Chapter 3After My Tragic Death, Dad Kept Working And Doing Extra For Everyone

Dad wasn’t denying the murders anymore, but he wasn’t being particularly helpful either.

“How many people? I don’t keep track. Leftovers are in the box. You can sort ‘em yourselves.”

The box held scraps in different stages of decay.

Some parts were blackened and reeking, nearly liquid from sitting so long.

It was enough to keep the coroner’s office busy for weeks.

While Dad was being shown around, identifying possible crime scenes at Maplewood Terrace, a man stumbled over, clearly drunk.

“Frank Collins! Where’s my wife? You took my wife, didn’t you? Give her back!”

It was Doug Montgomery, Carla’s drunk husband.

The neighbors started whispering, “Yeah, haven’t seen Carla Montgomery in a while. I’d heard she’d had a fling with the delivery guy, her husband beat her up something fierce after that… But now…”

Doug spat through slurred words. “Hell, I’m not the one having flings with some delivery guy! Now get outta here!”

He took a swing at Dad, who only staggered and laughed, “Can’t handle your own wife? And you’re blaming me?”

When I first went missing, Dad came to this neighborhood, knowing it was on my way home.

He knocked on Carla’s door first, the only person he knew nearby.

But Doug had thrown him out. “What’s your daughter to us? Just looking for an excuse to hit on my wife again?”

Now, as the police separated the enraged Doug from Dad, Dad chuckled bitterly. “I’ve taken out so much trash, I can’t remember where Carla Montgomery ended up.”

Faces turned pale around us—police officers calculating the endless garbage bags they might need to search, and the crowd imagining what might be in each one.

Watching Doug rage helplessly made me feel something like joy for the first time since my death.

I remember how Dad’s fling with Carla was exposed when Doug came to our house, reeking of alcohol, and told Mom, “Your husband’s been with my wife. You’ll pay up for it. Or maybe I’ll just take your daughter as payment.”