by Kris Bock
Kyle met us at the door, handsome and somber in a suit. He took my hand. “Thanks for coming.” He thought we’d come to honor Bethany or support him, not to spy. I had a hard time meeting his eyes as I introduced Mom and Ricky.
I glanced toward the front of the chapel, a plain room with whitewashed walls and hard wooden benches. “There’s no casket.”
“The police haven’t released her body yet.”
“Oh, of course,” I mumbled, my cheeks burning. That’s why they called this a memorial and not a funeral. I’d expected a closed casket, but still dreaded even being in the same room as the body. This would make the afternoon marginally more bearable.
“We don’t know how long it will be,” Kyle said. “We thought it better to do something now that it might … help.”
Help what? Help who?
Ricky, good detective that he was, voiced the question. “How will it help?”
Kyle gazed toward the front of the room and spoke softly, so only we could hear. “We didn’t know what happened to Bethany for so long. It’s been hardest on my mother. She kept hoping. Maybe this will help her come to terms with the fact that Bethany is really gone.”
A couple of women came in, already teary, though their short skirts and low-cut tops seemed more appropriate for a bar than a memorial. Friends of Bethany’s? Kyle nodded to them but didn’t step out to greet them.
“We’re also hoping people won’t pay so much attention after this,” Kyle said, “though of course it will be news until her killer is caught and sentenced. There’s a reporter here.” He nodded toward a skinny man in a brown suit sitting in the back row. “We had to tell the TV news people they couldn’t come inside. I think they shot some footage of people entering the building.”
I hadn’t noticed them and hoped they’d gone before we arrived.
“We’ve gotten a lot of phone calls, too,” Kyle said. “Most of them offering condolences, but even that gets tiring. Hopefully this will give people a chance to express themselves, and then they’ll let us be for a while.”
I gave a weak smile. “Good luck.”
“It’s filling up. You’d better find a seat; there are still some at the front.”
I guess I wasn’t the only one who preferred hiding quietly at the back. We walked up the center aisle. I saw Eslinda and we exchanged smiles, but that bench was full. The second and third rows had some empty space on each side. Mom turned to the left. Ricky said, “It looks crowded. I’ll sit over here,” and turned right.
“What’s gotten into that boy?” Mom muttered. She settled onto the bench. “Doesn’t want to be seen with his mother, I suppose. You were like that at his age. I guess he’s turning into a typical teenager despite my best efforts.”
I glanced over at Ricky as he plopped onto the bench in the middle of the third row and studied the people around him. He caught my eye and gave a quick nod. I got the message—I was supposed to listen and watch on this side, and he’d take the other. It seemed wrong to play spy games during Bethany’s memorial. We should be honoring her memory.
But helping catch her killer would honor her as well. And as Kyle had noted, it wouldn’t be over for his family until the murderer had been put away. We were doing the right thing. Weren’t we?
Noise erupted at the back of the chapel. I turned and saw Kyle nose to nose with Thomas Bain. The church had gone silent as every head turned toward them, so Kyle’s low voice carried over the crowd. “You’re not coming in.”
Bain spoke louder, as if he didn’t care if everyone heard him. “I want to pay my respects. I cared about her, too, you know. But I won’t insist if it makes you uncomfortable.” He turned and left. Kyle watched him go but didn’t stop Lia Bain from slipping up the side aisle and squeezing into an empty spot. Maybe he didn’t realize who she was.
As her dark eyes scanned the crowd, I turned and bent forward, pretending to adjust my shoe. Why was she here? Was she planning to cause trouble? Should I warn Kyle, or would that cause more of a disturbance?
A minister came out and began to speak. Kyle, grim-faced, joined the front row. He was too far away for me to whisper in his ear, unless I leaned across several people. I glanced back at Lia. She had her head down and seemed to be keeping quiet. Better to let everything be.
I let the minister’s words wash over me as I studied the people in the front row. These were probably the people closest to Bethany, her immediate family members and best friends. A middle-aged couple sat next to Kyle. The man sat up straight and stiff, and from my angle I could see his clenched jaw and flat lips pressed together. The woman hunched, her head down, sniffling into a tissue. Bethany and Kyle’s parents?
What was this like for them? I couldn’t imagine.
How did one survive the death of a child? A sibling? Of course I knew, in an abstract way, that it was awful, devastating, heartbreaking. But I’d been so wrapped up in my own problems that I hadn’t really thought beyond the surface. When Kyle became a soldier, they’d have known he’d be in danger. When he came back, even injured, the relief must have been extraordinary. And then they lost their other child.
And Kyle. He and Bethany might not have been close, with about a six-year age gap, but Ricky and I were ten years apart. I glanced across the aisle at Ricky and my heart squeezed. Losing him was the worst thing I could imagine.
I blinked back tears and tried to concentrate on the preacher’s voice. “Then be afraid of the sword for yourselves, for wrath brings the punishment of the sword, so that you may know there is judgment.”
I stared at the man. Those were hardly the words of comfort one expected at a funeral. How would the family take it?
The man I thought was Bethany’s father nodded. The woman next to him sobbed quietly into her tissue. I couldn’t tell if she heard the words or not. Kyle’s face was hidden from me.
The man finished in a thunder of righteousness and stepped back from the speaking stand. Kyle rose and passed the man to take his place, without a hug or even a handshake. Kyle’s voice was flat as he said, “Please join us in the Great Hall for coffee and share your memories of Bethany in one of the books you’ll find on the tables there.”
Kyle came back to the front row, glared at his father, and muttered, “That was inspirational.”
His father rose. “The girl made her bed and now she has to lie in it. There is no escape from the judgment of God.”
Kyle bent over his mother and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Let me take you to a back room where you can rest.” He led her out with an arm around her waist.
That was it? No time for people to stand up in front of the group and share their memories? No family members or close friends offering their thoughts? I glanced around the room. A couple of heavily tattooed men in denim and leather checked out the teary women in short skirts and tight tops. Several men in suits and women in drab dresses joined Kyle’s father and the preacher, shaking hands and nodding solemnly. Other people whispered together, their expressions more curious than grieving.
Perhaps Kyle’s family was concerned about what people would have to say about Bethany. I pictured a fistfight breaking out between her rebel friends and what seemed to be the conservative members of her father’s church, while the town gossips watched avidly and the reporter took notes.
We stood to join the exit shuffle. “That was … odd,” Mom said. I nodded, for once completely in agreement. As I waited for an empty space in the aisle, my gaze met Lia Bain’s.
Something flashed in her dark eyes. She spun away and pushed through the crowd.
We mingled for a while. I introduced Mom to Eslinda. I saw Kyle at a distance, but he seemed too busy to interrupt. His father held court in one corner and glared whenever someone with a tattoo or piercings passed by. I didn’t see Kyle’s mother again.
Ricky drifted from group to group, largely ignored. He spent several minutes talking to an older couple who had been in the front row on his side. I hoped he was learning more than I wa
s. I felt as if I’d learned a few things, but nothing that helped Bethany.
I should be doing more. I tried to tune into the conversations around us while Mom and Eslinda talked about real estate prices. But would people talk about dark secrets in a situation like this? Even if I heard about another boyfriend, or Bethany’s drug habit, what good would it do? It all seemed so hopeless.
I looked around for Lia Bain. I still couldn’t figure out what she was doing at the memorial. I saw her leaning over one of the pretty journals, her hair hiding her face. She didn’t seem to be writing anything, which was good, because I couldn’t imagine she’d have anything positive to say.
When she moved away, I casually wandered to the journal and glanced over the comments. “We’ll miss you” with several exclamation points and little hearts around it. A comment about Heaven having another angel—I doubted Kyle’s father would agree with that. A few Bible quotes that were much more comforting than the ones the preacher had shared.
I doubted Lia had written any of those comments, and I didn’t see anything else remotely useful for our supposed investigation. Someone came up beside me and gave me that “Are you done?” look, so I moved away. I had no memories of Bethany that I wanted to share or that anyone else wanted to hear.
Ricky caught my eye and waved me over. He was still with the older couple from the front row. I forced a smile as I joined them, hoping Ricky hadn’t been too obvious with his interrogation.
He said, “This is Mrs. Griffin and Mr. Begay. They raise falcons and hawks!”
While I was trying to process that and figure out what it had to do with Bethany’s murder, the woman took my hand in a warm clasp. “Call me Nancy.” She had gray hair in a long braid down her back and fabulous bone structure that the lines in her face couldn’t hide. I guessed she might be seventy.
“And I’m Daniel,” the man said. The name Begay was Navajo and his dark skin and eyes confirmed that heritage. His hair was just starting to go gray, so he looked a decade or so younger than the woman. And they had different last names, so maybe they weren’t a couple after all.
“I know another Begay,” I said. It was a common name, so I didn’t assume he knew her, but it was something to say. “My friend Nascha, who works with me at the resort.”
“Oh, you know my niece! She’s a smart girl.”
“Uh … yes she is.” Nascha had never mentioned an uncle in town, but then we hadn’t chatted that much about our lives. “I guess she has a great memory for numbers.”
He nodded. “Amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it. She’ll remember any number you tell her.” So that much was true. Not that I doubted her, exactly, but it was nice to know for sure.
“Audra likes birds, too,” Ricky said.
Birds? Oh, right, falcons and hawks. I nodded. Sure, I liked birds, though I still had no idea what this had to do with anything.
An image flashed into my mind—the hawk soaring toward me while Kyle looked up at the sky from below. And then I remembered the cages in the back of his truck. Could that be what he was doing? Maybe he worked with these people, or was like a dog walker for birds of prey. I tried to think of some way to form a reasonable question.
“So we can go tomorrow, right?” Ricky asked.
“Um….” I hated not knowing what was going on! Ricky should have introduced me as his idiot sister, or claimed I was mute.
Daniel chuckled. “He means to see the birds. He tells me he’s always wanted to have a falcon. He’s almost old enough to become an apprentice.”
I looked at Ricky. “That’s great.” It was the first I’d heard of it, but that didn’t mean it was untrue. Maybe this had nothing to do with Bethany’s murder.
“Bring him out after you get off work,” Nancy said. “I’ll give you a tour.”
“Sounds great.” I hoped my smile looked natural. “Where exactly?”
She gave me directions to a place outside of town. And then she asked, “So how did you know Bethany?”
No. Oh no, I couldn’t tell them that. “Uh, I didn’t, really. But … I went to high school with Kyle.”
An odd light came into her eyes, somehow pleased and speculative. “That’s nice. He’s a wonderful young man.”
“He certainly is.” I needed to get away before they asked more questions with awkward answers. We’d better go—my mom is ready to leave. Thanks.” I pulled Ricky away. “Hawks, huh?”
“That’s Bethany’s grandparents!” he whispered. “I didn’t want to ask too many questions here, but I bet we can learn a lot about her tomorrow.”
Great. Bethany’s grandparents meant Kyle’s grandparents. Would they mention that they’d met a high school friend of his? Maybe not, with everything else going on. They’d shown no sign of recognition at my name, so probably the gossip about who had found Bethany’s body hadn’t reached them.
I prayed it would stay that way. But as I tried to make sense of the newest puzzle pieces, I felt constriction in my throat, like a noose getting tighter.
Chapter 20
By Monday morning, I was able to focus enough to get some work done. But at noon, I faced the options of eating alone in my office, dealing with lunchroom gossip, or going outside where I’d have to contend with strong winds, the possibility of flying golf balls, and the memory of what I’d seen in the woods nearby.
Or I could deal with one question, even if it was one of the smaller things.
Nascha came out of her office as I walked down the hallway. “Hey,” I said. “Lunch plans?”
“Only that I’m getting some. You?”
“I owe you for the ice cream sundae. How about lunch?”
“You don’t have to buy, but sure. I was thinking about the Main Street Café.”
“Okay.” We walked out of the building together and she drove the short distance. A thousand conversation starters ran through my head, but we didn’t talk much until we had ordered and were seated.
“How was the rest of your weekend?” Nascha asked.
Perfect opening. I grabbed it. “I met your uncle.”
She frowned for a moment. “Oh, you must mean Uncle Daniel. Great guy. He helped me get my job.”
“Really?” I hesitated, but if I didn’t clear this up, I’d wonder what was really going on. Then I’d act weird and lose the friendship I was hoping we’d develop. “You didn’t mention that you’re related to Bethany Moore.”
She stared, lips parted, the picture of astonishment.
“I met Daniel at the memorial yesterday. Ricky said he was Bethany’s grandfather.”
She gave a long “Ahh” and her face cleared. “I guess so. I hadn’t realized.”
“How could you not realize?” I snapped. “You’re like her aunt or something, or at least a second cousin.” Kyle’s, too. But she’d said she didn’t know him.
“First of all, Daniel isn’t my uncle the way you mean it. It’s an honorary title. He’s a friend of the family, an old Army buddy of my father’s. I remember his visits when I was a kid, and he did tell my parents to tell me about the position here, but we’re not especially close. We met for coffee a couple of times when I first moved down here, but I haven’t seen him in, oh, it must be over a year, except a few times in the grocery store. Second, he’s been with Nancy about five years, and if they’re actually married I never heard about it. We had dinner once, but I never met her kids or grandchildren.”
My face was burning and I tried to find the words to an apology.
She said, “I do remember him mentioning that Nancy’s grandson had gotten injured overseas.” She shook her head. “That was a while back, before he came home. They didn’t know how bad the injury was yet. I didn’t realize it was Kyle. Wow, small towns.”
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “Look, sorry if I sounded….”
She crossed her arms. “Suspicious?”
“Right. Sorry. It’s just….” I shrugged helplessly. “Everything has been so weird lately. I don’t know what’
s going on, or who to trust, so when things don’t seem to fit right….”
She sighed. “I suppose you get a break because you’ve been through a lot lately.”
Some of the tension left my shoulders. “Thanks. I really am sorry.”
A girl brought over our sandwiches. When she was out of earshot, Nascha said, “I guess the whole situation is confusing. It’s been bothering you?”
I started rearranging my meat, cheese, and veggies so they were evenly distributed. “You have no idea. I feel suspicious of everybody and everything. And I did something kind of stupid.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Please share.”
I glanced around the small room. No one seemed to be listening. “Ricky has this idea that we should investigate—help the police by poking around locally. And Saturday at the festival I got so mad at Jay that I agreed.”
“But what can you do?”
“That’s part of the problem!” I realized I had raised my voice. I leaned closer to Nascha and whispered, “I have no idea. But now Ricky has arranged it so we’re going out to Daniel and Nancy’s to see the falcons tomorrow, and I’m afraid Kyle will find out.”
“Hmm.” She nibbled on a pickle spear. “Is he one of the people you’re suspicious about?”
“I guess. Kind of. Maybe.” At her smile, I added, “It seems unfair, after everything he’s been through. But I’ve heard rumors of drugs and mental problems, and after what he must have been through, it wouldn’t be surprising if he was kind of messed up, right?”
“Post-traumatic stress disorder? Maybe even some brain damage from his accident, or if he was exposed to chemicals.” She made a face. “You’re right, it seems mean to suggest he might not be the wholesome, all-American hero. But soldiers are people too, and people are messed up.”
I paused with my sandwich halfway to my mouth. “You’re kind of cynical.”
“Or sensible.”
I sighed. “Maybe there’s no difference.”
Ricky walked over to meet me at five, and we headed out to see falcons. Fortunately Mom had taken Ricky at his word and not asked too many questions about our visit. I suppose she thought falconry sounded like a nice sophisticated activity for a teenage boy, not too macho. She even said we should get our own dinner, and she’d go to a meeting.
