by Harper Lin
“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.
“What the…” Even Dan was shocked, and nothing usually rattled his cage.
Bursting through the door wearing a black full-length fur coat and red high heels was Linda Watkins, the ex-wife of the late Mayor Pearl.
“I have every right to be here!” she shouted, wobbling a little on her heels.
“Is she…?” Amelia put her hand to her throat.
“Drunk? I think that’s a safe bet,” Dan replied.
Crossing one foot awkwardly in front of the other, Linda proceeded to make her way across the lobby before she was stopped not five feet in front of Amelia and Dan by Mr. Gimbroni, the funeral director.
“Mrs. Watkins. What are you doing here? We discussed our arrangement yesterday, and you agreed….”
“I didn’t agree to anything,” she hissed. “That man in there got what he deserved. And I always said if I outlived him, I’d show up at his funeral in a red dress and dance…”
“Mrs. Watkins, you’re making a scene.” Mr. Gimbroni was trying to calm the woman down, but it was not working.
“Making a scene? Ha! You haven’t seen anything yet!” she hollered. “I loved him! I practically handed city hall over to him on a platter! And what was the thanks I got? Divorce papers on my birthday!”
“Ouch.” Amelia shook her head. It was inappropriate and maybe even cruel, but Amelia couldn’t say she didn’t know exactly how Mrs. Watkins was feeling. In fact, hearing those words reminded her that her own ex-husband was still somewhere in the building. As she looked around, she nearly jumped as her eyes locked with John’s.
She could tell he was furious she was still there. But as Mrs. Watkins continued to air her dirty laundry about the mayor’s affairs, his lies to her, and those his new wife was bound to discover, she narrowed her eyes and shook her head. How pathetically similar their two men were.
It must have been an obvious comparison, because John looked away first.
“I’m not leaving until I get my time alone with him!” she shouted at poor Mr. Gimbroni, who just wanted to proceed with the wake. Taking Mrs. Watkins’s hands in his, he lowered his voice and said what were obviously some soothing things, to which she nodded then dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief as she allowed him to lead her to a small room that was down a short hallway and off his office.
He emerged alone, apologizing to the crowd, to which everyone nodded and shook their heads at the poor guy, who had not expected such an outburst at the most notorious funeral at his establishment in years. It was sort of stupid of him to think there wouldn’t be a whole drama meltdown at this event, Amelia thought.
People went back to their socializing, shaking hands, and making their way toward the room where Maggie was blissfully unaware of the scene that had just taken place—at least until some “do-gooder” decided to tell her about it.
“That was interesting,” Dan mumbled.
“Wait here.” Amelia let go of his arm and casually walked toward the small hallway. Stopping at the water dispenser along the wall, she filled a little cup, smoothed the front of her dress, and walked into the little room off Mr. Gimbroni’s office and shut the door behind her.
Amelia was sure Dan was waiting to hear some furniture being thrown along with a string of obscenities from the woman, but it was worse. It was deathly quiet.
Swallowing hard, Amelia approached Linda Watkins, who had taken a seat by a small window and was staring out at the view of the alley.
She turned and looked at Amelia, swaying just a little as the alcohol in her system started to wear off due to the rush of adrenaline she’d experienced.
“Hi.” Amelia cleared her throat but spoke as if she were speaking to one of her kids when they were sick. “I thought you might like a drink of water. It’s overwhelming out there.” She extended her hand holding the little white cup.
Linda Watkins looked at Amelia’s hand then up at her face.
Amelia watched as the woman swayed slightly in her seat until she finally took the cup and took a sip.
“Thank you.” Linda nodded.
Amelia smiled and turned to walk away.
“Who are you?”
Before she could leave the room, Amelia turned and faced the late mayor’s ex-wife.
“My name is Amelia. I didn’t know the mayor. I’m just here to pay my respects with a friend.”
“You didn’t know him? That explains how you can smile.” Linda took her leather clutch purse off her shoulder, opened it, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “I gave that man my best years. And what did he do?”
Amelia shook her head, walked over to the window, unlocked it, and slid it up so the smoke would go outside.
“He took them, like he took the land deals my father arranged for him, like he took the precinct realignments, like he took the family contract jobs, all of it, and put them in his pockets. Stuffed them, like a little kid with a dollar at a penny candy store.” She took a deep drag and let the smoke blast from her nostrils. “Are you in politics? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.” Linda squinted at her.
“No. Not at all. I’m just a registered voter.”
Linda let out a loud quack of a laugh.
“Good for you. They can’t be trusted. Not a single one of them.” She pointed a French-manicured nail toward the door. “Between you and me”—she leaned closer to Amelia, who could smell the liquor on her breath—“I knew this was going to happen.”
“You did?” Amelia leaned against the windowsill and watched as Linda pulled a small flask from her clutch purse. There seemed to be a bottomless supply of little helpers in there. Unscrewing the top, she offered a nip to Amelia, who shook her head no.
With a shrug, Linda took a quick swig and stared out the window.
“I knew it was all going to catch up with him. My father…” she began but started to cry. “My father was a great man. He helped Richard get started because my father, see, had a lot of connections.” She placed her index finger on the side of her nose. “Connections?”
Amelia nodded. She was sure she had seen that signal in a movie about the mafia once but couldn’t be sure. Either way, she was pretty confident she knew what Linda meant.
“When he divorced me, he didn’t just break my heart. He broke my father’s heart, too. He treated him like his own son. Gave him every opportunity.”
“Sometimes men don’t see what they have until it’s too late.” Amelia couldn’t think of anything else to say. She knew it wasn’t comforting or even all that helpful. But she said it.
“No. But I’ll guarantee he saw me before he died. He saw me and my father and everyone else he took from. But especially me because I put a…”
“Is someone smoking in here?”
Mr. Gimbroni burst into the room, surprised to see Amelia talking with the late mayor’s ex-wife.
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Amelia nodded as Linda gave her a wave while taking another deep drag off her cigarette.
As she stepped out of the room, she could hear Mr. Gimbroni trying to get Linda to put out her smoke.
“Good luck.” Amelia hummed to herself. She spotted Dan still standing in the corner she had left him in. His left eyebrow shot up into his forehead, making her feel a flutter in her stomach.
“I don’t believe you.” He shook his head.
“Believe it or not, Detective, that woman was in need of a shoulder to lean on.”
“And did she?”
“Oh, you aren’t going to believe what I’ve got to tell you.”
“Yeah, well, that makes two of us, but not here. What do you say we head over to the coffee shop down the street?”
Amelia nodded, and Dan gave her a wink that made her smile. It was inappropriate to smile so widely at a fune
ral, but she couldn’t help it. On her way out, she was sure she saw John and Jennifer speaking with some gray-haired man in a pinstriped suit and his wife. Both people were old enough to be Jennifer’s grandparents.
“Isn’t that your ex-husband?” Dan asked in that serious, matter-of-fact way he asked questions.
“Yes” was enough of an answer. She was sure she’d get a tongue-lashing the next time John called about how rude it was to crash funerals and what would have happened had Jennifer seen her. It wasn’t the funeral John was worried about. It was John, as usual. But Amelia knew where she was. She knew exactly what she was doing. Perhaps that was why she was so surprised when the fresh air outside made her think about Maggie Pearl and Linda Watkins. Both of them were hurting due to the very different acts of the same man. And that man was dead as a result of his actions against…someone.
The pair snuck around the building and out of earshot of any mourners, security, and press. There, Amelia told Dan that an intoxicated Linda Watkins had practically confessed to doing something to her ex-husband that contributed to his death.
“At least, that is what I get out of it. What do you think?” Amelia looked at Dan like a student feeling they had asked their professor the dumbest question ever asked in the history of questions.
“I think we might want to wait a while until Mrs. Watkins has paid her respects. Follow me.”
Across the street from Hughes Funeral Home was a pawnshop. The neon light indicated they bought gold and paid cash. Inside, the place smelled of cigarette smoke. The glass counters displayed the easily moved merchandise like cameras, sunglasses, jewelry, and watches. Stereo equipment, fur and leather coats, and several rifles were behind the counters and behind a sliding metal gate for extra security.
The proprietor looked at the pair as they loitered by the door, watching the bustle across the street.
“That’s her car.” Dan pointed to a sleek navy-blue Lincoln with a man waiting behind the wheel with a newspaper spread out in front of him.
“Are you sure?” Amelia asked. “They all look alike to me.”
“I’m sure.” Dan took out a tiny set of binoculars. “Yup. I’ve busted her driver before.”
Amelia’s jaw fell open.
“Drugs. He threw Watkins’s name at me, and before I could book him, he had some slick, fast-talking lawyer at the station basically making a deal of probation or community service. Something.” Dan clicked his tongue.
“I don’t know if I’d want a guy who did drugs driving me around,” Amelia mused as she looked toward the car.
“They have some kind of special arrangement, I’m sure.”
“Hey! You two gonna buy anything?” the pawnshop owner cawed from behind the farthest glass counter at the other end of the shore. He had protruding eyes and wore a gold chain around his neck that had to be a quarter of an inch thick. It was a terrible accessory to his teal-colored button-down cabana shirt.
Dan pulled out his badge and flashed it quickly, making the man roll his eyes and flop his arms at his sides.
“Hey, everything in here has tags and receipts. Nothing stolen. I run an honest business here.”
“That’s good to know,” Dan snapped back. “We might be here for a while.” He looked down at Amelia. “Take a look around. Maybe you’ll see something you’ll like.”
Amelia had never been in a pawnshop and wasn’t sure what the proper procedure was. But curiosity got the best of her, and she walked up to the glass display case in the middle of the room that held some beautifully gaudy vintage jewelry. What had prompted the owners to get rid of these things, she wondered. Were they desperate, or were they indifferent?
This whole storefront was a collection of mysteries. People had their reasons for getting rid of things but wanted no questions asked. Mr. Gold Chain had to stay in business, so no questions ever were asked.
All the intrigue had Amelia wishing someone would come in and make a transaction just so she could see how it was done.
“Looks like we’re moving,” Dan called to Amelia.
“That didn’t take long.”
“No. And we have to be careful. It looks like she’s getting an escort out.”
Amelia rushed to the door to see the sandy-headed bouncer she had seen in the small kitchenette leading Linda Watkins roughly to her car.
“They look like they know each other,” Amelia murmured. Just their body language made it clear that Linda was not being thrown out of the wake by a complete stranger.
As she hobbled to her car, the driver quickly folded up the paper and set it aside to jump up and open the door. Dan quickly dashed out of the pawnshop and approached the ex-wife of the late mayor.
Amelia hung back, watching from the sidewalk. She could hear Linda Watkins loudly chastising the Pearl family, the alderman in attendance, the city workers who were there, and the civilians. It was obvious she was still a little drunk.
Dan showed his badge as he approached her. It impressed Amelia that Linda made no effort to run away or call Dan any names. In fact, she seemed happy to talk to him. Too happy, as she squeezed his arm, touched his chest as she spoke, looked him up and down, and smiled madly.
“I can’t blame her,” Amelia complained. Dan was a good-looking man. It probably came in handy when working with lonely widows and vengeful divorcees. Yikes, was that what she was…a vengeful divorcee?
Before Amelia could analyze her own behavior, she saw Dan shake hands with Linda, who pulled him closer to give him a hug and pat him on the back before he turned and headed back to the pawn shop.
Amelia ducked back from the door and waited for him to step inside.
“What did she say? Did she tell you what she told me?”
“Yes.” Dan turned and looked out the glass door as Linda’s Town Car pulled away. “She said they threw her out because she wore a red dress and harassed Maggie Pearl by telling her that before he died Richard saw her, his first wife, and her family, remembering what they said because she had…thrown a curse on the mayor. Also said heaven to her would be watching the late mayor burn in hell for all eternity.”
“Wow. That’s what she did, huh? She…cursed him.”
The right corner of Dan’s mouth curved upward. It was his trademark smile.
“They can’t all be home runs, Amelia.” Dan put his hand on her back. It was warm and comforting and…thrilling.
“Sorry, I thought maybe she was holding the smoking gun.” Amelia leaned into Dan a little.
“Well, I think based on what she said, we can probably rule her out as a suspect. It’s looking more and more like George Pilsen’s hot dog-vending brother is our man, although he screams he’s innocent.”
“What about the bodyguards?”
“What about them?”
“Well, disgruntled employees have been known to take out their frustrations on bosses for as long as there have been bosses. You don’t think they are worth checking out?”
The sound of shouting and breaking glass stopped their conversation.
Chapter Twelve
Across the street at the Hughes Funeral Chapel, a mob had spilled out onto the sidewalk. Reporters and gawkers were recording the brouhaha as half a dozen men built like linebackers dove into and out of a huddle, throwing fists and screaming obscenities.
“The security is fighting!” Amelia gasped.
“Amelia, I want you to go that way.” Dan pointed in the opposite direction of the excitement. “Around the block to where your car is parked and go home.”
Something inside the pit of her stomach told her not to argue. Clutching her purse close to her stomach, she moved as quickly as she could without sprinting outright.
People dressed in expensive black clothing seemed to be oozing from the woodwork as she turned the corner. Cars were parked everywhere, most displaying a neon-orange vest worn by city workers on the dashboard or with special plates or stickers indicating to the area tow truck company that they were allowed to park in any
fire lane, alley, or handicapped spot.
Quickly getting behind the wheel, Amelia sped out of the parking spot and headed home. Her heart was racing even though she knew the fight wasn’t over her. The sight of such big guys throwing punches with their bare fists into the faces of other big guys was disturbing.
What could have caused it? With so many policemen and security, who would take a chance of starting trouble at the funeral of Mayor Pearl? What would the press have to say about this? Was Dan all right?
She recalled how he instructed her to leave and then headed toward the kerfuffle. There had been urgency in his voice. He had the same look on his face as he did when Amelia had told him about the man accosting Meg at the food fest. That man was the primary suspect in a murder right now.
“He obviously knows not to get in between any of those guys,” she told the steering wheel. “Dan just doesn’t seem like the fighting type.” But the image of him pulling those brutes off one another and throwing a couple of punches sent a shiver up her spine. Amelia was afraid to admit the thought made Dan seem damn sexy.
When Amelia finally arrived back home, the sun was starting to set. Just as she was about to shout for Meg, she heard her daughter clopping down the stairs.
“Hi, Mom,” she squeaked. “Dad’s been trying to reach you. He’s called, like, four times.”
Amelia kissed her daughter on the head as she passed by on her way to the refrigerator.
“Really? That’s funny. My phone must be out of juice,” Amelia fibbed. She knew John had been calling. Her phone had vibrated in her purse at least four times while she was driving home, and she was sure it wasn’t a telemarketer or Lila or even Dan. “What did he want?”
“He didn’t say.” Meg pouted her lips at her food options. “But he sounded like he was mad. Did you guys argue again?”
Her daughter didn’t look up but grabbed a juice box and shut the door.
“No, honey. And even if we did, you can bet it wasn’t about you or your brother. I’ll call him back.”
Meg walked over to her mom and slipped her arms around her waist, squeezing tight, as she used to when she was just a little girl.
