Lethal Lasagna by Rhonda Gibson Page B

squeezed my fingers gently and then returned his hand to the steering wheel.
    “Thanks for coming with me to Mitzi’s. I’m dreading the task ahead.”
    He glanced across and smiled. “I can understand why you’d dread it. I’m glad I can be here to help. Together we should be able to do it quickly.”
    I thought about Mitzi’s small apartment and knew he was right. A hallway led down to a living room, dining room, and kitchen that were one small room. A bedroom and bath sat off to one side and behind them. It shouldn’t take long.
    He pulled into the driveway and shut off the motor. Then Brandon opened his door and hurried around the pickup to help me out. “I’m here, if you should need me.” He offered in a soft voice.
    “I appreciate that,” I said, aware once more that he held my elbow in his palm.
    We made our way inside and looked about. Furniture lined the walls of the living room and dining area. Brandon whistled low. “It might take longer than I thought.”
    “Mitzi was a pack rat.” I muttered, looking at the shelves of knickknacks, picture frames, piles of books and papers and other assorted odds and ends.
    “I’m going to go grab some boxes and be right back.” He left.
    Emptiness and silence filled me. Where does one start to pack away someone else’s life? I moved into the kitchen area. It was clean, other than a couple of glasses.
    I swallowed, closed my eyes and then turned to the dining table. I opened my eyes. Everything had been taken from the scene of the crime. Red specks marred the wall and grey carpet, but all else had vanished. For a brief moment I wondered if the police had cleaned up the scene or if Mitzi’s landlord had done so.
    Brandon came through the hallway once more. “Here we are.” He lay several flat boxes down and then picked one up and began putting it together.
    A pile of newspapers sat beside the door. Another gift from the landlord? Maybe. I moved to the first whatnot shelf and began wrapping the crystal figurines into the newspapers, each one represented a part of Mitzi’s life. I wondered briefly what had happened to the crystal salt and pepper shakers I’d given her as an apartment-warming gift when she’d moved in here. They should have been on this shelf. They probably had been knocked off and broke.
    We worked for several hours. Mitzi’s collectibles filled the boxes, and the many shelves and curio cabinets were empty. Sorrow threatened to overcome me. I’d packed all her bank papers and other important documents into a box and labeled it “papers for her son to go through later.”
    Brandon picked up two boxes and headed back down the hallway. I took the paper-filled box and carried it out, too. As I set it in the front seat, I thought about my own death and cleanup.
    Death is nothing to fear. I just need to prepare for it. My thoughts moved to making a will. Even though Megan and Greg will inherit all my possessions it still needs to be put in writing, I thought, closing the door and following Brandon back inside.
    He took two more boxes and I another. I also decided to hire a cleanup crew to pack my things. The thought of Megan having to do it tore at my heart. This job is hard enough for a lifelong friend; I couldn’t imagine Megan’s sorrow at having to do it for me.
    My parents had been killed in a rafting accident when I was a little girl. My brother and I moved to my grandparents’. And then, when my grandparents died, I’d been with my husband, Frank, and we’d had no money to travel back for the funeral. So this was new to me.
    Frank’s death had hit hard, and I’d gone through his things gradually. Not packed it all up at one time and moved it away never to be seen again. That sorrowful thought brought fresh tears to my eyes.
    “Thanks Dan. I’ll see you in a few minutes.” Brandon snapped his cell phone shut. “That’s the last of the boxes.” He offered turning to me.
    I sat on the steps of Mitzi’s apartment. I felt