Classified

KATHY

Tears stung my eyes, and the heavy weight of grief gripped my chest. The echo of Steve’s family breaking the news over the phone whispered through my mind. He was dead. I dug my nails into my palms, trying not to cry. Twenty years of laughing, drinking, and sharing memories together has all come to an end. Between him, my husband and me, we were unstoppable…or so I thought. He had worked tirelessly this past month, working on a particular case he only hinted at, but never fully explained. Now, he had taken the secrets with him—struck down in the small hours of the morning.

’What the hell was he doing out-and-about at three a.m.?’ That was my first thought. He wasn’t the clubbing type, preferring the solitude of the local bar. He was found dead in the middle of a small-town cafe, hunched over his cup of coffee. Only one reason made any sense. He was meeting someone…but who? The clouds were dark grey, and the wind felt like icicles piercing my skin. Lingering questions hung over my head as much as the rain clouds, without any sign of them being answered.

With the questions swirling around my head, I wasn’t entirely surprised when I finally stopped outside the cafe. The lights were on, with four customers that I could see sitting by the windows.

’Glad to know it didn’t affect the business too much,’ I thought flatly. Though what was I expecting to happen? It wasn’t like they were going to simply shut down. I sighed and pushed through the thick glass door and chose a corner seat at the far end of the room.

It took only a few minutes before a large woman walked over, wearing an apron, carrying a small notepad and a pen. “Welcome to Nestle’s Diner. Would you like the menu?”

“I’m good, thanks. I’ll just have a black coffee and whatever pie my friend had before he keeled over.”

The woman looked at me, hesitating. “That was your friend?”

I nodded. “Yeah, for two decades. I’d also like to know who he was sitting with.”

The woman lowered her notepad and pen slowly. “He sat alone. The only company he had before death took him, was whatever haunted his thoughts. By the way he looked at his coffee… he didn’t much care for those either.”

I knew that look well. There had been countless meetups where he had a problem, and he would stare into his mug of coffee, as if he was half-expecting the answer would float to the top—reading grains of coffee as if they were leaves. That didn’t sit well with me.

I sighed and shook my head. “Guess it’ll just be the coffee and pie then, won’t it?”

“No problem.”

I half-heartedly looked at her as she walked away, noting her auburn curly hair was twisted into a messy bun.

“Thanks,” I muttered, turning my attention back to the diner, wondering which seat he was sitting in.

She returned a few minutes later, placing the cup in front of me.

“Did he come here often?” I asked before she had the chance to walk away again. Tears burned my eyes.

“No, he was a first-time customer. Was he a good man?”

“Yeah,” I replied hoarsely. “He was.”

I lowered my head and sipped my hot coffee. I had made the waitress uncomfortable—or she decided I needed my space—and took the chance to slip away.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialled for a taxi. That’d give me at least twenty minutes before I’d need to leave for the funeral.

Dread sat at the pit of my stomach. I have put off going, but despite my grief, my instincts screamed for me to be there. I drained my coffee and placed the still-warm mug back on to the table. I rose from my seat, pulled my purse from my handbag, and left a wrinkled five-pound note on the till.

“Thanks,” I said again. The coffee only cost three but made sure I left a tip to make up for my mood.

Headlights beaming through the windows caught my attention. My ride had arrived.

The clouds had darkened on the journey, with the threat of a storm lingering on the horizon. The taxi pulled up against the side of the road outside the church. I saw people filing in through the double doors, each of them wearing their black outfits with their shoulders slumped, their feet shuffling against the wet pavement. I thanked the driver, passing him his money before climbing out to join them.

I made myself scarce and took a seat at the back of the room. The priest welcomed us, offering his condolences. I wasn’t interested. At the front, I could see the coffin displayed in the centre of the room. I craned my neck a little, peering over at his remains. His pale body laid motionless in the box, wearing the same suit he wore to my wedding. I choked back my tears and steeled myself for the ceremony.

“Thank you all for coming,” a female somber voice spoke.

I looked at his sister standing at the alter, scanning our faces for someone she might recognise.

It didn’t take long for her eyes to find mine, before offering a small smile. I smiled back, nodding briefly as she continued. “He was a private man. Steve seldom shared his life with anyone and had often joked about dying as he lived: Sitting on his ass, drinking coffee. Yet, none of us believed him—brushing his comments as dark humour. Perhaps, if we had taken him more seriously…”

His sister stifled a sob, turning away to wipe her eyes. I gritted my teeth. Someone had to say something, but the family was in no state to address anyone. Hardening my resolve, I stood from my seat and made my way to the front. I hugged Christine briefly, assuring her that she could sit down and I’d continue her speech. She thanked me with a small nod, before taking the comfort of her family’s embrace.

I stood at the podium, facing the crowd with their gazes fixed on me.

I glanced over at my friend. His skin was almost grey, like a wax figure in a museum display. His suit was neatly pressed, and his hair gelled into his usual style. His hands were carefully placed over his stomach, with his glasses tucked beneath them. He almost looked like he was sleeping. I frowned, noting his nails were trimmed. I couldn’t imagine why they would bother with that. Even with the white streaks—

I stopped, mid-thought. His nails were streaky. There was only one way to get nails like those. I shook my head, reminding myself people were watching. It would have to wait.

“Steve was my friend for over twenty years. His dark humour aside, he never said a bad word about anyone. If anyone was in trouble, he’d be the first to offer help. Knowing him as well as we did, I would bet my soul that he’d be watching us from above, ready to lend us a hand during our darkest days and would want us to continue on as he did: Helping others and making the world a better place.”

The ceremony ended a couple of hours later. I stared down at my vodka and cherry coke, watching as the bubbles rose to the surface before popping. The fizz was only a brief distraction, though. Darker thoughts niggled at me in the far reaches of my mind.

“Hey, how are you holding up?”

I rose my head and greeted Christine with a small smile.

“Right now? Well, I’ve not fallen apart yet.”

“Thank you for taking over the speech.”

I nodded. “The least I could do.”

She didn’t hang around, and I didn’t blame her. I knew she was checking in on me, doing her rounds on the family. I glanced out the window. He would be buried soon, which meant I didn’t have a lot of time. I looked around, noting that no one was looking in my direction, before heading back towards the coffin. Steve was still in the same position, waiting to be buried. I took out my phone and immediately began taking pictures. There were no signs of struggle, from what I could tell. But for his fingers, I zoomed because my phone would allow, snapping shots of the streaks along his nail beds.

“What are you doing?”

I froze, bulking at the shrill, demanding voice calling behind me.

I spun around, clambering for a reply. I shoved my phone into my pocket, praying it went unseen.

“Saying a final goodbye.”

“In private?”

“I refuse to cry in front of people,” I retorted. It wasn’t a complete lie. I never cried publicly—at least, not since I was a child.

“So, you came to cry?”

“Yes,” I snipped, glaring at his mother. She hugged her lacy black cardigan that hung over her long black gown which looked more like an evening dress than one made for a funeral. It hugged her figure, showing her frail legs. Her shoes, however, were more sensible, with signs of being worn down over months of walking. I sighed. I didn’t blame her for being hostile, but it was neither the time nor the place to voice my concerns. “I came to shed a tear in private. Since you’re here, I’ll leave you to your farewells.”

She watched me leave, her eyes glaring suspiciously in my direction.

I rejoined the grieving family and followed them outside. The priest took the lead, weaving in and out between the gravestones in a large field, before finally stopping at a large hole in the ground.