Cavanaugh Strong

by Marie Ferrarella

  She shook her head in response to the question. “Henry didn’t have a family. His wife, Jenny, left him years ago, thinking she deserved better—she didn’t.” Lucy shrugged as if the woman under discussion was of no consequence. “I heard that she died a couple of years back.”

  “Children? Grandchildren?” Noelle asked, thinking how sad it had to be to know that you didn’t have anyone to mourn your passing.

  “No and no,” Lucy replied, shooting down each question.

  Something wasn’t adding up for her. “But didn’t you say that Henry took out an insurance policy?” she asked. Because it was slightly uphill, progress from the parking lot to the cemetery was slow.

  “He did.”

  Okay, now she was officially confused. “If Henry had no family, just who did he leave his money to?” she asked. And then it dawned on her. Or at least she thought it did. “You?”

  Lucy abruptly stopped walking and looked at her incredulously.

  “Me?” The woman waved away the very thought. “No. What would I need with Henry’s money? It was his friendship I wanted, not his money. Hell, when I came to pick him up on Thursday I was going to talk him into getting out of that depressing place and coming to live with me.” They resumed walking as Lucy sighed, resigned. “Guess that’s all water under the bridge now, or whatever trite saying fits this occasion. Oh, damn.”

  They had just walked through the cemetery gates when Lucy stopped short for a second time.

  “What’s the matter?” Noelle asked, glancing around to see what had caused her grandmother to utter the words of distress.

  Lucy remained where she was, her eyes narrowing in obvious displeasure. “She’s here.”

  “She?” Noelle repeated. “Who is ‘she’?”

  “That annoying volunteer from the retirement home,” Lucy said with contempt. “The one who tried to keep me out of his room, acting like she knew Henry better than I did.”

  Her grandmother had told her all about that when she had recounted all the details surrounding her discovery of Henry’s lifeless body. It was obvious to her that Lucy had more than just feelings of friendship cloaked in nostalgia when it came to Henry.

  Turning toward the person who had aroused Lucy’s anger, she noticed a tall woman, her face all but obscured by the scarf she wore on her head and the dark, oversize sunglasses perched on her nose.

  “Want me to arrest her for you, Lucy?” Noelle asked brightly.

  Moving forward, Lucy never took her eyes off the woman who’d stirred her ire. “Don’t be ridiculous, Noely.”

  “Sorry. Just want to make you feel better,” Noelle told her drily.

  Lucy frowned, making no effort to disguise her feelings as she glared across the field at the other woman.

  “Besides,” she complained, “you don’t have anything to charge her with.”

  Noelle smiled to herself. “You have a point.”

  And then it was her turn to stop walking, but for an entirely different reason than her grandmother’s.

  Wearing a dark jacket over his customary black turtleneck and jeans, Duncan Cavanaugh was walking toward them.

  She knew he’d said that he’d be there, but she’d thought that, as with everything else, he was just talking. She hadn’t really expected the man to actually show up. Especially to a stranger’s funeral.

  Before she could say anything to let her grandmother know that their party had just increased by one, Lucy’s keen radar for good-looking men had alerted her to the tall, broad-shouldered young detective’s presence.

  Noelle heard her grandmother take in a deep breath, heard the low murmur of appreciation as it fell from her tongue and felt Lucy suddenly straighten up as if an additional twenty to thirty years had just mysteriously melted away. Considering that Lucy already looked a decade younger than she was, that just about made the two of them practically the same age, Noelle judged.

  “And whose tasty little morsel is that?” Lucy asked under her breath.

  The question was a rhetorical one. Consequently she looked at Noelle in utter surprise when she heard her granddaughter inadvertently say, “Mine.”

  Lucy’s eyes widened. And was that a spark of admiration she detected there? Noelle wondered.

  “What?”

  That had come out all wrong, Noelle thought, upbraiding herself. Why in heaven’s name had she said “mine”?

  “I mean, I know him,” Noelle amended. “He works with me.”

  At this point, Duncan had seen her and her grandmother and was now striding across the field toward them. He reached them in less than a heartbeat. She’d be the one to know since she was suddenly acutely aware of her own.

  “Oh, good, you’re here,” Duncan said to her with more than a touch of relief. “I was beginning to think I’d gone to the wrong cemetery or got the time mixed up.” And then, very smoothly, Duncan shifted his attention from his stunned-looking partner to the petite woman standing beside her. “You didn’t tell me you had a sister, O’Banyon.”

  “And you didn’t tell me your partner failed his vision test,” Lucy responded, never tearing her eyes away from what she viewed to be a fine specimen of manhood. “I hope they had the good sense to take away your gun, boy,” Lucy told him drolly.

  “Feisty,” Duncan observed with an approving nod and a wide smile to match. “I see now where Noelle gets it from.”

  In the six months they’d been together, Noelle had never heard Cavanaugh say her first name. Why the sound of it sent a warm, inviting ripple down her spine made absolutely no sense to her, but now wasn’t the time to dwell on it or to ponder why.

  “And what is your name?” Lucy asked, her sharp blue eyes pinning the young man in place and devouring every available detail about him. Despite her age, Lucy missed nothing.

  “Detective Duncan Cavanaugh, ma’am,” he said, giving her his full name.

  Deliberately ignoring the fact that Amanda, the volunteer from the home, was making her way toward them to obviously join the tiny circle, Lucy turned so that her attention was strictly on the young man who had just introduced himself.

  “Well, not that I don’t appreciate the company of a good-looking young man, Duncan Cavanaugh, but just what is it that you are doing here? Have you come to whisk Noelle to the scene of some crime?”

  “No, ma’am, I have not. I thought that maybe you and O’Banyon here might like to have some company as you say your final goodbyes.” By saying “you and O’Banyon” he really meant the older woman, but he had a feeling that she wouldn’t appreciate any references that would make her appear to be vulnerable.

  “Oh, you did, did you?” Lucy asked, slanting a glance at her granddaughter before focusing back on the young man before her. “Well, that was very thoughtful of you, Duncan.” Glancing around Duncan’s muscular frame, Lucy nodded toward the casket that had been set up beside the hole that the groundskeepers had dug for it the day before. Henry’s final resting place. “Right now,” she prompted, “I think we’d better get over there before that minister decides to charge me overtime.”

  Duncan laughed. “Can’t have that now, can we?” So saying, Duncan offered his arm to the older woman.

  Noelle’s eyes met his as she shook her head, trying to warn him off before Lucy’s tart tongue told him what he could do with his arm and his assumption as to her frailty.

  To her utter amazement, her grandmother not only didn’t take off his head, snapping that she was perfectly capable of walking unassisted by some whippersnapper, but Lucy actually slipped her arm through Cavanaugh’s and proceeded on to the grave site, blending her footfalls with his.

  Or vice versa, Noelle silently amended.

  As if reading her mind—not to mention noting her surprise—Duncan glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled broadly.

 
It was that same half sexy, half enigmatic smile that he’d flashed at her the other day. She had no idea what to make of it, then or now, only that she wished he’d refrain from aiming that smile in her direction. Each time he did, rather than grow progressively more immune to it, she found herself becoming more susceptible to it.

  As Lucy, Duncan and she settled in around the perimeter of what was to be Henry’s grave, there was no possible way of avoiding the volunteer from the home any longer.

  Especially since the woman made a point of taking Lucy’s hand and squeezing it as she told her, “I see you made it.”

  Lucy seemed insulted by the simple, five-word sentence. Venting her displeasure, she looked at the other woman and asked, “What was your first clue?”

  “Lucy,” Noelle admonished, infusing her grandmother’s nickname with a warning note.

  To her relief, Lucy looked just the slightest bit contrite. Undoubtedly, it was done strictly because Duncan was present, but she had always made a point of taking what she could get.

  Uttering a short laugh, the woman waved a dismissive hand at Lucy’s comment. “That’s all right. I don’t get offended easily.”

  “Too bad,” Lucy commented, keeping her eyes straight ahead and focused on the minister.

  The latter took that as his cue to ask, “Will there be any more coming?” He directed his question to the woman who had sought him out on the spur of the moment on Saturday and retained his services for her friend’s unexpected demise.

  Lucy raised her chin. Noelle’s heart quickened when she saw tears shimmering in her grandmother’s eyes as she focused on the reason they were actually here.

  “Actually, Reverend, this is twice as many people as I thought there’d be,” she told him. “Sorry, Henry,” she whispered, then looked at the minister and said, “You may start.”

  The minister nodded and took out a small, worn black book of prayers. Leafing through it, he found the passage he wanted.

  The sky above them was a bleak shade of gray, the perfect color for a funeral, as Reverend Edwards recited several brief prayers that seemed rather suited to the occasion.

  When he was finished, the minister closed the small book and returned it to the deep pocket he’d kept it in. Scanning the faces of the four people standing on the other side of the grave, he said, “If anyone would like to say something regarding the deceased,” he said, glancing from one person to the next, “now would be the time to do it.”

  Since she had only met Henry once and, to her knowledge, Cavanaugh and Henry had never crossed paths, Noelle thought that the only one who was actually qualified to say something about the recently departed man was Lucy.

  Leaning in toward her grandmother, she coaxed her, murmuring, “Go ahead, Lucy.”

  The next moment she, Duncan and especially Lucy were surprised that Amanda stepped forward, taking the minister up on his invitation.

  “I met Henry on my first day as a volunteer at the Happy Senior Retirement Home,” the woman began, and in a steady, even cadence, she went on to deliver what could only be described as a eulogy.

  A lengthy, rambling eulogy.

  Noelle felt her grandmother instantly stiffen beside her and knew that Lucy was struggling to contain her anger and hold her tongue.

  She also knew that it was an act of superhuman strength on the part of her grandmother.

  The uninvited woman went on and on for several very long minutes, talking about what a loss this was for everyone at the home and how she personally would miss the sound of Henry’s voice and his infectious laughter.

  Each word she uttered just seemed to stoke Lucy’s fury.

  The minister was smiling as he appeared to listen, but Noelle had the feeling that the man’s smile was forced and that the minister really longed to be somewhere other than at this cemetery, watching a minidrama play itself out.

  Noelle could only pray that Lucy would keep herself in check out of respect for Henry as well as for the minister’s collar. Lucy could be a real pistol when she wanted to be.

  When Amanda finally concluded her eulogy, the minister looked at the remaining attendees at the funeral and asked, “Anyone else want to say anything?”

  “Yes,” Lucy said between gritted teeth, stepping forward.

  Noelle noticed that the minister struggled to suppress a sigh as he gestured for her grandmother to begin.

  The smile on Lucy’s lips was tight while she looked down at the casket, but Noelle could have sworn she saw her grandmother’s lower lip quiver.

  “Bet you’re glad to be someplace where you don’t have to listen to that anymore if you don’t want to,” she told her friend. Patting the casket’s lid, she added, “Well, you know I’m going to miss you. That goes without saying. Miss your stubborn arguments, even if I did always manage to talk you out of things.” She sighed, struggling to keep her voice from cracking. “Goodbye, Henry. Tell Dan I’ll be there in another fifteen years or so. Make sure he behaves himself,” she added.

  Lucy took a step back and raised her head to look at the minister. “You can have him lowered into the ground now, Reverend.”

  With a nod, the minister gazed over their heads and signaled to the two strapping groundskeepers standing off to the side.

  Coming forward, the two men went about the business of lowering the casket slowly into the ground. Rather than retreat quickly, despite his apparent desire to do just that, the minister made his way over to Lucy and took her hand in his.

  “I know you probably already have one of these cards, but just in case you misplaced it, if you ever feel like you’d like to talk about your friend—or anything at all—I can be reached at this number,” he told her.

  Lucy closed her hand over the card. “Thank you, Reverend, I appreciate that. But I have been blessed with a granddaughter who actually listens.”

  The minister glanced at Noelle and then at the young man standing on the older woman’s other side. He smiled in understanding.

  “Not everyone is that lucky. You are a very fortunate woman, Mrs. O’Banyon,” he told her. “In many ways. But I think you already know that.” The minister looked at Noelle and then at Duncan. “And you have a very nice family.”

  With that, the minister took his leave.

  Even as he began walking away, the man’s words registered belatedly with Noelle. She immediately opened her mouth to set him straight and correct the misconception that the minister had obviously managed to make. She realized that the man thought she and Duncan were married.

  Raising her voice, she called after the minister, “Oh, but he’s not—”

  “Save it, Noely,” her grandmother advised. “The reverend’s out of earshot—and it doesn’t matter anyway,” Lucy said.

  It was time to go. She’d said what she wanted to say, paid her respects to a lifelong friend as well as paid for his funeral. There was nothing more to be done here. Turning to Duncan, Lucy said, “Young man, your arm, please.”

  For the second time in a very short span, Noelle’s mouth dropped open again. If she didn’t know better, she would have said her grandmother was flirting with Cavanaugh.

  Keeping the observation to herself, she fell into step behind her grandmother and her partner. Lucy seemed to be hanging on his every word, not to mention physically hanging on his arm as she allowed him to guide her back to the car.

  The end of the world, Noelle decided, was undoubtedly being announced sometime in the next few hours.

  Chapter 4

  It kept nagging at her, even as she sat at her desk at work.

  Noelle knew she had a great many things—small and large—to occupy her mind, not the least of which was the pile of reports she’d had to catch up on during the lull the division was currently experiencing. She had no reason to dwell, especially after two weeks,
on a small, seemingly throwaway detail about Lucy’s deceased friend. Lucy had only mentioned it in passing while talking about the general state of Henry’s health.

  After all, Lucy hadn’t indicated that she was in any way bothered by the existence of this fact.

  But she was.

  Especially since she hadn’t gotten a good answer to her question from Lucy when she’d asked about this loose detail.

  “Okay, what are you chewing on?” Duncan asked her.

  The question caught her off guard. As far as she knew, she’d given no indication that something was bothering her. Maybe she needed to work on her poker face a little, she thought.

  “What?” It had taken her a moment to hear Cavanaugh’s question, almost as if her brain was on some sort of five-second delay. Hearing the inquiry, she shook her head. “Oh, nothing,” she said, hoping that was the end of it.

  It wasn’t. She should have known better. This was Cavanaugh, a man who managed to take “annoying” and turn it into an art form. Even his good looks managed to annoy her. Annoy her because she couldn’t seem to get to the point where she could just ignore them, or become oblivious to them. If anything, the man continued to increasingly disturb her peace.

  “Don’t give me that. I’ve been your partner for six months and I’ve gotten to know that face,” Duncan told her. “Something’s bugging you and it’s been bugging you for a while now.”

  Rather than tell him what she was thinking about, she switched subjects, taking the opportunity to clear up something else. “Okay, if you must know, I’m just trying to figure out what your angle is.” She saw a hint of confusion furrow his brow, so she elaborated. “Why did you go out of your way to attend a funeral for someone you didn’t know?”

  “Because you were going and it’s what partners do for each other,” he replied. “But that’s not it,” he added. It was her turn to look quizzical and his turn to clarify his point. “That’s not what’s making you chew on your lower lip. That’s your tell, you know. That’s what you do when you’re trying to work something out in your head. Now, what is it?” he asked. “I think you should tell me before you wind up chewing right through your lip.”