Flawless: (Fearsome Series Book 4)

by S. A. Wolfe

  As I put on my suit coat and brush some lint off my sleeves, I hear murmurs, women remarking on my appearance. It’s awkward considering the circumstances. Sometimes this whole town makes me feel like I’m on display.

  I stride quickly past the line to Eleanor, receiving a few whistles along the way. Who does that at a funeral?

  I look back at the culprits, a group of senior women who run the town knitting club.

  Eleanor and Lois hustle me up to Norma’s open casket while I scan the church for Talia.

  “This is a trip, isn’t it?” Cooper says as he approaches me with Carson and Dylan. They’re also dressed in suits, so I don’t feel completely out of place among this crowd in summer casual wear.

  “Very different than Mom’s funeral. This almost seems like a party,” I say.

  “It is,” Carson says, edging his way past us to see Norma. “Norma wanted this to be a fun day.”

  “Nothing says fun like putting someone six feet under,” Dylan remarks.

  “Oh hush, you boys,” Lois says.

  I get in line behind them as we approach Norma’s casket. When she comes into view, I’m taken aback for a second, and then I’m amused. This funeral has Norma’s handiwork all over it.

  The casket is white. The interior is a light pink satin. Norma is laid out in a bright pink gown with sequins and long, white gloves that reach to her elbows. I’ve never seen anything like this and can’t stop staring at the tiny woman who looks like she was a Vegas showgirl in a former life. I can’t stop myself from smiling. I’m positive this is what Norma intended all along. To make people smile, to make them feel good.

  “Oh, Norma, honey. You look fabulous. Doesn’t she look fabulous?” Eleanor asks of those circling her casket.

  “She looks like she was dressed by Bob Mackie,” Lois says.

  “Who’s that?” I ask.

  That was a mistake. I get a long-winded lecture on Sonny and Cher, Carol Burnett, and TV variety shows from the 1970s.

  “You had to ask,” Carson mutters.

  The viewing line is long, and if the priest is ever going to be able to start the service, they need to get the people in their seats to clear the aisle. Others will have to stand in back and outside, listening on the outdoor speaker system that’s been set up.

  Lois and Eleanor usher the pallbearers to the pews available to us, and that’s when I spot Talia sitting with her family. Mila is between her daughters with Aleska on the aisle. I nudge my way through the bottleneck of people, trying to get to them. Aleska smiles when she sees me and immediately nudges Mila and Talia to their right so I can sit down.

  “Thanks,” I say to Aleska. Then I lean over so I can see Mila and Talia. “This is like being at the hottest show in town. I think I had an easier time getting tickets to Hamilton.”

  Aleska giggles. Talia shakes her head and doesn’t look at me.

  I reach over Aleska and put my hand on Mila’s arm. “How are you doing? I know this is really difficult for you, and it wasn’t easy for you to come here either.”

  Mila covers my hand with hers. “I didn’t think I could do this, but you were so helpful. Thank you for what you told Gavin.”

  Talia snaps her head in my direction. “What did Peyton do?” She glares at me. “Gavin drove you here. He’s the one you should thank.”

  “I did thank him. Gavin said Peyton told him what to say to convince me to come here today. When Gavin stopped by our house last night to talk to me—after I said I couldn’t go through with this—he used Peyton’s words to convince me.”

  “You didn’t tell me that,” Talia hisses.

  “I don’t tell you everything,” Mila replies.

  “In either case, I’m glad you’re here,” I say.

  “On our way over, we got to ride in the sheriff’s patrol car. Talia and I had to sit in back like we were perps.” Aleska grins. “It gave Talia flashbacks.”

  “Shut up.” Talia promptly crosses her arms like a petulant child with a pursed mouth and stares straight ahead.

  I want to know more about Aleska’s remark, but the priest begins speaking and a general hush falls over the congregation. I steal one more glance at Talia. She’s wearing a fitted black dress and simple, tiny gold hoops in those dainty earlobes of hers. Her crossed legs are bare, and she lets one of her black pumps dangle from her toes. I get a good look at those legs. I know how smooth the skin is and how they feel wrapped around me. The last place I need to get an erection is in church, at a funeral, so I put that salacious thought aside.

  Her hair is swept up into a twist, and there’s no way not to notice her beautiful profile and her blue eyes against her black dress. At the moment, she looks like an angry young widow.

  I’m told the priest, Father Pat, flew back from Disney World, where he was vacationing with his sister’s family, so he could preside over the funeral of Hera’s oldest resident. He launches into humorous tales about Norma, and the whole event starts to resemble a celebrity roast. Norma’s quest to begin her worldwide travels in Thailand at age ninety get a few laughs, and her philanthropic efforts in Hera summon up cheers and applause. There are plenty of hilarious Norma stories, including one about her chaining herself to a rollercoaster because the attendant and the park officials felt she was too old to ride it at the age of ninety-four. I feel guilty for laughing at that one since Talia and Mila sit in stony silence like two doomsday sentries.

  When I’m given the signal from Eleanor, I stand and mentally prepare myself to perform my pallbearer duties.

  “Go get ’em,” Aleska says.

  Talia keeps her attention riveted to the front of the church.

  Cooper and the other pallbearers stand, as well, and make their way to the aisle.

  Eleanor filled me in that the old man sitting at the front of the church is Jasper, one of Norma’s former students. He struggles to stand up from his pew, then looks around, worried he’s not capable of the task at hand. He has at least fifty years on us. When he sees me and my brother, though, followed by the other men much taller and much younger than himself, he looks positively relieved.

  “Thank God,” he says. “There’s no way I could lift this thing, even if I was twenty years younger and they gave me a forklift.” His rheumy eyes look apologetic.

  Eleanor jumps out of the front pew with her gauzy turquoise top flowing around like fairy wings and begins maneuvering all of us into position around the casket. She moves me up front, along with Jasper, the idea being that I will carry the weight while he will be seen as the one with seniority. Cooper and Leo are behind me, and then Dylan and Carson are behind Jasper, reassuring the old man that he doesn’t have to do anything except pretend he’s carrying the casket.

  “Don’t shoulder it,” I tell Jasper.

  He raises his hands and puts his fingers on the bottom rim of the casket for show. He’s almost a foot shorter than me.

  Our walk down the aisle is excruciatingly slow due to Jasper’s slide-and-shuffle gait. The organist begins playing the score to Cher’s “If I Could Turn Back Time,” which I certainly wasn’t expecting, but then these are not traditional people, and Norma loved a good show.

  The church has a festive vibe as people watch us carry the casket. This is nothing like the crying, grieving group of mourners at my mother’s funeral, where I didn’t think I could survive the service.

  It’s only a ten-minute drive to the cemetery, but it takes another hour to get all the cars parked. Like one giant tailgate party. Lois even brings out a bullhorn and shouts at people to get to the grave site.

  I seem even more out of place among the large crowd, which looks as if they are sporting the new summer collection from Old Navy. Inexpensive floral shirts and dresses and a lot of flowy outfits like Eleanor’s get up. It must be a Hera thing—these oddball characters and their nutty customs.

  I catch Talia observing me, mentally judging me for judging her people, I suppose. I give her a quick smile, then take my place behind her and oth
er people who knew Norma best.

  I lean over Eleanor’s shoulder and whisper, “I feel overdressed.”

  “Nonsense,” she whispers back. “You look dapper. Exactly as a pallbearer should.”

  “Then why is Talia and her family in black and the rest of the town look like a psychedelic acid trip?”

  “Mila is traditional. She has those old-country ways. If they could wear black veils, they would. But here in Hera, if you live to be a hundred, it’s a day to celebrate.”

  “Hush,” Talia whispers to both of us.

  I wink at her, and she bunches up her angry mouth and looks forward again.

  In the distance, I see Gavin leaning next to his patrol car. I’m assuming he’s waiting to drive Mila home. The other patrol car next to him is the one that led the procession, and I suppose he’s hanging around in case someone causes trouble. Something like moonshine or bathtub gin being passed around comes to mind. I laugh to myself a little too loudly and heads turn. People think I’m laughing at the priest’s witty sermon.

  “It’s not that funny,” Lois says from my other side. She’s wearing long, dangling, silver earrings that jingle like bells when she moves her head. Her jewelry certainly goes with the billowy, red clown pants she’s wearing.

  “It’s kind of funny,” I say. “This whole place is just plain weird sometimes.”

  “You love us,” Eleanor comments as she fluffs her head of fresh silver curls.

  Talia turns around and looks at me again before granting me a brief smirk. I smile in return. It’s good to be in this position again, where being near her, even at a funeral, makes my whole day.

  We have to stand in the hot sun quite a bit longer as dozens of people come forward to tell their personal stories about Norma, all trying to outdo one another with the funniest Norma story or Norma quote. Each of them places a flower bouquet on her casket. Soon, the pile of flowers is so high I can’t see the people on the other side of the grave.

  “This is interesting,” I say into Talia’s ear.

  She swings a foot back and a sharply placed pointy heel hits me squarely in the shin. I grunt and lurch in pain.

  “You can’t escape,” she whispers with her back to me.

  “I don’t want to escape. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

  Talia is motionless, but Jess and Imogene turn around and look at me. Jess raises an eyebrow.

  • • •

  Gavin appears by Mila’s side, puts out his arm for her to hold on to, and walks her to his car. He seems to have the right touch with a woman who is a bundle of nerves and anxious to be back in her little house.

  I want to ask Mila how it feels to be outside and have the sunshine on her face, but her solemn expression and eagerness to have Gavin steal her away say everything. Then I watch Talia and Aleska for a while, talking to a few people and passing out free hugs. Talia is warm and animated with others while she’s been putting up walls with me. This new resistance is beguiling and only serves to make the pursuit more enticing. When she gives old Jasper a hug and says she’ll see him at the house, I make my approach.

  “Can I give you a lift back? I know it’s not as exciting as riding in the sheriff’s car, but I bet I have a better playlist.”

  She looks around as if she’s thinking of a reason that she can’t be in the same car with me.

  “It’s just a ride,” I say with a bit of annoyance.

  She gives me a hard look. “I suppose I can’t avoid you completely. Too small of a town, right?”

  “Precisely. And I’m simply being a good neighbor.”

  Her plump, pink lips form a little smile, but her eyes look wary. “I’m only saying yes because Aleska has offered to drive the band in our van. Their truck broke down, so Aleska is racing out to get their equipment and drive them back to the house before the guests—”

  “Band? What band?”

  “The Frankies.”

  I laugh. “The who?”

  “The Frankies. Norma requested they sing at her party. She saw them perform at The Rack a couple of years ago, so she put it in her funeral instructions to have them play. Although, I don’t think she considered how small our house is and how big her audience will be.”

  “I’m still stuck on the first part. The Rack is a biker bar. What was Norma doing there?”

  “She was meeting us girls for beers. Norma liked to have fun.”

  “I’ll say. So I’m assuming The Frankies are hard rock?”

  “No, they sing all Frank Sinatra songs. Duh.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Why would I joke about that? Norma loved Frank Sinatra, and the lead singer looks like Sinatra from the 1940s. The whole band dresses in those suits and hats men wore from that time period. They reminded Norma of when she was young.”

  “I can’t wait.” I move past her to open my truck door for her. I support her elbow as she climbs up into the cab and get a good, long look at her smooth, bare legs.

  She adjusts herself in the seat and crosses her legs. I admire the whole picture of her and take a swift breath to keep the naked images of her in my bed away. No such luck. She’s gorgeous and sexy and doing nothing but fueling my desire for her.

  “Jesus,” I mumble as I hand her the shoulder strap to buckle in. “Being your neighbor is tricky.”

  “Poor baby. Drive fast. People come early when they know there’s going to be good food.”

  “Yes, ma’am. We don’t want to miss the first batch of sticky buns and The Frankies’ opening number.”

  The party has already started when we arrive. Mila is rushing around, putting out dishes of food on the kitchen table and the card tables set up around the living room and family room. People park their cars and trucks on the lawn, and visitors push slowly through the house. The front and back doors are left open to keep the oxygen flowing and people moving.

  The Frankies are set up in the backyard, right off the kitchen deck. There are four of them; I suppose to symbolize the famous Rat Pack. They are young, maybe late twenties, tops, and look more like rockabillies and a mix of Buddy Holly and Elvis Presley, yet they croon like Sinatra and Dean Martin. The music has everyone bopping their heads, and some of the older people have taken off their shoes so they can dance on the piece of linoleum that has been laid out on the grass for this purpose. I see Archie and Emily do a slow waltz around the others in their stocking feet. They all look a little silly, but I’m tempted to grab Talia’s hand and take her out there and dance to “New York, New York.”

  As if she can sense what I’m scheming, she dodges through the crowd to help Mila in the kitchen.

  “This is nuts,” I say when I find Imogene and Cooper.

  “Nothing like Mom’s funeral; that’s for sure,” Cooper says. “These people know how to have fun.”

  “In Hera, we like to celebrate a person’s life,” Imogene says. “I need another tequila sunrise.”

  “They’re serving those?” I stupidly ask as Imogene slurps the remains of a big, pinkish-orange concoction.

  “Of course! It was Norma’s favorite drink.” Imogene says, then tips her glass to get the very last sludgy, neon remains. “Actually, that’s not true. Norma loved cocktails. Period. Any retro drink would do. We went with tequila sunrises because Eleanor loves them, too, and she makes them really strong.”

  “I’m going to find Talia,” I say to no one in particular as Carson and the rest of our friends approach with more orange drinks in hand.

  The crowd in the house finally starts to thin out as people choose to take their food and drinks outside, filling the front and backyards. Talia is taking her hosting duties seriously, zipping around, clearing and serving. When I reach her, she is talking to a short woman who looks to be in her seventies.

  “Hey,” I say to Talia, and then I greet the woman with a hello. It is a cocktail party, after all.

  “This is Norma’s niece, Doris,” Talia explains. “She flew in from Alabama.”

  “Oh,
so you’re not from Arizona or South America.”

  “Ha-ha,” Talia says. “So Aleska and I were off by a few thousand miles.”

  When Doris smiles, she resembles Norma.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Peyton. Your aunt was an amazing woman.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, too. I wish I could have lived closer to Aunt Norma, but my work kept me in Alabama. I’m comforted knowing she had all of you and this lovely town to look over her. I really want to thank you for everything you’ve done, honey.” She grasps Talia’s hands.

  “No, thank you! Really, I love doing this!” Talia says exuberantly with a big smile.

  Her hyperness and odd statement startle Doris. And me. Talia blushes with embarrassment at her outburst.

  “It’s all right, honey,” Doris says. “I’m going to go visit with Lois and Eleanor a bit and get one of those pretty drinks.”

  As Doris disappears into the kitchen crowd, Talia whips her head in my direction. “How crazy did I just sound? Because I sound crazy to myself. Did I just thank her for Norma’s death? What was that?”

  I laugh. “This is normal. You’re having mixed feelings of sadness and joy over Norma. I have to say that serving cocktails and having a dance band adds to the confusion. Don’t worry about it. No one thinks your enthusiasm for bereavement cooking is odd at all.” I rub her back, enjoying how the black silk picks up the heat from her skin, and then that moment is punctuated by the lead singer of The Frankies belting out an oldie but goodie with the words psycho killer in it.

  Talia makes a face. “Is that Frank Sinatra?”

  “No. Talking Heads.” I laugh. “Sorry, but their timing is perfect.”

  “Because I sound psychotic? And stop touching me like that.” She shakes my hand off. “It confuses me. It’s not the funeral. It’s you. You confuse me. When you touch me like that, I can’t tell if you’re treating me like a child or like another one of your conquests.”

  “I’m treating you like a friend who’s in distress.”

  “Talia!” a woman interrupts. She pulls a middle-aged man alongside her who I assume is her husband. “You did such a nice job with Norma’s arrangements. She would have loved this.”