He nodded, pleased at this small compliance, then abruptly switched radio stations. Much to my dismay, Wynonna’s contralto filled the car.
After the service at the First Baptist Church, we drove to the cemetery. Willis and I joined those assembled for prayers at the grave site, and stood under the tent I’d arranged to shade us from the unbearable heat. Ben was being laid to rest next to his first wife.
Daddy had died in the spring, and the day we buried him had been clear and cool—nothing like this. It was hot enough to sunburn the birds.
I looked at Ruth, her head bent, her hands clutched tightly together at her waist. She was about the same age my mother would have been had she lived. Feeling a familiar ache in my gut, I whispered, “Was it this hot the day of Mom’s funeral?”
Willis leaned toward me, looking confused. “What?”
“You were there, right?”
“Well... yes. But I don’t remember what the weather was like.”
“Daddy never talked about her... service.”
“Her death was not something he wanted to remember. Never saw a man so miserable as when she finally died.”
“And what about our real parents? If they were buried out in El Paso, where the plane crashed, it was probably even hotter than this.” Kate and I were adopted after Jane and Morris Mitchell’s private plane went down in the West Texas desert, leaving their twin daughters orphaned.
“Why are you bringing all this up now?” Willis whispered, sounding irritated.
“I guess funerals make you think about details, about a past you weren’t a part of but that’s still a part of you,” I said.
Willis placed a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t think you and Kate are alone, Abby. You have Caroline and me. We’ll always be here for you.”
The preacher began reciting the Lord’s Prayer, so I shut up. But before I bowed my head, I spotted Sheriff Nemec, who’d stopped a good distance from the grave, out of Ruth’s sight. Not that she would have said anything about his showing up for Ben’s burial. She wasn’t the type for confrontations. At least by hanging back beneath a live oak, Nemec showed her a measure of respect—which surprised me. After our last encounter, I wouldn’t have pegged him as being even that sensitive.
From his passive face, bloated on one side from a chaw of tobacco, I couldn’t imagine what he was feeling. Elation? Satisfaction? Or did I detect a hint of sadness because the pursuit had ended? Whatever was going through his mind, he stood quietly, hat in his hand, until they lowered Ben’s casket into the ground. When the coffin disappeared completely, he put on the Stetson, wheeled on his booted heel, and returned to a pickup parked on the small rise beyond the tree.
I glanced back at Ruth, who had chosen off-white lace for the funeral. I wondered if that was the dress she’d been married in. In the circles Aunt Caroline and Willis traveled, people would have buzzed over a woman not choosing black, but here, with neighbors Ruth had known forever, no one would misunderstand or say anything unkind.
The small crowd dispersed, and Ruth remained still and tearless while two men shoveled spades of clumped red clay over the casket. The sickly-sweet scent of dying flowers drifted toward me on the hot breeze.
“Ready to head back to Houston?” whispered Willis, who’d been squirming next to me like a leech on a hook.
“First we’re paying our respects at Ruth’s place,” I whispered back.
“You didn’t tell me that.” He focused on his Rolex. “I have to return to town. Considering this funeral cost you a tidy sum, I only came to keep an eye on how your money was spent today. I must say, they did a fine job on the flowers... and the service benefited from those lilies you insisted on. Surprises me they could find such lovely ones, seeing as how we’re out here in—”
I elbowed him in the ribs. “Would you shut up? Ruth is still praying.”
Willis hadn’t even flinched when I hit him. It seemed his workouts were effective for more than networking with the “right people.”
“Abby, I must leave. I have a client waiting,” he said.
I pointed in the direction of the sleek black Lincoln parked on the grass about fifty yards away. “That hearse is headed back to Houston. Why not hitch a ride and I’ll drive your car back to town later tonight?”
“You can’t be serious,” he replied.
“I’ll be satisfied I’ve received the best service for my dollar with passengers in that contraption going in both directions. How’s that for a sound business decision?”
“Um... maybe the hearse could wait for you and I’ll drive back in my car now?” The sweat on his balding forehead drizzled past his temples.
“You’re not squeamish, are you, Willis? Besides, another dead person back in Houston is patiently awaiting that hearse’s return so they can experience city traffic one last time. Say, do you suppose the Six-ten Loop is actually purgatory? Miles and miles of endless, congested highways going around and around and—”
“Abby, I’m not—”
“Seriously, Willis. The hearse driver told me he has another funeral.” I smiled, deciding I hadn’t had this much fun in a long time.
He adjusted his sunglasses and cleared his throat. “If that’s what you want, I’ll happily accommodate you.” With that, he turned stiffly and handed his car keys to me. “When can I tell Kate to expect you?”
“I’m not sure,” I replied. “Tonight sometime. Borrow my car if you need one. Kate knows where I keep the spare key. And thanks for coming with me.”
I felt a twinge of guilt at seeing his stricken face. He’d only sought to advise me in my best interests, and what did he get for his trouble? A long drive in a hearse, all the while praying none of the “right” people saw him.
That sense of culpability passed swiftly, however. Maybe this unusual trip home would teach Willis not to try to control me. I hated men trying to control me.
The finest meals in Texas are served after funerals, and Ruth’s kitchen table attested to that fact. I had loaded up with fried chicken, sour cream-dill potato salad, baked beans, and homemade pickles, and was balancing the plate in one hand while holding a glass of fresh lemonade in the other. I headed for the porch, where callers had gathered in the late-afternoon reprieve from the heat. When I passed Ruth on my way outside, she dropped a hot biscuit on top of my chicken.
“This looks wonderful,” I said. “But aren’t you eating?”
“I know I should partake of what these fine people have provided, but I haven’t had much appetite since Ben died.”
She followed me outside, where we joined the remaining mourners. An old gentleman rose and offered his rocker, then said his good-byes. The others soon followed his lead until only Ruth and I remained.
She rocked rhythmically, the setting sun highlighting the grief in her tired eyes. “I want to thank you again, Miss Abby, for your kindness and understanding, and for bringing Ben home. He would have been most grateful. Most grateful indeed. When they find who done this, he’ll truly rest.”
“Have the police contacted you?”
“Only Sheriff Nemec. Said the city police sent him over to ask me questions.”
“What kind of questions?”
“Oh, like, do I know anyone with a reason to harm Ben. I said, ‘Besides you, Stanley?’ He looked through Ben’s belongings, and then after he left I spent money on a long-distance call to the city. I wanted to see what was bein’ done about finding his killer, since I don’t think Stanley will be breaking his back to find answers. Lady who I talked to says I got to have a case number. Says don’t I know there’s four million people in Houston? Says how’s she supposed to tell one dead body from another without a case number? One thing’s for sure, miss. That’ll be the last time I call them folks for anything. Don’t need to pay money on no phone bill to be talked to like that.” She lifted her chin and her lower lip quivered.
“I’m so sorry.” To myself I added, Thank you, urban America.
“It ain’t your fault. Lady was probably right. He was nothin’ to her.”