Death by Sarcasm - By Dani Amore Page 0,3
years. She and her husband bought the house back when she was acting and doing comedy. Alice’s husband had died of cancer, an agonizing two-year battle. Alice had kept both the house and her husband’s last name. She was a Cooper, though, through and through.
While Alice’s career had never recovered, the southern California real estate market certainly had. Right now, Alice probably had the lowest property taxes in town. When, and if, Alice ever sold the place, she’d be a very wealthy woman.
Mary gave a quick knock, unlocked the door with her key, and walked inside.
Aunt Alice sat in the living room with the television off and a scrapbook in her lap. She was in a wheelchair, one arm in a cloth sling, and one leg in a brace. The older woman had been riding her motorized three wheeler when she’d hit a parked car and flipped over it, onto the hood. Mary had always been a frequent visitor to the house, but ever since the accident, she’d been stopping by every day.
Mary greeted her aunt. “Hey there Evel Knievel. Want me to line up some barrels outside? Go for the record?”
Alice shook her head. “Always a comment. Even now.” But a small smile peeked out from the corner of her mouth.
Mary gave her aunt a hug and took in the comforting scent she’d known since she was a kid: laundry detergent and a hint of garlic. Mary glanced at the scrapbook in Alice’s lap and she saw an old picture of Uncle Brent. Mary rubbed Alice’s back and her voice softened. “How are you holding up?” she said.
Alice sighed, shook her head, and flipped the page of the scrapbook.
“Want some lunch?” Mary said. “Or are you going to jump a canyon?”
Alice said nothing, just studied a picture in the scrapbook even more closely.
“How about I whip up a rump roast?” Mary said, heading to the kitchen. “Or a butt steak. Butt steak sound good?”
The smile on Aunt Alice had gotten a touch bigger now that Mary couldn’t see it.
“When did you first realize you enjoyed abusing the elderly?” she said.
“I don’t actually enjoy it,” Mary called from the kitchen. “It’s really more of a calling.”
Alice wheeled herself closer to the kitchen so neither one had to shout.
Mary took the box of Mac ‘n Cheese from the cupboard and ripped it open. “So I thought I’d start by searing some foie gras,” she said, then set a pot of water on the stove to boil. She set the dried pasta and packet of cheese on the counter. Mary detested Mac ‘n Cheese, had had it maybe twice in her whole life when she was a kid and went to a friend’s house – it was never served in her own.
Mary had tried in vain to convince Aunt Alice to let her make real macaroni and cheese, the old fashioned way with good cheese and really good pasta, but Aunt Alice insisted on the boxed crap for lunch. Old people just get into routines, Mary told herself when she finally gave up. They fall into routines, then they fall down stairs. It’s all a part of nature’s aging process. All part of God’s master plan.
“Don’t forget my vitamin,” Alice said.
Mary tipped a shot of Crown Royal into a small glass, added an ice cube and a splash of water, then brought it to Alice. Her aunt lifted the glass. “To Brent.”
Mary clinked an imaginary glass. “To Uncle Brent.”
“Butchered in an alley,” Alice said. “I keep waiting for the punchline.”
“He was probably waiting for one, too,” Mary said. “I imagine he was spouting off, making a joke out of it.”
The two remained in silence for a moment, both of them imagining Brent’s last moment.
“You can’t kill me yet!” Alice said, lowering her voice to do the impression of her brother. “I just plugged the meter!”
Mary smiled. “Wait, don’t kill me!” she said. “I have to find out who won the football game!”
Alice laughed softly.
“You’re going to kill me?” Alice said. “My wife’s been trying to bury me for years!”
“Don’t murder me,” Mary said. “If I’m later for dinner, my wife will kill me!”
They both laughed and then Alice drank down the last of her whiskey before speaking. “It just doesn’t make any sense to me. He could be a dick, we all know that. But why would anyone want to kill him? It just seems like a really, really bad joke.”
You have no idea how true that really is, Mary thought to