when I felt someone approach me from behind.

"Excuse me, are you Miss Marjorie Baker?" the voice asked, seeming timid.

Of course, I thought, someone's hunting me down in Walmart. Rolling my eyes, I turned around to face whoever was pursuing me. "Yes, this is she. What can I do for you?" I asked, keeping my tone pleasant.

"I- I'm Bethany. Bethany Hollis. Uh, call me Bethel. I was just- I- well, I- I wanted to ask you something."

The Hollis family. Of course. Why had I expected that they'd just let me live my life in peace? Of course, Este's family would be stalking me, as though they were hunters and I was a fox, in the middle of Walmart. Why had I hoped for an average day? I was supposedly the reason that Este was dead. I should've known that Este would find a way to torment me, even from the grave.

"Pleasure to meet you, Bethel. What did you need to ask me?"

I wasn't in the mood for an interrogation. I wasn't in the mood for a confrontation. I just wanted to get my almond milk and oat-based coffee creamer and then go home. Maybe I'd stop at the discount sewing supply store on the way home, where the little old ladies that frequented the place would smile reassuringly and aid me in selections. Maybe I'd peruse the embroidery floss or pick up a new batch of quilting squares. Perhaps I'd grab a coffee and pray that the magic wakey-wakey bean juice would wake me up from this terrible dream that I seemed to be enduring, day in and day out.

Bethel stared at me expectantly, realizing I'd missed her question. "Pardon?" I asked, praying that she wouldn't be angry with me and lash out.

She gave a polite chuckle- a high-pitched, airy sound caused by either humor or her desire to terminate me. "I asked when you and Robin were getting married."

"Oh." Marjorie's cheeks flushed red. "November 23rd. Two weeks from now. We're keeping it small. I have my last dress alteration appointment today."

Bethel nodded. "November weddings are always the best. I have a friend- Whitney Starke, your florist- and she said you're tying your bouquet with a strip of flannel?"

"Oh. Yeah."

I could tell I was probably supposed to give her the story of why I wanted to tie my bouquet with flannel. But I was still too shocked that Bethany Hollis was talking to me. Not strangling me, but having a normal conversation with me.

Using the power of hindsight, I should've found it odd that Whitney and Bethel found this detail worth sharing. But I was too shocked. And hungry. Grocery shopping always made me hungry.

Bethel nodded. "Robin always said that flannel was the best cure for anything. According to him, you can't be sad around flannel."

I was about to ask her how she knew of his infatuation with flannel, but then I remembered that her late sister had been married to him. He'd been her brother-in-law.

"Yeah, he does say that about flannel." My eyes flickered around nervously, anxious about what was going down. Bethel didn't seem like anything was off. There was no malice in her eyes, no barely-concealed anger in her tone. Then again, maybe acting was her hidden talent or something like that. Regardless of how calm she seemed, I still had an awful feeling about Bethel. "Well, I think I ought to -"

Her eyes lit up with something- worry? Concern? Fear? Embarrassment? Some twisted combination of the four? I couldn't tell you if my life depended on it.

"No! Don't go!" Bethel regained her composure. "There's... uh, well, there's something I feel like I should probably tell you."

I nodded to encourage her. "What is it?"

"Well, uh, you see, so, uh, um, well, I- it- uh-"

"Out with it. I assure you, nothing you tell me can be more shocking than some of the other things people have said to my face," I said, an adequate amount of kindness concealing my slight annoyance.

Bethel's big brown eyes flickered around nervously.

"You know that Robin is responsible for the murder of Esther, right? And if he did it to her, nothing stops him from doing it to you."