How this guy kept making me feel like a jerk, I didn’t know.
“I’m sorry. Thanks again for the ride, I appreciate it.”
He turned on the radio and found an oldies station. The upbeat music of the Temptations filled the car, and I found myself humming along.
“Do you need a lift to the funeral tomorrow?”
I shook my head. “No, thank you. I’ll call Mac Neal-do you know him? He’s got an auto shop on Fifth?”
Darren nodded slowly. “I think I do, that little gray building? Set back from the road?”
“That’s the one. He’s great,” I said. “Oh, up here on the right.”
Darren pulled the car into the driveway. In front of us, the house was dark and quiet. He put the car in park but left the engine running.
“I think I should go in with you.”
He must have seen the look on my face because he rolled his eyes. “Gemma, your tires were slashed. Someone’s been on your property, in your house. Your boyfriend is in Alaska. I don’t think you should go in there alone. This has nothing to do with me wanting to get you in bed.”
My cheeks flushed. He wanted to get me in bed?
“I do have this,” I said, and opened my handbag and flashed him my gun. Before we left the parking lot at Chevy’s, I had grabbed it from the trunk of my car.
Darren looked doubtful. “I don’t know. I’d feel terrible if something happened to you while I sat out here like an idiot.”
“How about I go in, and look around real quick, and I’ll come back and wave at you if everything looks okay?”
I gathered up my things and was out of the car before he could protest. The thought of Darren in my house, this late at night, was somehow more terrifying than the thought of a killer inside waiting. Besides, I was a cop. I was more prepared to take on an intruder than a high school basketball coach ever was.
I strode to the front porch, deliberately not looking back at the Subaru, and fished my keys out of my bag. The cool, heavy weight of them in my hand brought a sense of normalcy to the situation, and I stuck the silver house key, with its purple fob, into the lock and pushed the door open.
As I’d expected, the house was quiet.
I felt, and sensed more than anything, that there was no one, except for Seamus. He looked at me with heavy eyes from his spot by the kitchen door. He stood and passed gas and then waddled over to the back door and sat and waited. I went room to room and turned on a few lights but kept most off; I didn’t like the sense that Darren was out there, watching me walk through my house.
Finally, I went to the front door and waved. He honked twice and backed out of the driveway. I closed the door and slid the wooden chair we keep in the foyer across the tile and angled the back of it up and under the doorknob. It wasn’t much but it would make a racket if anyone tried to get in.
I let Seamus out, watched him do his business, and called him back. I did the same chair trick with the back door, and the door to the garage. The sliding glass doors on the side of the house had Charlie bars that we rarely used, but I engaged them, dropping the bars from their vertical position to horizontal.
Then I went upstairs and pulled off my dress and fell into bed without bothering to brush my teeth. The next thing I knew, the heat of the morning sun was warming my cheek. I cracked an eye open and groaned when I saw the alarm clock.
It was ten in the morning.
Saturday. Nicky’s funeral, his second funeral in three years.
My mouth was dry and tasted of garlic and tomato. I pushed myself up and staggered into the shower and let the hot water shake me from the grogginess that seemed to permeate my brain.
Out of the shower, naked and dripping wet, I stood in front of my closet and cursed. The day would be hot but the church would be cool. Wool was out, as were my printed summer dresses, my dark slacks, and my uniform. Jeans were inappropriate, as was my black cocktail dress, my navy long-sleeved pants suit, and every other damn thing.
I finally settled on a knee-length black skirt, a cream-colored silk blouse, and a printed yellow scarf. I looked like a banker but the clothes fit around my belly and breasts and I wouldn’t be too hot or too cool.
Mac Neal picked me up in his Goblin. The Goblin was a Ford F-150, with a lacquer cherry finish as sleek as freshly painted nails, and cattle horns on the front, and a Right to Life sticker on the back. He helped me up into the cab of the truck and we drove to Wellshire Presbyterian, humming along with Garth Brooks and Kenny Chesney.
Mac dropped me in front, where Sam Birdshead and Finn Nowlin and Chief Chavez were gathered, all solemn in dark suits and sunglasses.
“Thanks, Mac, I owe you a million,” I said, and gave him my keys.
He nodded, his long salt-and-pepper beard shaking with the motion, his thick mustache obscuring his mouth. “I’ll leave the car at the police station, all right, kiddo? Keys under the back tire well?”
“Great. Leave me the bill-like I said, I owe you big time.”
He drove off, leaving a small puff of black smoke in his wake like a calling card.
“Nice ride, Gemma. Brody know you’re tooling around with that old fart?” Finn asked.
I ignored him and instead greeted Sam and Chief Chavez. We headed inside, one by one, into a church that was already full. Most of the crowd seemed to be Cedar Valley’s elite, the families who owned the ski resorts and the city council members. I recognized a few other politicians, like Senator Morrow, and Congresswoman Peters.
A couple of children played in the aisle, dodging out of their mother’s grasping hands, ignoring her whispered threats to get back to their seats.
“Don’t you think that’s weird, bringing kids to a funeral?” Finn said in my ear.
I shrugged. How the hell did I know what was weird these days? I’d spent the last few hours fantasizing about a basketball coach with a Louisiana accent who wanted to get me in bed, in spite of my belly and my not-so-single status.
“I think it’s smart. They’ve got to get used to all of life’s curveballs, the good and the bad,” Sam Birdshead said. He edged into one of the pews and Finn and I scooted in next to him.
“On the reservation, death is celebrated the same as weddings and births,” Sam continued. “I saw my first dead body when I was four years old. There isn’t anything to fear. The mother’s wise to bring them here.”
I realized I didn’t know much about Sam’s upbringing. “Did you grow up on the reservation?”
Sam said, “Nah, not after my parents divorced. Mom took me back to Denver with her, to live with her parents, my grandparents. But every summer, she let me go spend a few months with my dad in Wyoming. Those were the best times of my life, those summers. By then my grandfather was out of prison. He’s nothing like what you’ve heard.”
He started to say more but the big organ, high above us in an alcove, started up and the opening notes of Amazing Grace floated down upon us like snowflakes.
A man in black stood at the pulpit and looked out at us, and he must have seen what I can only imagine was a sea of faces, somber suits and dresses, and a few bold hats. In front of the man, on a low stand, lay a coffin. Its deep mahogany finish shone in the white light that streamed through the high windows of the church. A single bucket of white roses with baby’s breath graced the ground before it, an offering that spoke of innocence and purity and sweetness.
I hadn’t seen the Bellingtons; I could only assume they were seated somewhere up front, in the first pew. Across the aisle, I caught sight of Joe Fatone, and behind him, Tessa O’Leary. She gave me a little wave and I waved back. And a few rows behind her, I saw Lisey. She sat with the same blond girl I’d seen at Tessa’s trapeze show, and the two looked friendly.
In fact, from this angle, it appeared Lisey and Blondie were holding hands.