by Kyra Davis
Mary Ann scooted over enough to make room for them. The older man nodded his appreciation and slid in first; the younger sat at the aisle and pulled out the prayer book in front of him.
“I’m Rick,” the older said, presumably addressing all of us, although I noticed that his gaze lingered a little longer on Mary Ann. “And this is Johnny.”
“Hi there!” Johnny chirped, then immediately looked a little abashed as if his tone had been too cheerful for the occasion.
“I’m Mary Ann,” she said, “and this is Sophie and her sister Leah.”
“Sophie…” Johnny looked at me and his eyes widened with recognition. “You’re that novelist…the one who found him!”
“Yes, that’s me.”
Rick did a quick double take while Johnny kept talking. “It must have been horrible. The newspaper said you didn’t see the crime actually happen, but surely you must have seen something, the make of the car driving away, perhaps? It doesn’t seem possible that someone could do something like this and not leave any evidence behind.”
“Probably not, but if there was an eyewitness it wasn’t me.”
“So it’s true, all you really saw was Eugene,” he said glumly. He looked like a kid who had just been forced to witness a Harry Potter book burning.
“I can’t imagine what that was like for you,” Rick said. “You must have been terrified and—”
“Did you know Eugene well?” I asked, cutting him off before he could miscast me in the role of innocent damsel in distress.
“I spent time with him every day. I’m Flynn Fitzgerald’s main strategist. Johnny here is Fitzgerald’s personal assistant.”
So he was that Rick! Perfect! Networking made easy.
“Flynn Fitzgerald?” Mary Ann asked. “He’s a writer, right? I think I might have read one of his books a long time ago. Didn’t he write about parties and socialites?”
Rick knitted his brow and studied Mary Ann as if trying to determine if she was joking.
Leah cleared her throat awkwardly. “Mary Ann, you’re thinking of F. Scott Fitzgerald.”
Rick nodded in agreement. “I actually love F. Scott Fitzgerald. I just reread Tender Is the Night last month.”
“He was a great writer.” I patted Mary Ann’s knee. “But I’m fairly sure he doesn’t need an assistant or strategist.”
“Why not?” Mary Ann asked innocently.
Even sitting several feet away I could tell that Johnny was working hard to stop from giggling. “Well, for one thing, he’s dead, Mary Ann,” I explained.
“Oh!” Mary Ann put a gentle hand on Rick’s arm. “And you loved him! So much loss in such a short time! When did Scott pass away?”
For a second Rick just looked stunned, but then his expression changed and it was clear that he was amused despite himself. “I never actually met F. Scott Fitzgerald,” he explained. “Just Flynn Fitzgerald. The one running for the House of Representatives.”
“The man Eugene worked for!” Mary Ann smacked her hand against her thigh, the whole situation becoming clear to her. “That would explain how you knew Eugene.”
Rick broke out into a full grin. “Yes, that would explain it. Were you acquainted with Eugene?”
Mary Ann shook her head, causing her perfect chestnut curls to bounce around her face. “No, I’m just here to support Sophie.”
“That’s a shame. Eugene would have liked you.”
She cocked her head to the side. “What makes you say that?”
“Eugene liked sweet, compassionate, genuine people.”
Mary Ann blushed slightly. “That’s one of the nicest compliments anyone’s ever paid me.”
“They’re flirting,” Leah whispered in my ear. “They’re flirting at a funeral.”
I glanced over at our three other companions. Johnny was engrossed in the Bible and Rick had his head bent toward Mary Ann in a rather intimate fashion. I could make out that he was telling her about Eugene, but his voice was too low for me to really eavesdrop effectively. I would grill Mary Ann later. I shrugged and turned to Leah. “I had sex after your husband’s funeral,” I whispered.
“That’s different. You were bereaved, and bereaved people can have sex after a funeral. It’s a coping mechanism.”
“But I wasn’t all that bereaved….”
“Well you would have been if my husband hadn’t been an adulterous parasite. The point is that you and Bob were family, and any person who’s related to the deceased is allowed to have sex with someone after the funeral.”
“Melanie actually told me about this guy. Eugene was a friend of Rick’s family, which means they were almost related, so he should be able to almost have sex…or at the very least flirt.”
Leah clucked her tongue in disapproval. Just then a distinguished-looking couple walked down the aisle toward the front row where Melanie was sitting. The man was in his early forties, and was wearing a perfectly fitted, very expensive-looking suit. The woman on his arm was about ten years younger, dressed equally well, with sandy blond hair coifed in an elegant updo.
“There’s the boss man and the missus,” Johnny said, finally looking up from his reading. “I should probably sit with them. Never know when Fitzgerald might need his personal assistant.”
“At a funeral?” Leah asked skeptically.
Johnny shrugged. “Maybe he’ll need me to provide him with Kleenex.”
I started to laugh but checked myself when I noted that Johnny wasn’t joking. He jumped up and took a place at Fitzgerald’s side.
“Johnny’s very enthusiastic about his job,” Rick noted.
“Clearly,” I said, but I didn’t have a chance to add more since the priest had just taken his place at the pulpit.
The funeral consisted of one long-winded speech after another. Flynn Fitzgerald spoke, as did his speech writer, who claimed to have been close to Eugene. Neither of them said anything that would make me think someone would want to kill the man they were eulogizing. It was a full hour into the service before the priest called up Rick Wilkes. Rick walked to the front of the room and adjusted the microphone. His initial statements were basically the same as everyone else’s, just reworded. I was beginning to drift off when Rick started talking about Eugene’s previous vocations.
“Eugene excelled at everything he did. My father continually told me that Eugene was one of the best agents in the FBI, and everyone working on Fitzgerald’s campaign can tell you that he was a star….”
“Did you know about that?” Leah asked in a hushed voice.
“No!” I said a little too loudly. The woman in front of us shot me a mean look and I slipped down lower in my seat. “I can’t believe Melanie didn’t tell me,” I said in a much softer whisper. “If he was in the FBI, he could have been dealing with any number of unsavory types.”
“Maybe Melanie didn’t think it was important because he wasn’t that kind of agent,” Mary Ann whispered. “Maybe he was like a…a travel agent for the FBI.”
Leah started giggling and the woman in front of us shot us another glare. We all fell into silence as Rick continued to wax poetic.
When the service was over I tried to get a moment with Rick, but he was whisked away by other friends. I tried again during the wake at Melanie’s house, but while he took pains to check in with Mary Ann a few times, he never got more than a few words out before someone else took him away to discuss something. Flynn Fitzgerald was equally unavailable.
I was fiddling with my necklace while listening to Mary Ann and Leah discuss the wisdom of serving fondue at a buffet when Johnny sidled up to me, offering me a glass of wine. “I have a confession to make,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I’ve read every one of your books. I just finished C’est La Mort. You’re one of my favorite authors.”
“Thank you, that’s sweet,” I said, referring to both the compliment and the wine.
“I’m an author, too, you know.”
“Really?” I asked. “What have you written?” My eyes
sought out Melanie. She was in the middle of a group of women engaged in what looked like a friendly but somewhat somber conversation.
“I haven’t actually written anything, but I do have a book. It’s all up here.” He tapped his forehead with his index finger.
I managed not to roll my eyes. I had long since lost track of how many people (from lawyers to waiters) had told me that they were really writers at heart. As far as I was concerned that claim didn’t mean a lot until you wrote something. It was a detail that most of these unrecognized “authors” didn’t seem to be willing to address.
“I was a computer science major in school,” Johnny babbled. “But computers aren’t exciting. I mean, can you see me as a computer geek? Not my thing. I’m still amazed I didn’t flunk out due to intense boredom. Then I got my master’s in poly sci and somewhere along the line I said to myself, hey, I can write political thrillers! I still think that’s my true calling, but for now I’m a personal assistant. I love my job and Fitzgerald’s great, but I don’t think I want to go into politics. I want to be a writer like you, or maybe a journalist.”
I wrinkled my nose ever so slightly. Johnny was a spaz. Maybe he could write scripts for the Wiggles or something.
“Look at poor Melanie. I feel so bad for her. I bet she’s feeling kind of alone. Maybe I’ll invite her to come to church with me on Sunday. I’m not Catholic, but maybe she’ll come. It might make her feel better. Just look at her standing in the corner by herself! Doesn’t she look sad?”
“By herself?” I looked back at Melanie. Sure enough, she had managed to extricate herself from the crowd and was now enjoying a rare moment of solitude.
“Leah, hold this.” I turned and handed my glass to my sister, who was standing a few feet behind me as she and Mary Ann continued to chat about the buffet.
Johnny started to say something but I ignored him and made a beeline for Melanie, who greeted me with a fragile smile. “Sophie, thank you so much for being here.”
“Don’t you think you should have mentioned that Eugene was in the FBI?”
“Is it relevant?”
“Of course it’s relevant! What if someone whom he investigated while at the bureau decided to get revenge? Maybe that’s why he’s dead!”
Melanie shook her head. “Eugene hasn’t worked for the FBI in over twenty years. If someone wanted revenge, they would have gotten it by now.”
“Are you sure? I mean, come on, Melanie, my theory has to be as good as the one you have.”
“I don’t really have a theory.”
“My point exactly.”
Melanie sighed and rubbed her eyes. “I know, I know. I’ve given you nothing to go on. I suppose I’m not thinking straight these days. It’s just that nothing seems to make sense anymore.”
“Melanie,” I said, cutting her off, “I just need to know if Eugene was involved in anything or anyone else that might have led to his death. Is the FBI thing the only bit of information you were keeping from me?”
“That’s it…really.”
“Why don’t I believe you?”
Melanie gave me a pained look before turning her attention to a couple of well-wishers who apparently had no qualms about interrupting our conversation. I marched back to where Leah and Mary Ann were standing. Johnny had moved on.
“I can’t believe you just handed me a wineglass like I was hired help,” Leah spat.
“Sorry, I wanted to catch Melanie while she was alone, and I knew that was probably going to be my one and only opportunity to do so today.” I checked my watch. “Let’s get out of here. It’s getting late and I’m not finding anything out.”
“Fine with me,” Leah said. “Liz isn’t expecting me for another few hours, but I like the idea of showing up early to make sure she’s not doing anything she shouldn’t. I think her boyfriend may be stopping by for the occasional visit while she’s watching Jack, which is completely unacceptable. I will not have Jack exposed to his babysitter’s love life.”
Yes, God forbid Jack be exposed to a healthy relationship between a man and a woman. Given a frame of reference he might come to understand how romantically challenged his mother and aunt really are.
“If you’re worried about your babysitter why didn’t you leave Jack with his grandma?” Mary Ann asked.
“Mama’s on a three-week cruise to Baja with her Jewish seniors’ group,” I explained.
“Baja?” Mary Ann repeated. “Wow, that sounds like a fun vacation.”
“Yes,” Leah confirmed. “Sophie and I have been enjoying it immensely. Now, let’s get our coats, shall we?”
“Did I just overhear that you were leaving?”
We all turned at the sound of Rick’s voice.
“We have to get back to the city,” Mary Ann explained.
“I see, well it was good to meet you.” He looked deep into Mary Ann’s eyes. “Thank you so much for talking to me. You made today a little more bearable.”
“It was good to meet you, too,” I said, although it was exceedingly obvious that he wasn’t talking to me. “I know this isn’t the place to ask for a professional favor, but I recently pitched an idea to…um…the National Review for an article dealing with the inner workings of political campaigns,” I lied. “I’d love to interview you for it…and Flynn Fitzgerald, of course.”
“The National Review?” Rick shifted his weight back on his heels. “That’s a fairly conservative periodical.”
“Yes, I guess it is.” And Microsoft is a fairly big computer company.
“Forgive me if I’m out of line, but Johnny was just telling me about your books. He said they were quite good, but he also said that your protagonist is a committed Democrat. I had assumed that you were a Democrat, as well.”
“Um…yes, I am, but a very conservative one.”
Rick cocked his head. “You must be if you’re writing for the National Review.”
“I’m like the John McCain of the Democratic party.”
“Really?” Rick sounded incredibly skeptical.
“Yes, I really think we should lower the income tax and I just love the idea of…school vouchers.”
“Is that so? Do you have children?”
“No, she has a nephew, my son Jack,” Leah said, eyeing the door longingly. “He’ll be attending Adda Clevenger Junior Preparatory and then I plan on sending him to the Bay School of San Francisco. I’ve spoken to people in the admissions offices of Harvard and Yale and everyone agrees that a Bay School education will be beneficial.”
Rick nodded appreciatively. “How old is your son?”
“Two. I’m truly sorry, Rick, but I have to pick him up now. Do you think you could give my sister your card so she can contact you later to set up an interview?”
“An interview?” Johnny had just popped up from nowhere. “Are you going to interview somebody? Are you researching one of your books? Can I help? I would love to help you research an Alicia Bright novel!”
“I’m actually writing an article for the National Review,” I muttered. I should have said that I was researching a book. That would have been a much easier lie to pull off.
“So you’re a journalist, too? That’s so cool!” Johnny gushed. “Who do you want to interview? Can I help?”
“This article is about the campaign process, so I’d love to talk to any of the top people on Fitzgerald’s team. You know, the people Eugene worked with.”
“I suppose I could help you with that,” Rick said, pulling out his card and pressing it into my hand. “Even when I’m out of the office I always check my messages.”
“Good to know.” I smiled at my companions. “Shall we?”
“Bye!” Johnny called after us.
When we got out to the car I threw my arms around Leah’s neck. “Thank you so much for coming to my rescue. All that stuff about making college plans for your two-year-old was perfect.”
Leah broke away and looked at me. “I didn’t make that up. My son’s going to Harvard. Yale�
�s just his backup.”
“Oh…right, of course.” I bit my lip as I got behind the wheel of my car and waited for Mary Ann and Leah to get themselves settled. I love my nephew, but I didn’t see him going to Harvard so much as I saw him going on Ritalin.
I dropped Mary Ann off first and then started toward Leah’s babysitter’s family home, which was conveniently located across the street from Leah’s. “How’s work?” I asked as I idled my car at a stoplight.
Not long ago Leah had been a stay-at-home mom married to Bob Miller. Now Bob was dead, which should have been sad except he had been such an incredibly awful and emotionally abusive man that pretending to be mournful over his early demise was kind of like shedding tears over the retirement of stone-washed jeans. So no one blinked an eye when Leah quickly pulled herself together, sold her large Forest Hill home for $3.4 million dollars, along with most of Bob’s things and bought a $1.6 million two-bedroom in Laurel Heights. She used some of her excess cash to get herself set up as a freelance special-events coordinator. Her Junior League friends helped out by funneling business her way, and it quickly became apparent that Leah was born for the job. Whether it was a corporate retreat or an elaborate birthday celebration for a debutante’s shih tzu, my sister managed to make the event an elegant affair to remember.
“Work’s fine,” Leah said as she adjusted the clasp of the new Tiffany charm bracelet she had recently bought herself. “I’m currently planning the retirement dinner for Delcoe’s CEO. I’ve convinced them to have it at the Marines’ Memorial to honor the years he spent in the service.” She paused a moment before changing subjects. “Do you realize that today was the first time I’ve seen Melanie since Dad’s funeral? Odd that it would take another death for our paths to cross again.”
