TWENTY
Monday, October 9, 2000
16:45
When we got to the funeral home, there wasn't much of a crowd, except for five or six media folks hanging about outside. They at least had enough good sense not to go in. I brushed the spatters of mud off my pants as best I could, and made sure I'd scraped all the leaf particles from my shoes. I did notice that Hester didn't seem to have suffered any negative effects on her clothes from the climb up the ravine. I was, as usual, amazed by that. Inside we found Lamar and his wife, along with Edie's mother and a couple of Lamar's relatives I'd never met before. Embarrassingly, I couldn't remember Edie's mother's name. I had just about decided on directly asking her, no matter how stupid it might make me sound, when Lamar came over. He thanked us for coming, and led us immediately over to his sister.
“June, this is Carl Houseman, I think you know him? And Agent Hester Gorse, of the DCI.”
“Hello, June,” I said.
“Hello,” said June.
I recognized her, but barely. She seemed to have aged a lot more than I would have anticipated in the five or six years since I'd met her the first time.
“I'm sorry about Edie,” I said.
“Don't feel sorry for her,” she said. “Feel sorry for Shanna, her kid she left in the lurch. But thanks for comin'.” She gestured to a small table with a lace cloth, where somebody had placed four photos of Edie. One was a framed graduation picture, color, taken with her in a maroon cap and gown. The other three were taped to a piece of black construction paper. One of Edie with her mother in a swing when she was about six, I'd guess. Another one of Edie in her graduation robes, and one with Edie and her daughter, Shanna. Cute little kid. It was kind of a pathetic photo memorial, though.
While Hester said the obligatory things, Lamar and I approached the coffin, hardly making any sound at all on the soft carpet. Edie's body looked just like what it was, a dead woman in her mid-twenties. She was clad in a nice knit beige dress, with a white scarf concealing the wound in her neck. Her hair was a lot lighter than it had seemed when she was in the tub, and for a second I thought she might have a wig. Nope. Washed, dried, and nicely combed. Too young to be there, I thought. I took a breath and spoke to Lamar.
“They did a nice job,” I said softly. Having been at her autopsy, I could hardly believe they'd managed to put her back together as well as they had.
“Yep.”
Cops tend to be connoisseurs of that sort of thing. Especially when we've viewed the deceased at a crime scene, and know what the mortician has accomplished. Lamar knew; he'd been there often enough.
When I turned around, I saw several more people had entered the main room. Three young women, well dressed in dark colors. They were all in slacks and sweaters, and obviously together for mutual assistance. They looked to be about the same age as Edie, and seemed pretty sophisticated.
“Who are they?” I muttered to Lamar. One thing cops will do is check out who comes to the funerals of murder victims. Sometimes it can be very instructive.
“Classmates, I think,” he said. “High school.”
“Ah.” I had purposely “forgotten” to sign the sympathy book at the entrance. This would allow me to go back to sign it later, and check out the names. Cop thing. I made a mental note to check for three women's names in a group.
Lamar and I sort of wandered over to the leather chairs that lined one wall, and stood there, looking somber and wishing we were somewhere else. Hester joined us, and that was a real highlight. Ought to give you some idea.
A few moments later, accompanied by a flash as some intrepid reporter took a photo through the open door, the crew from the Mansion came in. All were in black or a combination of black and dark colors, gray or maroon. Kevin, Huck, and Melissa wore black leather knee-length coats. Toby just had a black leather vest over his maroon turtleneck, and Hanna was carrying a dark green suede jacket. Very presentable, I thought, and the dark colors were certainly appropriate. Granted, they looked rather pale, and the women wore very dark lipstick. So what.
Well, apparently Edie's mother felt otherwise. Even in the muted space of the funeral home, I heard her say something about “the freaks.” Several heads turned toward the five, who were signing the sympathy book. They'd obviously heard, but were choosing not to notice.
Lamar left Hester and me, and went to his sister, to make sure there wasn't a scene. When the five got to them, Lamar set the example, shaking their hands and thanking them for coming. This left his sister with little real choice, although she certainly didn't shake hands.
The five proceeded toward the casket, and stood in a group, and held hands for what seemed a long minute. As they turned, Hanna's hands went to her eyes, and she started to weave. Huck and Melissa escorted her to a chair, while Kevin and Toby came over to Hester and me.
“She all right?” I asked as they passed.
“Fine,” said Toby. “She's fine. So, we're 'freaks,' I hear.”
“Let it ride,” I said.
They continued toward the three girls who had come in together, and who Lamar had identified as Edie's former classmates. Kevin and Toby seemed to be introducing themselves, and making small talk. Good.
Huck approached Hester, and quietly asked if she knew where they might get some aspirin or Tylenol for Hanna. Hester took her to find the funeral director.
So far, not too unusual a wake.
Old Knockle came in, looking distinguished in his uniform. I was impressed. He'd had to take Chester to Maitland, get the bond, and get back here in pretty short time. Since I was now by myself, and he was, too, I waited for him to do the obligatory stop at Lamar, the mother, and then the casket. When his counterclockwise tour brought him to me, I suggested we go to one of the adjoining rooms, where they had coffee and cookies set out.
“Second reason I came, Carl.”
He and I secured two chairs within easy striking distance of the cookies, and started what I assumed would be a fairly bland, time-killing conversation. It did start that way, and I found myself telling him how impressed I was with the Mansion.
As it turned out, he'd helped restore it years ago, and his late uncle had been caretaker for the last members of the original family who had lived there.
“When did they move out?” Bland. Just curious.
“In the late ffities.”
“What did the original owner do, do you know?”
“He was into grain shipping, and mining, and lumber,” he said. “They were into just about anything in this area that could make 'em rich.”
“Worked,” I said.
“Indeed it did,” said Knockle.
“You know, I always wondered why they put it there in the first place.”
Knockle settled in, and I began to suspect I'd bitten off more than I'd intended. “The original owner, a man named Givens, wanted privacy. That old German Kommune had drilled way down, and got a well going before they went belly up. So he had a well ready made. It was close to the mine he owned, just south of there. That silica outfit.”
I nodded. “Didn't they use that to cast fine gears or something?” “For fine glass, originally,” he said. “Sand's got the consistency of grainy flour, produced a fine glass.”
“Ah.”
“The gear casting came later. Fine grain again, didn't have to machine them much after they were cast.”
“Oh.”
“Old man Givens was really a penny-pincher in some ways, though. Used to visit that mine every day, to check things. Then right across to the old steamboat dock, where they loaded his grain. That ain't there no more, 'course. Took that out about 1930. Mine's closed, went out back in the late sixties.”