Chapter 5

Why are all mortuaries the same? They smell the same. They look the same. They feel the same. Zeke hated that smell, hated that feeling, hated being around death. Twice before he sat in the same stiff, formal sofas and waited for the same abnormally soft-speaking personnel to take him to view his dearly departed. His mother, when he was not yet eleven, and his father, when he was not yet twenty-one. Why did everybody leave him right before his birthday?

Now he sat in the parking lot of Ashenbrenner’s Funeral Home with a black marble urn filled with Luther’s remains. No casket. No funeral. No burial. Nothing. Did anyone cry for this man’s death? I’m so sorry, Luther. Everybody deserves someone to grieve for them, someone to—miss them. I never knew you.

He stared at the urn. “What am I supposed to do?” He pursed his lips.

The mortician’s words echoed in his mind. “There are limitations to what you can do with Mr. Clayton’s ashes, should you wish to sprinkle them somewhere. You will need to check with that location. Some places, such as a botanical garden, for instance, no longer allow human remains to be distributed on their grounds.”

A shiver slithered down his spine. He sighed. Let’s take it home and figure out where you belong.

Luther had left an envelope for Zeke with the mortician. Odd. This entire day had been like a scavenger hunt, one by one he gathered clues in order to put them together and figure out the puzzle. Find the prize.

He blew out a long, slow sigh. Soon, he would be home. Well, at Luther Clayton’s home, but home for him for the next week. He could finally relax. Exhaustion, and hunger, saturated his body. How far to the house? He had no idea. Just to be safe, he decided to stop for fast food. He gingerly wedged the urn and the envelope against his belongings in his passenger seat and pulled out of the morbid parking lot.

While waiting at the Sonic Drive-in, he pulled the directions from the white envelope. The penmanship was remarkable and distracting. He pulled out the Colorado map T.J. Rivers had sent him.

“Twyla.” He chuckled.

My Dearest Nephew Zeke, the letter began.

A strange idea lifted its head. The words held such affection. Yet, he had no idea any of this even existed thirty hours ago. He let that thought sit in his mind a moment and then continued reading.

Thank you for coming to my aid. As you are presently in Pueblo, you will want to take Hwy 50, West, to the Copper Gully Road.

He located the same two roads on the map.

Turn left (south) and proceed down this road for fifteen miles. The estate will be to your left (east side of the road). It will be obvious, but in case you need assurance, there is a river-stone mailbox at the road with the family crest embedded on the side of the base. You are familiar with this crest by now. Good luck, dear nephew, and again, thank you for coming. -Luther A.L. Clayton.

A British accent resonated in his head. A family crest dons the river stone mailbox, by George.

Everything in Colorado had been contrary to what he had expected. Shock startled him with each new installment of the treasure hunt. What did this house and its family-crested mailbox have in store for his shock meter? Time would tell.

He had less than two hours of daylight, and maybe forty-five or sixty miles to go to get to the Clayton Estate. The word seemed fuzzy in his mind.

A roller-blading car hop, in a bright yellow t-shirt tucked into her khaki slacks, slid up to his window.

“Good Afternoon, sir. I’m Brandy. Here’s your order, ‘kay. If there’s anything else I can get you, you just let me know.” Her pony-tail bobbed as she spoke and a bright-white smile exposed perfectly straightened teeth.

Zeke received the sack and drink and paid her.

“Here ya go.” She handed him the change. “Thank you, Sir. Have a wonderful day,” she said in her innocent high school girl pitch and rolled back into the vestibule.

He watched the sway of her khakis as she disappeared behind the glass door. He glanced at the time, shrugged, and pulled his food from the sack.

“Let the enigma continue.” He saluted with four fries held high.