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Martha. There but for the grace.
    â€œJust so I’m back in time for my appointment at the funeral home,” I said, not looking forward to that meeting or the lunch all that much. Mo stood there staring at me, making me increasingly uncomfortable.

Chapter 7
    Trio: A piece for three voices (Eng.)
    Back in my cabin—I was already beginning to think of it as my cabin—I phoned my own personal oracle, Neek. After mentioning the funeral home and the lawyer visit for later today, I told her I wasn’t sure if I should go to lunch with Mo Toombs or not. There was no good reason for my feeling, I told myself, but a tingle in my gut told me something was off about him.
    â€œI think it’ll be okay,” she said. “I found a penny this afternoon. It’s got your birth year on it, so you should be fine.”
    I groaned. “You-You,” my name for her when she annoyed me and I wanted to annoy her back, “you are crazy. You know that, right? Listen, I’ll have my cell with me and I have you on fast dial. So if anything happens I’ll call you. If I don’t say anything, call the cops.” You-You was long for UU, which was short for her real name, Unity Unique. Her parents were hippies. She’d told me they were upset by her latest job, working at home taking calls for an internet catalog business. I thought that job was probably what made her slightly nuts.
    â€œYou think he’s an ax murderer or something? Or just your usual poor choice in men?” she said.
    â€œNo, I just, I don’t know, humor me.”
    â€œDon’t worry, it’ll be fine. And I’ll be around all day.”
    â€œThanks, girlfriend. Oh, one more thing. You should probably forward my bills out here. I know I haven’t paid the cell phone or cable this month and I’m thinking, maybe, of staying on a bit.”
    â€œOkey-dokey. What’s the address?”
    â€œUm. I guess I don’t know.” I hadn’t seen any mailboxes. “Gram had a post office box. I guess I’ll have to get one if I stay. I’ll let you know.”
    After I flipped my phone closed, I searched the cabin for a land line. Gram had called me several times after she moved here, so there had to be a phone. I found it, but it seemed to be disconnected.
    I’d been impatiently checking the clock for the last thirty-five minutes when Mo finally drove up in his rattle-trap car and honked, long and loud. He gave me what I’m sure he thought was a cute grin when I got in the car. I didn’t say anything about him being late. He pushed the last bit of a cigarette into the ashtray on the door as I reached for the seatbelt.
    Mo’s old Ford would be good material for a demolition derby. It was large, well dented, and gave off a faint, peculiar smell—a mixture of oily rags, dirty socks, and, of course, stale cigarette smoke.
    When I turned to reach for the seatbelt, I was surprised to see Daryl in the back seat. That hair of his glinted reddish in the sunshine. I mumbled a surprised hello.
    â€œMy car’s in the shop,” he said. “I’m hitching rides with Mo today. I had some shots I wanted to take at the lake this morning.” He gestured to the camera still hanging around his neck.
    â€œYou look great,” Mo said to me. “That’s a pretty cool necklace.” He ran a hand through his thick black hair, then reached over and fingered my locket.
    What the hell? I flinched and jerked away. I didn’t like him handling it. Maybe it was because his hands looked faintly grimy. Or maybe because his wavy hair was oily and he’d just run his hands through it.
    That locket was one of my most prized possessions, a delicate filigree antique that Gram had given me for my birthday the year I came to live with her. Mo knew something about jewelry.
    It turned out he knew a lot about hamburgers.
    They were thick and juicy, with an aroma that overpowered the