The landscaping had been designed on a semi-European scheme with "rooms" representing different countries and themes: a Japanese garden, a rose garden for viewing, a citrus orchard for Southern California, a tropical garden with bougainvillea, birds of paradise, and flowering silk floss and jacaranda trees. Colorful annuals bordered the driveway. Manicured lawns spread out lush and green. Hundred-year-old sycamores and California oaks provided shade. David remembered that somewhere on the property there was a greenhouse filled with orchids and another hidden garden for cut flowers. In this way Mary Elizabeth Stout was able to have fresh flowers in every room virtually all year.
Someone from the catering staff showed David and the agents through the living room and out onto the terrace. Heading down to the pool, David and the FBI agents were flanked by a series of terraces, each draped with flowers and vines. George and Eddie took up discreet positions at either end of the cabana, while David went straight for the bar. He ordered a beer and watched as the other guests came down the stairs. They were the predictable assortment of lawyers from different law firms and government entities, as well as a smattering of judges. David waved to Rob Butler from the U.S. Attorney's Office and said hello to Kate Seigel from Taylor amp; Steinberg.
No one seemed particularly upset. In fact, as they picked up drinks and mingled at the bar, they looked more like guests at a garden party than at a funeral. But what did David expect? If Keith had died a week ago, would he have reacted differently? Certainly he would have felt bad about a friend and colleague's death, but he would have compartmentalized it and, like most of these people, come more out of duty than friendship. How strange, David thought, the way people avoided grief, avoided any unpleasant emotions, as if that would protect them from tragedy or make them invisible to evil.
Phil Collingsworth, who'd been at the firm even longer than Miles Stout, clapped David on the back and said that the three of them should grab some time later to talk. David spoke with another partner, who, after Hulan left him years ago, had encouraged him to date, then marry Jean. The marriage had been a mistake, but when they'd divorced, Marjorie, like so many people and things, had gone into Jean's half of the communal property. But now here was Marjorie, giving David a hug, saying how nice it was to see him after such a long time, and asking if he wouldn't like to come over for dinner and see how big the kids had grown.
It felt good to be back among friends, but there was a shadow over most of his conversations. No one mentioned the accusations surrounding Keith or David's presence at Keith's death, but he felt these subjects intruding into all of his encounters. Soon enough small talk evaporated into awkward silence. The little grouping would disperse and another one would form.
At one point David found himself standing alone. He glanced around, caught a sympathetic nod from Agent Baldwin, and quickly looked away. His eyes came to rest on Keith's sister, sitting with an older couple. The three of them looked exhausted and definitely out of place in the party atmosphere. David passed through the little eddies of people, reached Keith's family, extended his hand, and introduced himself.
At the older woman's quick intake of breath, the man at her side put a protective arm around her shoulder. With his other hand he reached out and firmly gripped David's. "Matt Baxter. I'm-I was-Keith's dad. This is Keith's mother, Marie. And this is Anne." But these introductions seemed about all he could manage. David watched as Matt squeezed his wife's shoulder, this time to strengthen himself.
A moment passed before anyone spoke, then Anne, her eyes welling with tears, looked up at David. "You're the person who was with Keith when…"
"That's right," David finished for her. "May I sit down?"
"Of course," she said.
David dragged a lawn chair over to Anne and her folks. As soon as he sat down he smelled an overpowering and sickeningly sweet scent that reminded him of death.
"Can you tell us about Keith on that last night?" Anne asked.
David had been so wrapped up in his guilt that he hadn't considered that Keith's family would ask him this question if given the opportunity. What should he say? That Keith had drunk too much? That he'd been worried about work? These weren't words that would bring solace. Instead David answered in half-truths.
"We had a bottle of wine. We ate fish. He was in a good humor. He teased me about coming back to the firm," David said.
Keith's folks nodded and smiled sadly.
"But did he say anything?" Anne pressed.
Was she asking about Pearl Jenner's allegations in the Times! She couldn't be.
"At the time nothing seemed that important," he said, trying to keep the conversation light. "We were just friends catching up on what we'd been doing. He asked about some trials that I'd had. It was just lawyer talk…"
"I don't know how you could say that," Anne said, not bothering to disguise her sarcasm.
"Anne," Matt implored his daughter, but she ignored him.
"I talked to him that day too, you know." Her voice had shifted into something hard and edgy. Her eyes stayed steady on David as she waited for him to respond. How much did Anne know? Was she, like David, worried about her brother's reputation? All he knew was that he didn't want to talk about these things in front of Keith's parents.
"My brother was in anguish. His girlfriend had just died…" Anne began to cry.
His girlfriend? Keith hadn't mentioned anything about that. Could David have misread the evening? No, not if what the Times said was true.
"We haven't thanked you for calling that night," Keith's mother said. "It meant a lot to us that it was a friend and not the police. I don't think I could have taken that."
"If the situation had been reversed, I'm sure Keith would have done the same for me."
"Do you think so?" Anne asked.
"Of course I do."
"What I mean is, do you think the situation could have been reversed?"
"Anne," Matt Baxter gently pleaded with his daughter.
Anne took an angry swipe at her tears, then turned impatiently to her father. "What is it, Dad? Do you want me to forget that my brother died because of this man? Well, I'm not going to forget that. I don't think anyone here-except for maybe you and Mom-is going to forget that."
Hearing those words, David felt his gut tighten. Was this how people would think of him from now on?
"Excuse me."
They all looked up to see Special Agent Eddie Wiley, sounding extremely official. "Mr. Stark, I need for you to step this way."
David rose. He kept eye contact with Anne but spoke to her parents. "Again, I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am." He tipped his head, broke away from Anne's hard gaze, and followed Eddie into the cabana.
"Thanks," he said.
"No thanks required. You looked like you needed rescuing."
"Yeah, I guess I did."
"You're going to have to learn how to deal with shit like that." When David regarded him in puzzlement, Eddie explained, "With people asking questions that they really don't want the answers to."
"And?"
"Shine them on."
David frowned. "Could I do that? Could you?"