by Sara Rosett
I paused in the entryway to get my bearings. Mitch and I attended a church off base that was closer to our house, so I’d never been inside the chapel. A long hall ran off to the right with offices and classrooms. Directly in front of me, double doors opened into the sanctuary, which was lined with two rows of blue upholstered pews. I could see the dark wood of the casket through the double doors, positioned in front of the raised lectern. The casket was closed and the large official portrait of Colonel Pershall, stiff and unsmiling in his uniform, stood beside it on an easel. Several flower arrangements ranged alongside the casket.
I could see why Denise wanted to display the other photo. It showed that there had been more to Colonel Pershall than just a military man. I spotted the condolence book on a small table near the double doors and set the photo near it. People began to arrive, sign the book, and linger in the entryway. I saw Denise in a dark blue suit with a corsage pinned on her lapel and went over to tell her I’d brought the photo. She nodded and said thank you. I gave her a hug and stepped back so that other people could talk to her. She greeted everyone by name and accepted their sympathy. I wondered how she did it—how she remained so composed. The chaplain, a captain, moved through the crowd and directed everyone to the sanctuary. I spotted Jeff, Abby’s husband, in his blues and looked around for Abby, but then remembered it was the first day of school and she’d decided that she couldn’t take off on such an important day.
Colonel Barnes extended his bent elbow to me and said, “Mrs. Avery?”
I realized he was an usher. “Oh, yes. Thank you. Somewhere in the back. I need to save a place for Mitch,” I said as I put my hand on his arm. It felt weird to walk into the sanctuary with him, considering that Mitch and I had been discussing him as a possible suspect. We walked sedately down the aisle. “It’s hard to believe this is happening, isn’t it? It seems almost surreal,” I said, partially to cover the awkward silence between us.
“That’s a good way to describe it. One minute he’s standing there cleaning his irons, gloating over his score, and the next, he’s gone.”
I paused at the end of the row. “You were there? At the golf course?”
“Of course. We played every weekend we could.”
“Did you eat lunch with him, too?” I asked as we reached the section where people were being seated.
He nodded. “We always stopped for a bite to eat after.” He pulled his arm away and gestured at the pew. I took a seat. Now was not the time to ask questions, but…he was there at the golf course.
I watched him walk back to the entryway. With his shaved head and big build, he was easy to pick out as he escorted other people to their seats. I watched his shiny head as he trooped up and down the aisle.
The music, which had been a prerecorded soft murmur, faded and an organist took her place at the front of the chapel. The last of the mourners were seated and I looked for Mitch, but didn’t see him. I shifted toward the front again and looked around at the mix of people who’d arrived for the service. Military members in their dark blue uniforms sat beside people in business suits. I’d seen several laminated name tags dangling from lanyards around the necks of many people in civilian clothes—probably civil service employees who worked at the base. I also recognized Detective Waraday seated on the other side of the chapel next to a slender woman with short, straight brown hair and a boxy navy pantsuit. Since both of them were scanning the crowd with single-minded determination, I assumed she was the OSI officer that Denise had mentioned. The organist launched into a hymn that I didn’t recognize as Denise and her sister were escorted to the front row.
Mitch slid into the pew beside me just as the chaplain began to speak. I raised my eyebrows and he whispered, “She went to that barbeque place across the street from the front gate. Looked like she was meeting a group of women there, all in red T-shirts like hers.”
“Is Gary there now?”
Mitch nodded.
“Colonel Barnes was at the golf course with Colonel Pershall on Saturday,” I whispered.
Mitch reared back a few inches. “How’d you find that out?”
“He’s an usher. He mentioned it when he seated me.”
Mitch rolled his eyes and muttered, “Only you.”
We fell silent and switched our attention to the service. Well, I tried to concentrate on the chaplain’s words, but my thoughts kept drifting, first to Colonel Barnes and then to Carrie. Whatever she was up to, I had a feeling it wasn’t good.
Denise had told me she wanted to keep the service simple and, except for the protocol involved because the base commander was in attendance, she seemed to get her wish. The chaplain spoke, then there were a few eulogies including one with a funny story from Colonel Barnes. He described how Colonel Pershall had tried to smuggle three watches, a compass, and a Swiss army knife into their survival training course at the Academy.
I saw Megan sitting alone a few rows in front of us. Henry must still be out of town. Would Colonel Barnes really benefit from Colonel Pershall’s death, like Megan had thought? An extra long pause drew my attention back to the front. Colonel Barnes seemed genuinely choked up as he folded his small paper. “I had more.” He shrugged and put the paper in his pocket. “I think this will suffice—nothing will be the same without Lewis.” He swallowed hard. “He will be missed.”
I felt my throat prickle. I straightened my shoulders and stared at a blue piece of glass in the stained-glass window. Colonel Pershall would be missed. He’d been a good man. Mitch took my hand and I noticed his eyes were extra glossy. I was sure there wouldn’t be any tears from the guys—military men could rival the British with their stiff upper lip routine, but I knew he was incredibly sad about Colonel Pershall’s death.
I noticed that Denise was still dry eyed and composed. The chaplain closed the service in prayer. Colonel Barnes was one of the pall-bearers. The group lifted the casket and followed the chaplain down the aisle. Colonel Barnes marched stiffly by, his face now shuttered and all emotions in check. The ushers dismissed us by rows and Mitch and I stood up. “I’d never been to a military funeral before. It wasn’t that different from a civilian funeral.”
“The graveside service will be. That’s where they’ll play “Taps” and present the flag,” Mitch said, then asked, “Want to ride with me to the graveside service?”
“I can’t. I told Denise I’d leave the graveside service early and check on the reception.” Mitch nodded and went to talk to Jeff as I picked up the photo of Colonel Pershall and joined the crowd that was slowly moving toward their cars. Because of where I’d parked, I was waved into the line of traffic fairly close to the hearse and the limousine carrying Denise and her sister. The graveside service would be off base, so I turned on the minivan’s headlights.
At the front gate, the security police had stopped the cross traffic for the funeral procession. As I entered the intersection, red tail-lights flared and I hit my brakes. A large piece of white paper plastered itself to my windshield.
I had a quick impression of bold red strokes of paint spelling out the words PEACE NOW before the wind whipped at the edges of the sign. It flapped against the glass for a second, then the wind pulled it away and sent it spiraling across the intersection.
Several red-shirted women stood at the side of the road in front of the barbeque restaurant, holding signs. The wind ripped another one of the flimsy poster board signs out of their hands and sent the paper cartwheeling across the street. The caravan of cars began moving again and as I drove by the women, I spotted both Carrie in her baseball cap and Stephanie. They were enthusiastically chanting, but I couldn’t hear them because my windows were up.
Well, it looked like the Peace Now Committee had changed their march to a weekday as Carrie suggested. Although, to me, it didn’t look like much of a march. They weren’t going anywhere, just standing on the curb, and I doubted they’d be able to get on base with their signs and chants.
The cemetery wasn’t far. This part of Geo
rgia was dotted with small cemeteries and family plots, but Roseview Meadows was a large modern cemetery with all the headstones set flat in the sculpted, rolling hills. I parked on the winding gravel road and joined the group gathering around the lines of chairs. This was a smaller group than had been at the church. Many people had probably returned to work, but it seemed most of the squadron was here. I saw Mitch and we moved toward each other through the crowd. “Did you see the protest march?” I asked.
He nodded. “Kind of pathetic, if you ask me. How many people were out there? Ten, maybe fifteen.” We found a seat at the back and Mitch continued, “But, hey, if that’s what they want to do, it’s their right.”
“Do you think they’re accomplishing anything?”
“I think they feel like they’re doing something. Will anything change on base? No.”
The blustery wind had wiped the humidity out of the air, but it was still in the mid-nineties. When the graveside service began, I forgot about the heat. This service was shorter and I again had to blink back tears as I watched the iconic image of the folded flag being presented to Denise. I knew there were so many funerals for veterans that the military was having a hard time providing buglers for every service and sometimes a recorded version of “Taps” had to be played, but today there was a bugler and as he played the somber notes I had to find a tissue. As soon as he finished, I squeezed Mitch’s hand and slipped out to leave for the O Club.
I was almost back to the line of cars parked on the winding gravel road when Colonel Barnes passed me, walking toward the graveside service. He didn’t say anything, just nodded and walked briskly across the grass. Why was he late? Shouldn’t he have been in the first group of people to arrive, since he was a pallbearer? A small black car plodded by, carefully moving between the twin lines of parked cars.
A flash of red caught my eye and I saw three women in familiar red T-shirts at the very end of the road where the last cars were parked. It looked as if they’d just arrived, because one of the doors on the car they stood beside was still open, along with the trunk. I recognized Carrie’s red baseball cap, but didn’t know the woman beside her who was adjusting her fanny pack. Then I spotted Joyce removing some of the now familiar poster board signs from the trunk.
“Not here,” I said with a groan and reversed my course back to the graveside. I was so angry I wanted to punch something, but I channeled all that fury into striding quickly across the grass. The service seemed to be wrapping up. Everyone’s head was bent in prayer. I hurried to the group standing in the back and grabbed Detective Waraday’s elbow. The female investigator who’d been beside him at the funeral was gone now. He looked up in surprise and frowned, but I pointed over his shoulder at the women. “Protesters,” I whispered. “Can you do anything to stop them from interrupting?”
He took off without a word, his stride purposeful. I hurried along behind him. A quick glance over my shoulder showed that the prayer was still going on and no one else had noticed Detective Waraday’s departure. He met the three women at the car, still a good distance from the gravesite. Joyce and Carrie looked defiant, but the third woman began shooting glances over her shoulder and looked like she’d rather leave.
“You can’t stop us, Officer,” Joyce’s voice carried clearly. “We have the right to assemble.”
Several dark-suited men peeled off from the crowd around the gravesite and headed toward the group. I assumed they were with the funeral home or the cemetery and would help Waraday keep the women from making a disturbance.
I didn’t hear Waraday’s reply since he kept his voice down. The group of mourners began to disperse.
Good. At least they hadn’t spoiled the graveside service.
How could Carrie and her group be so insensitive? Disturbing a graveside service had to be one of the most disgusting things they could possibly come up with, the lowest of the low. Did they really think this would sway people to their side? Or, had Carrie suggested they come here simply out of her hate for Colonel Pershall?
I paused at the bumper of the minivan to fish my keys out of my purse. I glanced back at the ring of people surrounding the women and that was when, inexplicably, a bush blew up beside them.
Chapter Fourteen
The blast scattered leaves and sticks through the air. I blinked.
Had I really just seen that?
Almost like an answer to my unspoken question, another explosion sounded, this time from the bed of a pickup parked along the gravel road. Waraday and the group of people around him hit the ground and I followed their lead, crouching down beside the bumper. We waited in silence for a few seconds and I could hear the exclamations from the graveside as people reacted to the explosions. I was cautiously inching my way to a standing position when another jolt sounded from the grassy field and this time I saw the part of a plastic water bottle, the lid and an attached piece of plastic, circling away through the air along with bits of dirt and grass.
I ducked back down and waited, my heart pounding noisily in my ears. That one had been closer than the others. I could hear raised voices around the gravesite, some with an edge of panic.
Waraday shouted for everyone to stay down and I followed his direction as I scuttled around the van, putting it between me and the blasts. We waited, tensed for another explosion. An eerie, odd silence fell, but after what was probably only a few minutes, people began to chatter and move tentatively. I released my white-knuckle grip on the minivan’s grille and slowly stood up.
Mitch was sprinting across the grass, giving a wide berth to the area where the explosions had happened. He slid to a stop on the gravel. “You okay?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m fine. I think it was more dry ice bombs,” I said, pointing to the plastic pieces sprayed across the grass.
“Okay, folks,” Waraday’s voice rang out above the chatter, “is anyone hurt?” He was standing, as were the women from the Peace Now group. He paused, and when no one responded, he said, “Stay where you are. I’m Detective Waraday from the Dawkins County Sheriff’s Office. We need to get everyone’s contact information. We’ll have someone here shortly to check the cars and gather evidence. Those of you by the grave, return to your seats. We’ll get you out of here as quickly as possible.” He turned his attention back to the three women and said, “Wait here. Do not touch anything,” then he pointed to one of the dark-suited men from the funeral home. “Go to the entrance and direct the officers here when they arrive,” he said, reaching for his cell phone.
Mitch and I were stuck in no-man’s land halfway between the group of women on the gravel drive and the gravesite. We decided to stay put, instead of walking through the grass to the gravesite. We didn’t want to disturb any evidence that might be in our path. Mitch leaned against the minivan. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised to see Carrie in that group. Did you see anything?”
“Not really. Just the women getting out of their car. I realized it was the Peace Now group and figured they were here to make trouble, so I went back to get Detective Waraday.”
Carrie stood with her arms crossed and one hip jutted out like a sulky teenager. Joyce had a look of resignation on her face. The last woman, who was probably in her twenties, had straight, light brown hair framing her freckled face. She nervously licked her pale lips. Her face was white, causing her freckles to look twice as prominent. Her gaze darted from Waraday to the other women. She leaned in to say something to Carrie, but Waraday’s hand snapped up and he said, “No talking.”
She jumped back like she’d been scorched. Carrie leveled a long, warning look at her.
Sirens cut through the air and several police cars arrived and parked at the end of the line of cars. I must say that I was impressed with the response time. Three explosions in a cemetery were pretty unusual for North Dawkins and probably had people in the houses that backed up to the cemetery calling nine-one-one right away.
Waraday sorted out the officers. They dispersed over the area, some checking the parked cars
, some taking names and contact info, and others carefully photographing the bits of plastic on the grass.
We gave our contact information, but we weren’t allowed to leave. Waraday separated the three women. Carrie stared at the sky a few cars away from us as she answered Waraday’s question. “No, I don’t know anything about whatever that was. It scared us as much as everyone else. Just because we got here right before it went off doesn’t mean you can blame us.”
“No,” Waraday said mildly, “but it certainly doesn’t look good.”
“We had nothing to do with it. We’re exercising our First Amendment right—the right to assemble. You can’t stop us from doing that.”
“That’s not correct, Mrs. Kohl. You do have the right to assemble, but the laws of North Dawkins only allow gatherings on cemetery property for funerals. All other gatherings are prohibited.”
“We were here for the funeral.”
“Your posters, Mrs. Kohl,” Waraday said, nodding to the huge white squares propped up against the car.
“We didn’t use them,” Carrie countered. “We were simply moving them. They took up too much space in the car.”
“Then I’m sure you won’t mind if we take a look at your car?”
Carrie didn’t hesitate. “Go ahead.”
Waraday sent one of his officers to check out the car, then said to Carrie, “Wait here, ma’am,” and strode over to Mitch and me. He and Mitch exchanged nods, then he said to me, “What did you see, Mrs. Avery?”
I explained I had to leave the graveside service early and that I saw the women when I was walking to my minivan. “I’d seen them on the drive over here with their signs at the front gate, so I figured they would try to disturb the graveside service. I didn’t talk to them, they were too far away. I went back to get you.”
“What exactly were they doing?” Waraday asked, his gaze intense and tenacious.
“They were standing beside the car. The doors and trunk were open. They were talking, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying,” I said, a little surprised at how concentrated his attention was.