by V. M. Burns
Stephanie and I unfolded ourselves and stretched.
“Aunt Dixie likes speed more than your average NASCAR racer,” Stephanie whispered as we followed Dixie into the building.
I leaned close to avoid being overheard. “She considers the seventy miles per hour speed limit more of a suggestion than a requirement.”
We went inside the building and signed the guest book. The church had wooden pews with red cushions on either side of a main aisle. At the front, a white casket was draped in floral sprays. I wasn’t the only one of our group who released a sigh of relief at seeing that the funeral would be one with a closed casket. I shivered at the memory of looking at the body, and while I’m sure the undertaker would have done his best, I wasn’t anxious to see that face again.
There was an enormous display of flowers at the front of the church.
I whispered to Dixie, “We should have sent flowers.”
“We did. I ordered them online, and the florist promised they’d be here in time.” She craned her neck and then pointed to a nice vase with yellow roses. “There it is.”
She was good at the details. I would have to remember to do something to repay her. I knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t accept money, but I’d think of something.
There was a small section at the front left of the church reserved for family. We moved to the right, slid down a pew to the end so we had a good view of the family, and waited.
The viewing, or what used to be called “the wake,” was first. A few people came in and walked to the front. They spent a moment or two, and then turned and left; some, like us, found a seat to wait for the actual funeral.
The funeral itself was small. Jo Ellen Hansen was distraught and broke down multiple times during the short ceremony. However, there were several people around who comforted her. Personally, I didn’t want to imagine the grief she must be feeling. No parent was ever prepared to bury their children. I glanced at Stephanie and got choked up thinking about what I’d do if anything ever happened to her or David.
Thankfully, the service was short, and the church had a cemetery behind the sanctuary, so there was no long automotive procession. We merely walked out back and listened while the minister prayed and recited the traditional “ashes to ashes” quote from Genesis. Afterward, Mrs. Hansen was escorted to the basement. Food was provided, and we stayed to pay our respects.
Dixie was the first person to approach her. I wondered what she would say, but I needn’t have worried. She walked up and embraced Mrs. Hansen.
The older woman put her head on Dixie’s shoulder and wept. The two stood like that for several minutes. Eventually, Dixie helped her into a seat.
“I’m so sorry. I just can’t seem to stop crying.”
“Honey, don’t you dare apologize. You cry as much as you need to.” Dixie patted her back and sat in the chair next to her and kept her arm around the grieving woman while she cried.
When the tide of tears slowed, Stephanie and I gave our condolences and hurried away, leaving Dixie to deal with Mrs. Hansen.
We sat at one of the tables and were quickly handed a plate of food.
“Nothing like fried chicken during a time of grief.” Stephanie drank Hawaiian Punch from a Styrofoam cup.
I was just about to take a sip of punch when I looked up and spotted Freemont Hopewell approaching Dixie and Mrs. Hansen. I nudged Stephanie. “Look, that’s Freemont.” I pointed with my head in their direction.
Stephanie looked over and whistled. “He’s handsome...too handsome.”
“Agreed.” Freemont, with his fancy suit and manicured nails, looked out of place at the plain, red-brick church. The contrast of his immaculate clothes and fastidiously groomed hair looked phony when viewed in the context of the simple elegance and honesty of the small country church.
I couldn’t imagine Freemont eating fried chicken, green beans, and mashed potatoes on a paper plate with plastic cutlery and drinking fruit punch from a Styrofoam cup. I was surprised when he spotted me and headed to the table.
He flashed a large smile, which showed nearly all of his teeth. “May I join you?”
I shrugged.
He must have taken that as consent because he pulled out a folding chair and sat down. He turned to Stephanie. “This beautiful lady has to be your daughter. She has your eyes.”
Stephanie nodded but didn’t extend her hand.
“Yes, this is my daughter, Stephanie.” I turned to her. “Stephanie, Freemont Hopewell.”
He smiled again as she picked up a chicken leg and bit into it. The look on his face made me want to laugh.
He forced another smile and then turned to me. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior the other day at lunch. I’m sure my manners were appalling, and I want you to know I can only say I’m terribly sorry.”
Something in the way he apologized told me he had no clue why he was apologizing but knew it was something that needed to be done.
“Please tell me you’ll forgive me?”
I nodded.
He smiled.
Before he could say anything else, I asked, “Did you know Robert Hansen well?”
“Not well. We were business associates, nothing more.”
Stephanie wiped the chicken grease from her mouth. “Really? Two hours is a long time to drive for a funeral of a business associate you aren’t close to.”
A vein on the side of his head throbbed. He examined his perfectly manicured fingernails for several seconds. When neither Stephanie nor I said anything, he looked up. “We were business associates. He was an investor in my art and antiques shop, and I was an investor in his real estate ventures.”
I put down my chicken and stared hard so I could watch Freemont’s eyes. “What real estate ventures?”
He shrugged. “Robert saw himself as some...I don’t know, real estate tycoon or something. He wanted to buy land and develop and sell it for military bases and airports. He had a lot of big dreams.” He shook his head. “He bought a lot of land in the subdivision where he lived, and whenever any of his neighbors’ houses went on the market, he snatched them up.”
“But the subdivision is in an area that’s already residential. How was he going to have it developed?” I asked.
Freemont sighed. “He had a contact who gave him inside information about something that was going to happen, so...” He shrugged.
“I heard you own an antiques shop. And aren’t you also an artist?”
For some reason, something flashed across his face.
I tried to sort out what it was I’d seen but was distracted when I looked up and saw Red walking toward me. Our gazes met. He made a barely perceptible shake of his head.
He sat at the long table with one manly courtesy seat separating him from Freemont. He nodded and then turned to smile at the older woman who placed a plate of food in front of him before he picked up his plastic tableware and started to eat.
I turned back to Freemont, who was still talking.
“I studied at the Royal College of Art.” He picked a nonexistent piece of lint from his sleeve.
Stephanie feigned surprise. “Really? The Royal College of Art is one of the most prestigious art schools in the world. You must be really talented to have gotten a degree there.”
Freemont sat up straight and smiled. “Well, I don’t like to brag, but I was one of the few Americans admitted, and I finished at the top of my class.”
“So, you graduated from the Royal College of Art?” Stephanie asked.
I stole a glance at her from the corner of my eye. Something in her manner and voice alerted me to the fact that she was up to something. So I watched Freemont more cautiously than I might have done otherwise.
He preened a bit. “Yes, I got my undergraduate degree there.”
“Very interesting.” Stephanie smiled. “Esp
ecially since the Royal College of Art doesn’t have an undergraduate program. It’s strictly for postgraduate study.”
Freemont’s face grew beet red. He narrowed his eyes and looked as though he would have liked to jump over the table and strangle Stephanie. In fact, he stood up and leaned across the table and glared. Before he could open his mouth to speak, Red was standing next to him.
He smiled and said softly, “Sit down, or I’ll be forced to cuff you and drag you out of here like the lying piece of—”
“Red, remember you’re still in church,” I said.
He sighed. “The lying con man that you are.” He looked at me.
I nodded.
As quickly as the color appeared in Freemont’s face, it drained, leaving him white as a sheet. His eyes darted around like a trapped rabbit.
In the hand that wasn’t clutching Freemont’s hand, Red discreetly flashed his shield. “Sit down.”
Freemont paused for a second, then dropped back down into his seat.
Red slid over into the chair next to Freemont and sidled up next to him so they were shoulder to shoulder. “Now, let’s have a nice quiet conversation.”
“What is this? Who are you?” Freemont picked up the Styrofoam cup he’d snubbed earlier and took a drink of punch. His hand shook, and he spilled the punch on the white paper tablecloth.
“This is a conversation. I’m going to ask you a few questions, and you’re going to answer them.” Red stared.
“I don’t have to talk to you without my attorney.”
He shook his head and sighed. “I’m sorry to hear you say that. See, I was hoping we could do this the easy way, but”—he shrugged—“it looks like you want to do things the hard way.” He opened his jacket and showed a shoulder holster and handcuffs. He slowly reached for the cuffs and slowly stood up.
“No, wait.” Freemont looked around. “Sit down.”
Red sat down.
He sighed. “What do you want to know?” He picked up his paper napkin and wiped his forehead, which was beaded with sweat.
“That’s better.” Red placed his elbows on the table and leaned close. “I want to know what you and Robert Hansen were really involved in.”
For a split second, Freemont looked as though he would protest; however, something in Red’s face made him stop. I’m not sure if it was the set of his jaw, the vein that pulsed at the side of his head, or the stony-hard look in his eyes, but whatever it was, it worked.
Freemont glanced at Red and sighed. “Okay.” He looked around to make sure no one was standing nearby. “Robert was involved in a lot of...stuff. He was into real estate. He was also involved in importing...antiquities and...other items—”
“What kind of items?” Stephanie asked.
“Everything from Egyptian art and pottery to documents.”
I leaned forward. “Documents? What kind of documents?” I tried to imagine what types of documents my former landlord could have been importing, but my imagination failed.
He looked at each of us and sighed. “Information. Robert was a government contractor. He had access to information about upcoming government projects. He knew people and knew information that, in the right hands, could have given one company an advantage.”
“You mean he was selling insider information about bids that would allow a company to outbid the opposition and secure lucrative government contracts.” I tried not to scowl, but I felt my brow furrowing with distaste.
Freemont nodded. “It sounds so ugly when you put it like that.”
I picked up my napkin and wiped my hands. “It is ugly.” I felt a need to bathe.
Red nudged Freemont. “Okay, so he was cheating the government and the American taxpayers. Where do you fit into this?” He hurriedly continued before Freemont could protest. “Before you deny involvement, let me just say we’ve had Robert Hansen under surveillance for a long time.”
Freemont paused for several seconds and then nodded. “It’s hard to sell objects without proof of provenance, and not all of the antiques Robert imported had the proper documentation, if you get my meaning.” He glanced at Red.
He nodded. “So Hansen provided the objects, and you forged the provenance?”
“Wait, if you have this lucrative forgery business going, why were you working at the museum?” I asked.
Freemont shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“Go on; the lady asked you a question.” Red nudged him.
He refused to make eye contact with me but looked at his hands. “I needed access to the museum’s records so I could make copies of some of the documents.”
“Why did you quit?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know anything about accounting—”
“That’s obvious,” I mumbled.
He bristled. “Well, I started getting letters from the IRS, and then I overheard Linda Kay talking about an audit, and I panicked.”
“You didn’t give any of your shady antiques to the museum, did you?” I stared at him and tried to remember the exact moment when my feelings for Freemont changed from attraction to revulsion.
He shook his head. “Linda Kay looks like a sweet Southern belle, but she’s sharp as a razor. Plus, that eagle-eyed assistant of hers barely left me alone for five minutes. You saw how quickly he came into your office that day I came to take you to lunch.”
I hid a smile and made a mental note to take Jacob a couple of his favorite pastries from Da Vinci’s tomorrow.
“You were never interested in me, were you?” I stared at him. “You just wanted to use me to gain access to the museum’s records.”
Freemont shook his head, but his eyes told me everything I needed to know. I felt grateful I hadn’t allowed myself to be used by him.
Stephanie reached over and gave my hand a squeeze, but when I evaluated my feelings, I realized I didn’t feel anything for Freemont.
Red asked a few additional questions, which Freemont answered, although he made sure to place the greatest amount of blame on Robert Hansen, while making himself seem like a poor, innocent dupe who was just following along. Up to this point, Red had been stern but relatively calm. However, as though an internal switch had flipped, something changed. Something behind his eyes grew cold, and I shivered as though the temperature had dropped. His gaze was glued to his prey like a cat stalking a mouse. He leaned forward. “Did you kill Robert Hansen?”
The blood drained completely from Freemont’s face, and his hands shook. “No. No. I swear. I didn’t kill him. Why would I?” His voice went up two octaves.
“Shhh.” I looked around and noticed that the few people who had stayed for the meal had all left and the ladies who’d served us were anxiously waiting for us to finish. “I think we need to leave.”
Stephanie and I gathered our belongings.
Red stood. “Come on, Hopewell. I’m taking you in.”
Freemont Hopewell’s eyes pleaded. “Come on. I swear I didn’t kill him. I cooperated. I told you everything I know.” His eyes darted around like a trapped rat. “Besides, I’m not even sure Robert is really dead.”
“What do you mean you’re not sure if he’s dead? You’re at his funeral, aren’t you?” I asked.
Freemont shrugged. “I never saw the body.”
“Now you’re just grasping at straws, and I don’t have time for this,” Red huffed. “You can tell it again downtown. Let’s go.”
“What about my car?”
“Maybe you can convince one of the ladies to drive it back for you.”
Based on the stricken look on his face, it was clear Hopewell would have rather eaten dirt than allow anyone else to drive his car.
“Or I can have it towed back to Chattanooga and you can pick it up from the impound lot.”
Freemont rolled his eyes. “Do either of you know how to drive a stick?”
My husband had owned a car dealership, so both Stephanie and I were well aware of how to drive a manual transmission. However, I wasn’t interested in folding myself into that tiny toddler Power Wheels toy car again.
After a few seconds, Stephanie sighed. “Alright.” She held out her hand.
Freemont handed over the keys. “Now, be careful shifting gears and don’t press too hard on the clutch or it’ll stick.”
Stephanie’s eyes narrowed. “Is the clutch the pedal on the left or the right?”
A look of sheer terror crossed Freemont’s face. For a split second, I thought he was going to reconsider having his car towed rather than allow a woman who didn’t know which pedal was the brake and which the clutch to drive his car. “Maybe I should—” He held out his hand for the keys.
Stephanie smiled. “Just kidding.”
Red’s eyes flashed, and his lips twitched briefly. He plastered on his serious law-enforcement mask and grabbed Freemont by the arm. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Chapter 21
Stephanie followed Dixie and me back to Chattanooga. Dixie stayed under the sound barrier on the return trip since she knew Stephanie was following. We drove into downtown Chattanooga and pulled up to the police station, where Red had told us to leave Freemont’s car. Stephanie left the keys with the desk sergeant.
“Where to now?” I asked once Stephanie was in the car and we were headed down the interstate.
“I’m hungry,” Dixie announced.
I hadn’t eaten much of the food provided at the church, especially once Red arrived and things got interesting, but Dixie had spent the entire time with Mrs. Hansen and hadn’t eaten at all.
She sped around the city, getting off the interstate at the area known as East Ridge. Dixie was born and raised in this area, and she knew all of the best places to eat. She’d taken us to numerous restaurants, but I was surprised when she pulled her Lexus into the parking lot of what I could only describe as a dive.
She hopped out and stretched.
Stephanie and I were slower to leave the safety of the car. Eventually, when it became clear this wasn’t a joke, we reluctantly climbed out.