Jamie was the first person I spied when I arrived at the church. She was standing with two older people, probably her parents, next to a dark car, waiting for Wick Lanford to emerge. I was glad to see the children weren't with her. Poor little Calvin and Noah would have a hard enough time without having to hear the sympathy of every last stranger at the funeral. I felt another burst of admiration for Jamie as I reflected on this. I walked toward her; she spied me and met me halfway. To my surprise, she threw her arms around me in a heartfelt hug. “Oh, Madeline,” she said. “Thanks for all you did for me. I know you loved him too.” She maintained her dignity, shedding only a couple of tears as she looked into my eyes.
I felt uncomfortable. It was true that I'd loved Logan, perhaps still distantly loved him, but the more I learned, the angrier I became, and I would never be able to tell him. Jamie, on the other hand, the woman I'd barely remembered, I now considered a friend. “Jamie,” I said, squeezing her hand, “what will you do now? Do you know yet?”
She brushed a hand across her eyes. Jamie's parents and Wick had joined us, and we began walking to the church. “My parents said I could come back home, of course.” She sent a grateful smile to her mom and dad, who each gave her a squeeze of comfort. “And Logan's dad here has offered me the job of managing one of his inns. It seems the lady who does that is retiring. And I guess Wick's girlfriend, Shelly, has offered to help me take care of the kids. So it sounds like something I'll pursue. The kids can be by their grandpa, and we'll all be out of that apartment, and I'll have a job.” Her voice broke on the last word, but she shrugged it off and managed a watery smile for me.
I looked at Wick, who seemed to have aged in the last two days. He was alone, so I assumed his girlfriend Shelly was in charge back in Saugatuck. “That's great, Wick. I'm glad Jamie and the boys will be with you.”
He nodded his agreement, and we reached the sidewalk of the church, where Maggie Lanford joined the group. She wore a dignified black dress, and her hair was pulled back in a simple bun. She gave Wick and Jamie's parents all a quick hug, put her arm around Jamie, and said, “Madeline, dear,” to me. I wondered if she were sedated; she had the smiling, distant countenance of someone on drugs. I remembered my parents’ concern about drinking, but I gave her a brief kiss on the cheek and smelled nothing but Estée Lauder perfume.
I stepped away as Wick and Jamie conferred with her in muted tones. The three of them ascended the steps of the church. I waited at the foot, looking for Bill. The drizzle had abated slightly, so I figured I could wait. My hair was already a victim of humidity, but I didn't think it would matter, since I intended to sit in the back row.
Before Bill appeared, I recognized various mourners, including Pamela, who waved briefly and then studiously avoided my gaze; Linus Lanford, the tall, dark brother of Logan who for some reason hadn't arrived with his father or mother; several other staff members of the mayor's office; and Quinn Paley, who was there without Fawn. I wondered if she'd been sent home in shame for swiping the ’Vette. Quinn looked out of place away from his cabin. He seemed tired and out of sorts; I wondered how close to Logan he had actually been. My family—Mom, Dad, and my brothers—waved and beckoned but then hurried in to be out of the rain. I even recognized some people from high school, including various old girlfriends of Logan's.
Just as I spotted Bill walking down the sidewalk at an infuriatingly slow pace, a long black car pulled up, and out jumped Lyle Sylvane and Mayor Don Paul. Don Paul flashed me his show-business smile before he realized it was only me; then he treated me to the icy routine.
Lyle, ever the optimist, gave me a wink that suggested I could win a sexual assignation with him right after the funeral.
I was shivering with cold and distaste when Bill reached me.
“Ready for this?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said.
We ascended the stone stairs together like a nervous bride and groom. I tried not to dwell on the thought that Logan would be carried down in a coffin, never to attend Mass again.
The Mass is a blur in my memory now, because what happened after it wiped out all of the salient details. I remember a pretty eulogy by Logan's college roommate, and the priest, Father Fahey, made profound comments about life and death and said kind things about Logan and the fact that he was taken too soon.
At the end, just before Logan's coffin was carried to the back by the pallbearers, one of whom was his brother, the priest extended the family's invitation for everyone present to come to the funeral luncheon at Elizabeth House, one of Webley's more stately restaurants.
Bill and I whispered occasionally to each other about the people present—who seemed sad and who didn't. In general, the only people who looked truly devastated were Logan's family and some of his old girlfriends. His former coworkers seemed dry-eyed, except for my mother, who was on the verge of shaming the family with the volume of her cries. My mom cried at all funerals. My dad never got to see war movies, because Mom only sanctioned things with happy endings.
I noticed Detective Perez was just a few pews away from us. I waved discreetly when she looked our way. She nodded with cop-like detachment, and yet I thought I saw the hint of a smile.
We remained in our pew until everyone had filed out; then we slowly made our way out to the parking lot. We were supposed to follow the hearse to the cemetery for one final prayer. I told Bill I wasn't up to the task; I felt unwilling to spend any more time with the coffin.
Bill told me he'd meet me at the banquet hall, and he loped off to his car like a cowboy on the way to the campfire.
I noticed Quinn Paley on the sidewalk; I hadn't seen him inside. Before he could stride to his car and drive away, I caught up with him. “Quinn,” I said. “Madeline. Do you remember me?”
“Sure,” he said. He was scanning the crowd.
“Listen, I was talking to your sister yesterday—”
He grabbed my arm. “You saw her?”
I nodded dumbly. “Sure. She was here in your Corvette. She was at city hall, and I spoke to her in the parking lot.”
“She's missing,” he said. “I drove down here because she left me a note. I found the car in front of city hall with a ticket on it, but I haven't found Fawn.”
I stared at him. His fingers were digging painfully into my arm. This was none of my business, I supposed, but she was just a girl.
“She drove off with Don Paul. He's our mayor,” I said. “That was the last I saw of her.”
Quinn Paley gave me a look that might have been a sort of angry gratitude. “Okay, thanks,” he said. He started to move away.
“Quinn,” I said, “you need to tell the police. And call me if I can help you.” I gave him my Wire business card. “I'll be around today, and I'll be at city hall tomorrow.”
He grabbed the card, nodded again at me, and took off in the black car.
My Scorpio was one of the last cars in the lot; other vehicles stood waiting in line, receiving their funeral stickers so that they could legally blow off red lights. The line had just started to move slowly when I reached the driver's door; I noticed the little note on my windshield and grabbed it, thinking it was some sort of missive from the funeral home.
I got in my seat and buckled in, then read the note. “Logan is dead and buried. Stop looking into his death or you'll be sorry.” The letters had been traced with stencils, very carefully, and obviously in advance of today's gathering. The paper was common computer stock. I doubted the police could do much with determining the origin of either the paper or the stencils. Fingerprints were a moot point, since the note had been in drizzle and I'd pawed it, thinking it was unimportant.
My heart pounding in my ears, I looked back at the line of cars, scanning for Detective Perez and her Nissan. She was last in line. I jumped out of my car and ran to hers, knocking rather frantically on the window.
She rolled it down and said, “Hello.” Her calmness, as usual, accentuated my lack of control.
“Hi,” I said.
“Are you going to the funeral dinner?”
“I'll be there,” she said, pointing at me.
“I just found this on my windshield,” I told her, trying not to sound frightened and failing. “Maybe you could read it and give me your thoughts over the mashed potatoes.”
She gave it a cursory glance and offered me a somber expression. “I was afraid of something like this,” she said. “Oh, here we go. Don't go anywhere before this luncheon. Go straight to Elizabeth House.” She drove off, following the car in front of her with the orderly, duckling-like response that funeral train members have.
I stood in the drizzle, feeling sorry for myself, and still worried about Fawn.
I went back to my car finally, got in, and locked all of the doors. It was true that I had ruffled some feathers, but I couldn't believe anyone would risk exposure with a note like this. No one was really in any danger from me, after all. It didn't make sense. What I knew, the police knew, and I'd made that clear to Paul and his cronies.
In any case, I decided, shrugging out of my shock, it was nothing a little warm food couldn't put in perspective. I set my sights on the funeral luncheon and tried to put fearful thoughts from my mind.
The salads were being served in the Crystal Room of Elizabeth House; mourners had found their tables and seemed relieved to be able to eat. Some of them, frankly, seemed hardly mournful as they passed jokes around with the blue cheese dressing.
Detective Perez sat at my table; she had already pocketed my note but was trying to ask me things in a subdued way, when she knew that nobody was looking. This was difficult, since everyone at my table was staring at us. This included my mother, Bill, Pamela, and some other staffers from the mayor's office, as well as a couple whom no one knew, who stared mainly at their plates and occasionally asked the table at large what was on the menu for the day. The woman, it appeared, had a nervous digestion, and the man had diabetes, and they seemed concerned indeed at the thought of eating something potentially poisonous.
My brothers, because they had stopped at a store on the way for God knows what reason, were across the room at another table, seated with strangers as far as I could tell. They occasionally sent a forlorn glance our way.
I had told Perez about Quinn Paley's search for his sister and that I'd seen her with Don Paul. For once she'd looked interested, and she made a call on her little cell phone.
When she came back to me, she said, “They're on it. So far they don't have much.” She sighed, took a sip of water, and said, “Now let's talk about your pen pal.”
My mother was still peering at us. Perez tapped her finger on the edge of the table and waited until ol’ Delia's curiosity cooled. Finally, when no one seemed too interested, she said softly, “I was going to say we could focus on the person who seemed to be staring at you, but you have a way of drawing attention.”
“I think it's my affiliation with you. I myself have never been considered that interesting. With a policewoman, however, I seem to have reached celebrity status.”
She nodded. “Who's the goon at the other table who keeps turning around?” she queried.
“That's Lyle Sylvane. The one I told you about, who admitted to trying to scare Logan out of town. And next to him is the mayor, who has been trying to look without looking, if you get my drift.”
“So that really narrows it down, doesn't it? You've got half the mayor's staff at this table, and more of the mayor's staff over there. Even the brother's been looking at you,” she commented, leaning sideways so that a young waiter could place a salad bowl in front of her.
I leaned sideways in my turn, wondering what sort of “brother” would be at Logan's funeral. Had he actually had friends among the religious?
“The brother?” I asked, scanning the room for something obvious, like a rosary or monk's robes.
“His brother,” she said, sounding a bit disappointed in my mental processing equipment. “He's been staring over here. Did you two ever have a thing going?”
I pictured Linus Lanford as a teen, his barely concealed scorn for Logan and his friends, which included me, and his amazing ability to convey distance with a glance. “Not hardly,” I quipped. “Maybe he's looking at, uh…” I looked around the table. No one really seemed to be of interest to Linus Lanford. Maybe Pamela, who was pretty. “Pamela?” I suggested.
“Maybe,” she agreed.
“Somebody call?” asked Pamela with a smile. The two of us hadn't really spoken since the telephone call, but I didn't want to be rude in front of Detective Perez, so I took the opportunity to introduce her to the table. They all made much of her and began to fire off questions about Logan's killer, especially wanting to know if he or she would be apprehended within the next five minutes or so, preferably as something to watch over dessert.
Detective Perez handled them with aplomb, but nicely managed to divert the subject to something more neutral by the time the main course arrived. It was some sort of lemon chicken platter, and it was delicious. I must confess that I lost myself in my food for a couple of minutes, forgetting even that someone in the room with me had pasted a threat on my windshield. When I began to get full, the nervous feeling came back. It was like a backward version of Maslow's hierarchy: I wasn't able to be fully fearful until my base needs were met.
At one point, when our table was loud with a discussion of the newest television drama, Perez asked me quietly, “What's your gut instinct, Madeline? You probably had an immediate thought when you realized what the note was. Who did you picture putting it there?” She had pushed her plate away, her fork placed tines down in the Emily Post fashion. She was fast becoming my new role model.
“I pictured the goon, Lyle Sylvane. I think he's done other dirty work for Mayor Paul, and it wouldn't surprise me, after my visit there, if they were fearful enough to attempt retaliation.” I turned my own tines down in an attempt to be delicate.
“I'm going to keep the note, okay?” she asked.
“Sure,” I answered. I figured it couldn't be in better hands.
“Meanwhile, your best bet is to do what the note says. At this point, they're just trying to scare you. If you lay off, they will. Right?”
The irrational side of my nature took over. Contrary to the thoughts I'd had upon receiving the note, which were that I would give up immediately rather than risk personal harm, I felt suddenly mutinous. “But Bill and I are doing our very first exposé. It means a lot for the paper, and we'll probably be doing more in the future, so if I let myself get scared off this one…” I leaned to the side for my dish of ice cream. Everyone at the table had started to list to the right in anticipation of dessert, and the group had become subsequently silent.
Detective Perez, therefore, merely shook her head and looked a bit angry.
My mother noted this and sent me a glance that said, “Have you managed to upset yet another person?”
I sighed and ate some ice cream. I looked across the room in time to discover that Linus Lanford was, in fact, looking at me, just as Perez had suspected. I held up a hand in greeting, since it seemed the thing to do, and then held up a finger to indicate that he should wait a moment. I had planned to talk to Linus today anyway. Why not do it now, when I had apparently alienated everyone at my table? I took one last bite of ice cream and excused myself to the officer, saying that I would return momentarily. “Watch my back,” I joked lamely. It didn't elicit anything close to laughter.
I passed Fritz and Gerhard on the way to Linus's table. Fritz reached out an iron hand. “Who's that girl with you?” he hissed. “The one who looks like Jennifer Lopez? You've been totally talking to her, so I'm sure you can put in a good word for me.”
I looked at Gerhard for support, but he seemed equally smitten with the young detective and was gazing at her himself. I knew that Perez was attractive, but apparently I hadn't realized just how winsome she was. I thought back to her strained relationship with Krosky and wondered if he had ever made a pass at her. That could really push
a partnership to the breaking point.
“She's a cop, Fritz,” I said tiredly. “Go over and tell her you want to give her a statement about the last time you saw Logan. But get the ice cream out of your mustache first. And Gerhard, you stop looking entirely. Or I'll tell your girlfriend.” Gerhard looked so shocked at the thought that I felt a bit guilty for threatening him.
Fritz was taking me literally, cleaning crumbs off of his shirt in preparation for his meeting with Perez. “I'll invite her to the festival. Chicks love to hear a guy sing. I'll dedicate a song to her. Would that be cool, Madeline?” His face looked earnestly into mine, filled with the excitement that only self-centered pursuits could bring. Still, I felt a stab of pride, as if Fritz were going to the prom or some other unlikely scenario.
“Your best bet is to meet her first, Fritz. You might not—I mean, she might not be your type.” My little brother didn't notice the alteration; he marched toward her table with the swagger of a rock star who'd selected a groupie for a night of love.
eighteen
Linus Lanford stood when I approached. He seemed taller than he had eight years ago, but somehow less forbidding. Perhaps because he was almost thirty and had quit scowling at women a long time ago.
“Hello, Madeline,” he said, offering up a smile that would turn a lesser woman's knees to Jell-O. I had no memories of a smiling Linus, but I now saw that he was probably capable of thrilling as many female hearts as his younger brother had done, if not more of them. “I don't think I've seen you since you were in high school,” he said, shaking my hand. “I'm sorry we had to meet again at such a sad occasion.”
Although he wore the appropriate black attire and a generally grave expression, I thought Linus looked pretty darn good for a grieving brother. He was tanned, for one thing, and fit, and his eyes didn't show the puffy redness one somehow comes to expect in the bereaved. His father, mother, and sister-in-law, all at the table with him, had the look I was searching for. Linus wasn't conforming to that particular mold.
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