Murder Likes It Hot

by Tracy Weber

  The request snapped me out of my memories. (Thank goodness.) “Wh … What?”

  “Name and identification, ma’am.” He added, almost as an afterthought, “Please.”

  Sam’s voice came from beside me. “It’s okay, Rex. This is my plus one, Kate Davidson. I asked Cherie’s mother to add her to the guest list this morning.” His eyes were underscored with purple-gray crescents, but the tired expression he flashed my direction was crystal. Go with it.

  I went with it.

  Bruiser (whose real name was evidently Rex) ran an index finger down the clipboard and stopped at the bottom. “Yes, I see the name handwritten here at the bottom. I’m afraid I’ll still need identification.”

  I reached inside my wallet and pulled out my temporary driver’s license. Bruiser eyed it skeptically.

  “Sorry, this is all I have,” I said. “My wallet was stolen, and the permanent one hasn’t arrived yet.”

  He narrowed his eyes and peered at the black-and-white photo, then at my face, then back at the photo again. I flashed him an innocent smile. He handed the license back and pointed to a guest book. “Please sign in here.”

  I complied.

  Sam took my arm and led me inside the chapel. I whispered, close to his ear but far enough away to avoid touching his blond mustache, “Thanks for vouching for me. What is that guy, a bouncer?”

  Sam sighed. “Close enough.”

  “At a funeral?”

  “You never would have gotten past him without me. Cherie’s determined to make this a private affair.”

  “How did you know I’d be here?”

  For the first time that morning, Sam’s eyes sparkled. “Puh-lease, Kate. You’re hardly unpredictable. Rene told me about you two’s little adventure to Tacoma. Once I realized you were investigating Gabriel’s death, it was a no-brainer that you’d crash the memorial. So I came early and convinced Cherie’s mother to add you to the guest list.”

  “Thanks.” Frankly, I was embarrassed that I hadn’t thought to ask for Sam’s help in the first place. “I’m glad she agreed.”

  “Cherie’s mom wasn’t hard to convince. Cherie’s the problem.” His cheeks turned pink. “And I might have lied and told her that you were a close friend of Gabriel’s and mine in college. Don’t make me regret vouching for you.”

  I didn’t make any promises. Then again, I don’t think Sam expected me to. “I still can’t believe they’re checking IDs at the door,” I said. “What’s that about?”

  Sam sighed. “That’s all Cherie. Requiring identification is an easy way to keep out Gabriel’s clients.”

  “How so?”

  “A lot of Teen Path HOME’s clients are runaways. Others have outstanding warrants. Do you honestly think most of those kids outside would be willing to show identification?”

  “You mean some of them won’t be able to attend the service?”

  “None of them will. Not even the ones who are willing to show ID. No one gets inside unless they’re on the guest list.”

  I selfishly thought of Henderson, who was outside with the kids. “What about the police?”

  “You mean that cop outside?”

  “Yes. His name is Detective Henderson.”

  “Cherie already told him to get lost. I’m sure he could have forced the issue, but he didn’t. I suspect he’ll stay outside.”

  Which was good news, at least for Martinez and me. I wouldn’t have to evade Henderson’s questions if he didn’t know I was here. “I get why Cherie wouldn’t want Henderson to be at the service,” I said. “He didn’t know Gabriel, and the police have been treating Cherie as a suspect. But keeping the kids out seems cruel. Most of them don’t have cars. It probably took multiple bus transfers for them to get here this morning. They wouldn’t have come if the ceremony wasn’t important to them.”

  “I agree, but there’s no talking Cherie out of it. Believe me, I tried. She’s convinced Gabriel’s clients are responsible for his death.”

  “She seriously thinks one of the kids outside killed him?”

  Sam’s lips thinned. “Does she think one of them held the gun? No, at least I don’t think so. Indirectly, though? Absolutely. She’s positive his death is their fault.”

  “Where’s the logic in that?”

  “According to Cherie, it’s simple cause and effect. If Gabriel hadn’t wanted to help those kids, he wouldn’t have worked at Teen Path HOME. If he hadn’t worked at Teen Path HOME, he and Cherie wouldn’t have fought. If they hadn’t fought, he wouldn’t have been at the center the night he was murdered.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Even if Gabriel’s death did have something to do with Teen Path HOME, he was a grown man. No one forced him to be at the center after closing. It’s not fair to blame anyone but the killer.”

  Sam held up his hands. “You’re preaching to the choir here, Kate, but Cherie won’t budge. Arguing with her just makes her worse. She’s not rational. I’m afraid she might be mentally unraveling.”

  I frowned. “Do the kids outside know they can’t come in?”

  “Yes. The Teen Path HOME board president is here, and he talked to them. He asked them to respect Cherie’s wishes.”

  “I met him once. His name’s Greg, right?”

  Sam nodded.

  “Will they listen to him?”

  “I think so. Greg has worked hard to build positive relationships with the kids. They respect him. He said they promised to not make a scene, but they’re not leaving, either. They’re planning to create their own ceremony outside.”

  I glanced at my watch. “Maybe I should talk to them.”

  A low, dirge-like bell chimed three times. “Not now, Kate. The service is about to begin.”

  I followed Sam to a row of chairs near the back and watched the rest of the mourners filter inside. The gathering was small—twenty-five or so people—which wasn’t surprising since Bruiser was turning people away at the door. Chuck sat two rows up and a few chairs to the right, and Vonnie occupied the chair next to him. Greg sat close to the back with four other men and a somber woman I didn’t recognize.

  Shortly before the ceremony began, Cherie arrived at the front, flanked by an older couple I assumed were her parents. A procession of four men and two women wheeled a casket to the front. Closed, thank goodness.

  The officiant’s words were kind but generic; her delivery, rehearsed. I suspected that she was reading a fill-in-the-blanks script written for burying strangers. My heart ached, not simply for the loss of Gabriel’s life, but for the loss of human connection after his death. He’d helped many. I assumed he’d been loved by many. But few of them were in this space. Most were gathered two hundred feet away, holding vigil underneath a cedar tree, barred from entry by an angry wife and a bouncer in a funeral suit.

  When the officiant launched into a monotone recitation of Gabriel’s obituary, I tuned out her words and visually eavesdropped on the audience. Cherie stared straight ahead, white knuckles clasped in her lap. An ice sculpture on the verge of shattering. Her parents leaned oddly away from her. Chuck slouched and glanced down at his smart phone. Vonnie openly wept. The board president and his entourage murmured amongst themselves.

  At the end of the blessedly short ceremony, the officiant invited us all to stay for coffee and pastries. I leaned over and whispered to Sam, “Do you know which people here were closest to Gabriel?”

  “No. We lost touch for a few years before he contacted me about donating to Teen Path HOME.”

  “How about family?”

  He gestured to the front row. “As far as I know, Cherie was the only family Gabriel had left. His parents and his sister died in an automobile accident years ago.”

  “How tragic.”

  “Yes. They were good people. Their death was what made Gabriel decide to go into social work. He told me that once he r
ealized how fleeting life could be, he needed to make sure every day made a difference.” Sam’s eyes grew moist. “I had no idea at the time how prophetic his words were. It doesn’t seem fair.”

  “It isn’t.” I squeezed his hand. “I promise, Sam, I’ll do everything in my power to make sure Gabriel’s killer is punished. I’ll start by talking to Cherie and her parents.”

  “Not today, Kate, please. Cherie is like a rabid porcupine. Anyone who gets close enough to touch comes away bloody. If I’d known how unstable she was, I’d have told you to stay home.” He shook his head emphatically. “Talk to anyone else you want, but leave Cherie alone. I don’t want Gabriel’s funeral to end up being a circus.”

  If anyone other than Sam had made the request, I’d have ignored them. But Sam, perhaps more than most in this room, was grieving his friend. I wouldn’t add to his pain.

  “It won’t be, Sam. I promise.”

  We made our way through the refreshment line, then loitered uncomfortably in the back of the room, sipping black coffee and nibbling on shortbread. Cherie and her parents stood in deep conversation with Bruiser.

  “Are you okay alone for a couple of minutes?” Sam asked. “Some of the Teen Path HOME board members are here, and we need to talk. It should only take five or ten minutes.”

  “I’ll be fine.” I smiled. “I’ll mill around and see if I overhear anything interesting.”

  It was a reasonable plan. A good one, even.

  Until Cherie noticed me.

  She squinted as if trying to place my face, then frowned and said something to Bruiser. He pointed at the guest book, said something back, and shook his head. Cherie’s mother grasped her arm and motioned for Cherie to stay put, but she shook her off and strode in my direction.

  “Do I know you?” It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation.

  “My name’s Kate Davidson. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Cherie cocked her head to the side, eyes paradoxically dull and piercing at the same time. “I don’t know anyone named Kate Davidson.” She pointed to Bruiser. “Rex says that your name was handwritten on the guest list and the ID you presented might be fake.”

  “It’s not fake, it’s temporary. I’m a friend of—”

  I was about to say I was a friend of Sam’s, but she didn’t give me the chance.

  “A friend of my husband’s?” She snorted unattractively. “Well isn’t that special. I’m glad Gabriel had time for friends, because he certainly never had time for me.” She made finger quotes with her hands. “When he wasn’t angsting over one of his ‘kids,’ he was too busy sleeping around with—” Her eyes widened. “Wait a minute. I do know you. You’re that woman who was mooning around outside Gabriel’s office two weeks ago.” She poked my sternum with her index finger. Hard. “You’re her, aren’t you?”

  The other mourners stopped talking and stared. I felt my face redden. “I’m sorry, I think you have me confused with someone else.”

  Cherie’s voice grew thirty decibels louder. “Oh, believe me. I’m not the confused one here. How dare you come to my husband’s memorial acting like you’re part of my family. You’re the one who destroyed it.” Spittle sprayed from her lips to my face. “You’re the reason Gabriel came home after midnight every night. You’re the reason we fought the night he died.” Her voice caught. “You’re the reason he forgot about me.”

  I took several steps back and held up my hands, instinctively protecting my face. “Listen. I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m here with Sam.”

  The crowd’s murmurs grew louder. Somewhere in the distance, I heard a voice say, “Shouldn’t somebody stop her?”

  I doubt Cherie heard any of it. Her eyes were wet with feverish fury. “I knew Gabriel was cheating on me, but the lying bastard denied it—he denied me—until the day he died. You stole him from me.” She raised her right hand to slap me, and I braced for the blow.

  An instant before impact, Cherie’s father grabbed her wrist. Her mother stepped between us, the way I did whenever Bella lunged at the UPS man.

  Sam appeared at my side. “I told you not to interrogate her!”

  “I didn’t, I swear!”

  Cherie’s mother stroked her daughter’s hair and spoke in low, soothing tones. “Sweetie, I need you to come with me now. The funeral director wants to know what to do with the flowers.” She smiled at me, not unkindly. “Excuse us.”

  Cherie grumbled as her mother drag-walked her away. “Tell the funeral director he can take those flowers and stuff them inside Gabriel’s cheating corpse.”

  Her father—whose name I remembered from the obituary was Andre—waited until the women were out of sight before turning to me. “I’m so sorry. My daughter’s not well. Did she harm you?”

  “No, just spit on me a little. I’m not who she thinks I am, though.” I turned to Sam. “She came up to me, I swear. All I did was introduce myself and tell her that I was sorry for her loss.”

  Andre took a deep breath in, then slowly released it. “It’s not your fault, Miss … ”

  “Davidson, Kate Davidson.” I didn’t correct him that I was actually a Mrs.

  “Miss Davidson. You’re the third woman Cherie’s accosted since her mother and I arrived in Seattle yesterday.”

  “The third?” Sam asked.

  “Yes. And I strongly suspect there’ll be a fourth before the day is over. We knew she was having difficulties, but we had no idea they were this severe.”

  I glanced at Sam, silently asking permission to continue. He nodded.

  “Difficulties?” I asked.

  “Cherie has always been hard on herself. Hard on everyone around her, for that matter. She suffers from clinical depression, though it often manifests as anger.”

  “Seriously?” Sam said. “Gabriel and I roomed together in grad school. Cherie practically lived at our place. He never mentioned that she had mental health issues.”

  “Ah,” Andre replied, “you must be Sam. Gabriel spoke very fondly of you.” He reached out and shook Sam’s hand. “I suspect he never said anything about Cherie’s mental health issues back then because he didn’t know about them. She’d had them under control since high school. We thought she’d put all of that behind her, but in hindsight, I’m not surprised that her condition has flared up again. Life didn’t exactly turn out the way she’d planned.”

  “You mean Gabriel’s death?” Sam asked.

  Andre sighed. “I wish it were that simple. Grief, she would eventually overcome. This is much trickier. I’m afraid Cherie suffers from terminal disappointment.”

  “Disappointment?” I asked.

  “You don’t know Cherie, do you?” Andre replied.

  “No.” I almost volunteered that I didn’t know Gabriel very well either, but I stopped myself.

  “Cherie and Gabriel were high achievers in college. She was convinced they’d both be CEOs of Fortune 500 companies someday.”

  Sam nodded. “Everyone who knew them back then thought they’d be famous.”

  “They probably would have been, if Gabriel hadn’t decided to change careers and go into social work. Cherie was disappointed, but she supported him every way she could. They lived on her salary and spent their savings on his tuition.” He shrugged. “Then she got laid off last year.”

  “Cherie lost her job?” Sam asked. “Gabriel never told me that, either.”

  “She didn’t want him to talk about it. She wouldn’t like me talking about it, either, but I think you and your friend deserve an explanation. Cherie’s been looking for work, but positions at her level are rare, and she’s overqualified for most others. She started spinning back into depression and lashing out at Gabriel. Gabriel responded by avoiding her. Lately, he’s spent most of his time at the youth center.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Gabriel,” Sam said. “He and
Cherie were practically inseparable.”

  Andre shrugged. “People grow apart. Honestly, given what I’ve experienced in the last couple of days, I don’t blame him. I’m Cherie’s father and I don’t want to be around her either.”

  “Excuse me for asking,” I said, “but Cherie mentioned an affair.”

  “Yes. Gabriel’s supposed affair has become Cherie’s obsession. Her mother and I can’t figure out if it was real or the figment of her paranoid imagination. We’ll probably never know for sure.”

  Cherie’s story was tragic, and part of me understood her resentment. Michael and I had both chosen careers that seemed uniquely designed to keep us barely above poverty level. But we’d known that going in. Losing your job, your status, and your husband’s attention might build a lot of resentment. Add mental illness and an extramarital affair to the top and you had plenty of motive for murder.

  I was trying to come up with a delicate way to ask Andre where Cherie had been the night of her husband’s death when he noticed that his wife was gesturing for him to join her.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I’d better go. Again, please accept my apologies.”

  I waited until he was ten steps away before I spoke. “I’m sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to cause a scene.”

  “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Do you think Cherie was right? Was Gabriel having an affair?”

  Sam stared desolately at the carpet. “I don’t know, Kate. Before today, I would have said no way. Never.” He shrugged. “But now? Who knows? There was so much Gabriel didn’t tell me. I don’t know what to believe anymore.” He gestured to the parking lot. “I’m going to get out of here. I’ve had about as much drama as I can take for one day.”

  “I think I’ll hang around for a few more minutes, if you don’t mind,” I squeezed his shoulder. “Thanks again. I owe you one.”

  I meant it. Even if I didn’t learn anything else, the memorial had been enlightening. The fights I’d witnessed between Gabriel and his wife hadn’t been isolated incidents. They were two snapshots in an expanding album of marital discord.

  A vivid scene unfolded in my imagination … a furious Cherie slams down the phone and vows to confront her husband in person. She speeds from her house to Teen Path HOME, screeching to a stop on the dark, empty street in front of the center. She pounds on the door until Gabriel lets her in. She storms to his office and begins searching for evidence of his supposed affair. She screams at him. She shoves him. He shoves her back. Maybe he even slaps her. She picks up Rainbow’s gun and—