by Harper Lin
Almost every one was a limousine. There were large men stationed at the door and casually strolling through the parking lot. They didn’t look like regular policemen in civilian clothes. These guys were melon thumpers. Kneecap breakers. They were the same kind of guys that had surrounded the mayor at the food fest. Amelia wondered why Maggie would approve these guys to patrol the guests of her late husband’s funeral when they didn’t do much good protecting him in the first place.
Watching and waiting, still unnoticed, Amelia saw her chance. A limousine pulled up and unloaded over twelve people. It was like a clown car, and they just kept coming and coming.
Quickly putting away her phone, she pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve, held it under her sunglasses, and simply walked in with the group.
Her heart was pounding madly in her chest. She was sure that within seconds a big, meaty hand attached to one of those bouncers was going to clamp down on her shoulder. She’d be tossed out not before half a dozen reporters snapped her picture. The headlines would be frame worthy.
“Owner of Pink Cupcake Food Truck Thrown from Mayor’s Funeral”
But, while she held her breath and walked farther from the door she’d just passed through, she realized no one saw her. No one was paying any attention to her.
She wanted to smile. This was the most exciting thing she had ever done. Drifting through the crowd, she took note of all the designer handbags, thousand-dollar dresses, tailored suits, and gorgeous jewelry the mourners were wearing. She saw several television anchormen. There were half a dozen aldermen and their wives that Amelia had seen in the newspaper but didn’t know their names. Flowers were arranged, taking up half the room, from the teamsters union, County Hospital, Fire Station #9, the Fraternal Order of Police, and the list went on. Before Amelia knew what was happening, she was in the receiving line to offer her condolences to Widow Pearl.
Her mouth went dry. Surely this woman would take one look at Amelia and scream or point at her. “Imposter!” she’d yell or “Funeral crasher!” or something equally humiliating.
Before she could turn tail and run, Maggie Pearl was looking at her with red-rimmed eyes and waiting.
Without thinking, Amelia walked up to Maggie Pearl, extended her hand, and felt tears well in her own eyes. The woman looked tired. She didn’t look at all like Amelia thought a wealthy, kept woman would look. There was barely any makeup on her face. Whether she had cried it all off or hadn’t bothered to put any on, Amelia couldn’t tell. She had a round face that was plump and pleasant. Her eyes were hazel in a sea of red puffiness. A kind smile spread across her face.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Maggie,” Amelia managed to choke out.
“Thank you so much.” Maggie replied quietly, taking both Amelia’s hands in hers. “Who would do this to him? You know, he loved this city. He did the best he knew how.”
Did she know? Amelia felt her mouth dry up, so she nodded, squeezing Maggie’s hand before letting go and walking toward the closed casket to pay her respects to the deceased.
This was a horrible idea. What was she thinking? Suddenly, there was a very human face on this situation, and Amelia wasn’t prepared. Tears filled her eyes, but she bit the inside of her cheek, making them retreat back into her tear ducts.
Did she know? Did Maggie Pearl know I hated the mayor? Did she know I thought all politicians were crooks and Mayor Richard M. Pearl in particular? How could she?
She knelt down in front of the casket as she had done at her own parents’ funerals. She folded her hands and said a quick prayer, not for the mayor, but for Maggie.
As she crossed herself and began to stand, she had completely forgotten about the fear of being thrown out until she felt a hand slip under her arm, squeezing tightly, almost yanking her to her feet.
“What are you doing here?” the voice hissed in her ear. She knew that voice.
Chapter Ten
“John?” She turned to see her ex-husband towering over her.
“How did you get in here?”
“I walked, thank you,” Amelia snapped, yanking her arm from his clutch. “I can come and offer my condolences as a taxpayer. No one said I couldn’t.”
John looked around as if afraid of being seen. He ran his hand over his mouth and smacked his lips.
“All right. You’ve paid your respects. Now, go home.” His voice was low and almost a whisper but had the intensity of a cracking whip.
Not wanting to attract any attention to herself, Amelia straightened her skirt, tucked her clutch under her arm, and began to walk toward the exit at the back of the room. More and more people were coming in. Before long, there would be such a big crowd John wouldn’t know if she had actually left or not.
Stepping into the hallway, Amelia saw her lifeboat in this sea of social climbers. Ladies’ Powder Room.
Once inside, she let out a deep breath. There were several women inside, chitchatting amongst themselves, giving Amelia a pleasant nod as she walked in. They didn’t know who she was, and they didn’t seem to care.
The room had the feel of a giant powder puff. The chaise lounge and loveseats seemed to be extra poufy, and the lighting made all the women look as if they were in old black-and-white films and the camera lenses had a thin layer of Vaseline smeared on them. And on every flat surface was a tissue box ready to be plucked like a weird flower.
There was another more brightly lit area where the bathroom stalls were located. Just as Amelia had the idea to go plant herself in one of the private stalls to let a little time pass, another familiar face appeared. Jennifer.
Rolling her eyes and turning her back quickly, Amelia now saw what was really driving John to get her out of the building. He’d brought Jennifer with him.
Amelia watched her as she washed her hands in the sink. She was wearing leopard-print shoes with her black dress.
“Good grief.” Amelia muttered, turning away. Shoes like that were meant for dinner and dancing. Not a funeral. It was petty, of course, but hadn’t the girl’s mother taught her anything?
Apparently not if she stole your husband. Amelia shrugged. Standing next to a small mirror, Amelia looked at her own reflection and smoothed her hair down. Looking behind her, she kept an eye on Jennifer, who was carefully fixing her makeup.
Finally, satisfied with any touch-ups, Jennifer turned and walked out of the room. Several of the older women watched her go by, and Amelia listened to what they had to say after she passed.
It was strange, but Amelia was relieved they didn’t make any comments about her. To them, she was just a younger woman at a funeral. She wasn’t a home-wrecker or adulteress. Heck, with all the politicians crammed inside this structure, Amelia was sure she was in the minority of people who had never cheated on a spouse.
Rubbing her forehead, confident she was now in a room full of strangers, she sat in a corner chair by a window that looked out to the alley behind the building. The parking lot stretched back there and was filled with cars, all tagged with the special orange sticker reading FUNERAL on it.
“I can’t say I’m surprised about this.”
The words came from a full-figured dame to Amelia’s right. Her eye makeup was as dramatic as Cleopatra’s, and she waved her manicured hands around as she spoke. She was sitting with a rail-thin elderly woman who, although she was pale and wrinkled, looked very classy in a conservative navy-blue suit with a little American flag on the lapel.
“You did predict it,” the elderly woman said. “I remember.”
“You can’t be up to your knees in mud and not expect to get your hands dirty,” Cleopatra added. “He had that Bringham Corner thing. He had, what was it called, Overshore…”
“Oftenshore, yes. Yes,” the older woman offered, her eyes widening.
“And we can’t forget Linda.” Cleopatra shook her head.
“We couldn’t if we tried.”
Linda Watkins-Pearl, or Linda Watkins, as she was now the ex-wife of the late mayor, came from a
political family.
“They propped him up. I know it isn’t right to speak badly about the dead, but without her, everyone would be saying, ‘Richard M. Who?’,” the elderly woman added.
Amelia leaned a little to the right to hear the conversation.
“Is she coming today?” the older lady continued.
“I’d be shocked if she didn’t. Linda’s never been one to shy away from cameras and controversy. I’m sure she’s got an opinion about what happened, and I wouldn’t put it past her to name names.”
“I wouldn’t put it past her to have her hands in some of that mud, too.”
Amelia froze.
“Come on.” Cleopatra stood, holding her hand out to her friend. “We better get back out there before they wonder what we’re up to.”
“You’re right. I’ll say this is the driest funeral I’ve ever been to.” The older woman stuffed a handkerchief in her clutch. “The only one crying is Maggie.”
“That poor thing is too dumb to realize this is a blessing in disguise.”
Amelia held her breath as the women stood, and then let out a long, noisy breath when they finally exited the powder room.
“The ex-wife,” she mumbled to herself. “That’s a suspect and a half.”
Standing up, she straightened her dress, checked her face in the mirror, then looked at her watch. Enough time had gone by that John would believe she’d left. She slowly pulled the door open and searched for any familiar faces. She saw none.
She merged with the crowd and began to weave her way through the people. It gave her the feeling that she was a tiny germ looking to infiltrate a much bigger organism. She circled around and listened to bits and pieces of conversation, shocked at what she was hearing.
“Did you see the game last night…”
“I was able to book tee time for three o’clock today. It’s a little late, but…”
“We are going to the dinner at Lulu and Stiles’s place…”
“How is your daughter liking college…”
People were talking about everything and anything but the dead man in the casket. What kind of bizarro world was this? Amelia held her composure and made her way to the small kitchen, where she slipped in unnoticed, poured herself a small paper cup of coffee, then stepped back out into the hallway to sip it. She took out her cell phone and held it to her ear, pretending to be in a serious conversation.
It was then that she saw the trio of large men coming in her direction.
Bouncers! her mind screamed. This is going to be a hundred shades of humiliation.
She stared at them as they approached. Each man looked as if they could have played professional football. One man was black and wore a goatee and a gold pinky ring. The one in the middle was completely bald but had thick eyebrows and deep-set eyes, making him look like a very dangerous Kewpie doll. The third one had sandy-brown hair cut close at the sides and a little longer on top. His eyes were narrow. He was speaking to the other two men, but you couldn’t see his teeth when his lips moved.
Standing rail straight, Amelia was sure her heart was beating loud enough for them to hear. If not, they would surely see the sweat that had broken out over her forehead.
Would they grab her? Should she set her coffee down? Would she be paraded through the front lobby in front of everyone, or would they discreetly shove her out into the alley to avoid a scene?
“Ma’am.” The black guard nodded as he walked past and into the kitchen with the rest of them.
She looked behind her at the wall, down on the floor, then up again, putting her phone back to her ear.
They just wanted some coffee. She peeked into the small kitchen, which was now filled to capacity with just those three men. A few of the people who had been sitting at the small table excused themselves, obviously feeling claustrophobic, and gave the bouncers the room to themselves.
It wasn’t long before the conversation turned toward the late mayor.
“The only bad thing about this is finding a new job,” the bald guard whined.
“You think?” the black guard replied. “We get a year’s compensation, and that’s plenty of time to find a new job. I’m taking a yearlong vacation.”
“It’ll take a year,” Baldy chirped, obviously the pessimist in the group. “Our resumes are tainted because of this guy. It may not be all that easy to find another gig.”
“Are you kidding?” The black guard was not convinced. “All these types got secrets to hide. You know, I once rode security for the mother of the governor of Illinois. The man’s eighty-eight-year-old mother, and she was paying off reporters to make sure they didn’t ask her son about some public school project that he was stealing money from. His own mother.” He chuckled as he told the story. “These kinds of people always want protection. Even if they don’t, they want to look like they need it. Makes ’em feel important.”
“I never had a problem with Maggie. But I’ll tell you what.” The bald guard lowered his voice. “I’m glad someone finally put an end to this SOB. And don’t tell me you guys aren’t thinking the same.”
“How can you say that?” Amelia heard the last guard with the blond hair finally speak. He sounded agitated. “The man hasn’t been dead a week. Show a little respect.”
“Chuck?” The black guard was almost laughing. “Is that you talking, or have aliens replaced your body with a pod?”
“I’m completely serious. They don’t know who did this to him, and you guys should be a little more concerned about that. In fact, if you were doing what you were paid to do, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”
“Look.” The bald bodyguard sounded mad. “I’m not going to pretend Richard M. Pearl was some kind of saint just because karma finally caught up with him. And you, Chuck, should remember how he treated all of us, especially yourself. Because I can’t say he didn’t get what he had coming to him.”
“He didn’t treat me any differently than…”
“Who are you talking to?” Baldy snapped. “He enjoyed taking you down a notch.”
“Yeah,” the black guard concurred. “Whatever it was about you, he seemed to take an extra interest in. Did you ever figure it out?”
“I’m not going to talk about that. It’s all over and done with. Life is too short.”
“Sorry, Chuck,” Baldy added. “I’m glad the man is dead. Time to move on. Find some young, single model type with her own reality show to protect. At least the view will be better.”
“I think you’re wrong. And you better hope nobody asks me what you really thought of the guy when they dig deep in the investigation,” Chuck snapped.
“Are you threatening me?” The bald guard was raising his voice.
“No. I’m just being honest.”
“Wait a minute. Come on, you two.” The black guard seemed to be the only levelheaded one at the moment. Amelia held her breath and listened. “They are digging into the people who served him food at the food fest. None of us are suspects. So no need for us to turn on each other.”
This was all interesting talk, and Amelia wanted to stay and listen as long as she could, but then she saw the man at the end of the hall staring at her.
Chapter Eleven
“Amelia?” Dan looked puzzled, yet something twinkled in his eyes as if he was telling himself he shouldn’t be surprised to see her at the mayor’s standing-room-only funeral.
All the voices in the kitchen stopped. Without turning to look behind her, Amelia walked confidently out of the corner she had been standing in the whole time and up to Dan. She was glad it was him and not her ex-husband. But she could feel the three sets of eyes watching her and whispering, wondering if she had heard everything they had said.
“Hello, Detective.” She smoothed the back of her neck. “Had I known you were coming to this, I wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of sneaking in.”
“How long have you been here?” He looked at her outfit then back at her face.
“Long enoug
h to know no one but Maggie Pearl seems upset the mayor was murdered,” she whispered. “How about you?”
“I’m beginning to come to the same conclusion.” Dan squinted at the bodyguards, who were looking at them from the kitchen. Amelia, still not daring to turn around, slipped her hand around Dan’s elbow.
“Maybe we should go somewhere else to talk.” She looked at Dan, jerking her head slightly toward the three-man audience watching them. Dan understood, and as Amelia pretended to dab her eyes with the tissue in her hand, he led her down the hallway and into the main lobby.
Finding a quiet corner, they stood together in view of everyone yet still not being noticed.
“I heard your files on the mayor’s death were missing,” Amelia mentioned to Dan as they walked out of the wake. “That’s pretty out of the ordinary to happen at a police station, isn’t it?”
“It never happens,” he grumbled. “Can I ask how you got into this circus?”
“I just acted as if I belonged.” She smiled up at him.
Amelia quickly told Dan what the women in the restroom had said and also mentioned the bodyguards and their list of complaints and comments. When she mentioned the state of Maggie Pearl, Dan slumped against the back of the seat.
“You met Maggie Pearl?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say met her, but I shook her hand and told her I was sorry. I don’t get the impression she had anything to do with it. That is my official opinion as a baker.”
Dan ran his hand through his hair.
“I couldn’t get within ten feet of Maggie Pearl.” He smirked. “What is it about you, Amelia, that makes everyone you meet feel they can trust you?”
Amelia took a deep breath and held it, trying to find a sarcastic remark or playful reply, but all she could come up with was a simple shrug.
“So let me tell you what I heard…”
Amelia was almost gushing with excitement, when everything was cut short as a wild number of photographers collided with security at the main entrance.
