"I'd love to," he said, using a cloth napkin to wipe the corners of his mouth. "I get a kick out of meeting face to face with fans and getting feedback from them on what I'm doing right and what I could do to improve."
"That's wonderful," I said, impressed with his openness to constructive criticism, should there be any once the opportunity presented itself.
"Besides," Pierce noted, "if Brent had planned to attend your meeting, the least I could do is the same in honor of my mentor and dear friend."
"Then it's settled," I told him, setting my fork down. "I'll let the members know and get back to you with the details."
"Sounds like a plan."
When the lunch ended, we said our goodbyes and expected to see each other again at Brent's funeral.
Back at home, I notified the book club about the latest change in plans, which they all welcomed in light of the tragedy of Brent's death. I spent the rest of the afternoon working on my blog and watching television.
In the evening, I ate alone and found myself actually missing my one day housemate. I hoped that once Brent's affairs were settled, Emily was able to succeed on her own two feet for perhaps the first time in her young life, and make something of it, as Brent would have wanted.
In bed, I read a few chapters of Rebecca, before falling asleep, already thinking about the day ahead.
CHAPTER NINE
On Saturday, the church was packed as those who knew Brent in the community, and fans from outside of it, had come to pay their respects to a great mystery writer who would not soon be forgotten. Brent London, wearing one of his best suits, looked like he was sleeping peacefully in the open casket at the front of the church.
I sat beside Emily in the front pew. Beside Emily was her friend, Tony. Next to me was Pierce, who seemed to be genuinely shaken up by the funeral.
On the other side of Pierce was Ivana Croxley, an attractive, tall redhead in her early thirties, who claimed she had been dating Brent when he died. Pierce had vouched for her, stating that Brent had introduced them only a week ago at a restaurant.
Brent's last girlfriend, Karla Terrell, had insisted that she get a seat in the front as well, still asserting that Brent wanted to get back together with her, even if I found that hard to believe, considering that he had apparently moved on to the lovely Ivana. But rather than cause a ruckus, Emily and I had yielded to Karla's demands, allowing her to sit at the end of the pew in the first row.
In the second row were Brent's three surviving ex-wives: Deidre, Ashley, and Margo, along with the current men in their lives.
A couple of rows behind them were my sister Yvonne and her husband George, along with my good friend Peggy and her fiancé Harold.
Some members of my book club had shown up as well, including Meryl, Kelli, and Josh. I suspected that they were just as curious to see the prolific author—who had given generously to Cozy Pines over the years—as they were truly saddened by his death.
Also present were Detectives Whitmore and Gifford. Though they tried to make themselves inconspicuous, it was clear to me that they were there as part of their investigation, hoping the killer would show up and present clues that could be used to nab them.
The thought that a killer would show up at the victim's funeral turned my stomach, though I knew that it would provide the perfect cover for someone trying to stay under the radar by hiding in plain view.
Still, I wasn't convinced that this was the case. I believed that most killers would prefer to keep a low profile rather than take unnecessary risks by giving the authorities reason to suspect them when they otherwise might not.
On a strictly personal basis, I hoped the killer of my friend did not have the audacity to show up at his funeral, making Brent's death all the more tragic. At the same time, I wanted the person apprehended as soon as possible, so life in Cozy Pines could return to normal, to the extent possible.
I glanced at Brent again as the pastor, Sylvia Quincy, spoke kindly about him and everything he had stood for. It was hard not to shed tears for someone I had cared about who was now gone for good due to a senseless act of violence.
After the service was over, I rode with Emily and Tony to the cemetery.
"I hate this," Emily cried. "Uncle Brent had a lot of years left. Now he's just...gone."
"Yeah, it totally sucks," Tony said.
I sensed that he was merely going through the motions for Emily's sake. "Brent's in a better place now," I told them.
She looked at me, wiping away tears. "You really think so?"
"Yes," I reiterated. "To believe otherwise would make faith and everything we go through in life meaningless."
"Maybe you're right," she said.
"We'll get through this together," Tony told her.
I wondered if he was already making plans to move into Brent's home. I thought about his gambling problem. Had he made any moves to deal with it? Or had he found a new way to fuel his addiction, now that Emily would likely inherit a lot of money.
Given that it was really none of my business, I cast those thoughts aside, wanting only to get through the visit to the cemetery and the reading of the will.
* * *
Under cloudy skies, the service at the cemetery was very moving, as Emily and then Ivana said a few words over Brent's gravesite.
Things changed when Karla spoke. "How could you do this to me?" she spat bitterly. "You once told me I was the apple of your life. Then you dump me for someone else." She glared at Ivana. "We could have made it work if you'd just tried harder. But no, you didn't have the guts to do that and now look what's happened. Karma's a bitch!"
She stormed off.
I was appalled by her words, especially the suggestion that his murder was due to breaking up with her. Was she somehow suggesting she had something to do with it, in spite of claiming they were getting back together?
Brent's ex-wives each spoke next, one by one.
Deidre Carter, Brent's second wife, was first to offer comments. In her early forties, she wore a black dress and a matching black hat. "Brent and I had so many great times together," she said tearfully. "Our marriage only lasted a year, but we made the most of it. I'll miss you, Brent. Have a good life in your new existence."
Deidre's husband, Mitt, put his arm around her as Ashley McGowan, wife number three, stepped forward. She was my age and petite, with a shapely figure in a dark gray skirt suit. As always, her crimson hair was perfectly coifed. The hairdresser we shared worked miracles, which I also benefitted from.
"I loved Brent when we were together," she said, sniffling, "even if I was a bit insecure that it would never work." She gave a little chuckle. "In fact, it didn't, lasting only three years—which I guess beat my predecessor's marriage to him. Brent and I were just too different and we couldn't seem to overcome that. Rest in peace, Brent."
Brent's last wife, Margo London, was next. In her late forties, she was tall and big boned, wearing a dark jacket and blouse with slacks. She had short, wavy blonde hair and wore glasses. A successful novelist in her own right, she and Brent complemented each other in a number of ways—not the least of which they shared the same occupation. But that was still not enough to keep them together.
"Brent, I know if you were standing here instead of me, you'd say don't make a fuss. We all have to go sometime. Live your own life." Margo sighed and was clearly holding back tears. "So I'll try not to make a fuss. We had our good times and we had our bad times. In the end, we managed to hang on to our friendship, if not the marriage. That's what I'll hold onto whenever I think of you. Be at peace, my fellow writer."
She walked over to the tall, gray-haired man she had come with.
Next was Brianna York, my attorney and Brent's attorney. She was in her early forties, and slender with blue eyes and light blonde hair, which fell just past her shoulders. She wore a black dress and matching blazer.
"First of all," she began, "I'm not one of Brent's ex-wives or girlfriends, thank goodness."
&n
bsp; This brought a much needed lighthearted moment to the service, and a few chuckles, which Brent would have loved, given his sense of humor.
"I'm Brent's lawyer," she said. "I've represented him for the last five years in various capacities. Within that time, we became friends and I grew to respect him a great deal. His loss is still a bitter pill to swallow but, like those of you who who loved him, I'll have to carry on just as he would have wanted. Thanks, Brent, for being you. I'm sure we'll meet again on the other side."
Brianna walked over to me and whispered, "We'll both miss him a lot."
"Yes, we will," I agreed.
"I'll see you at my office," she said, gently squeezing my arm.
The thought of going to a reading of the will of someone who should still be alive was rather depressing, to say the least. But I knew it was Brent's wish and I intended to abide by it.
Now it was time for me to say a few words. I sucked in a deep breath, still finding it hard to believe that Brent was no longer with us—or maybe he was, in spirit.
"Brent and I had a good relationship," I began nervously. "We dated for a while, but decided we were better off as friends. I also loved his writing, and he always wanted an honest review of every book that I read. He didn't always like everything I had to say, but he respected it and moved on. We had dinner recently and enjoyed each other's company. I had no idea it would be the last time we'd ever talk. But then, that's usually the way it goes when someone dies." I paused, and wiped away a tear. "Your superb literature will live on forever, Brent. Goodbye, my dear friend."
I left it at that and practically walked right into the arms of Detective Whitmore.
"Sorry," I mumbled, dodging him at the last moment.
"Don't be," he said. "My fault."
I met his eyes. "I guess this is probably as good a time as any to ask how the case is coming along," I said.
He grimaced. "A little slow, but we're still gathering evidence so..."
"Do you have a suspect yet?" I asked, hopeful this thing would be solved soon.
"We're still narrowing it down, but making progress."
I glanced around at some of the others who were present—not all of whom were familiar to me. I suspected some were Brent's fans, paying their final respects. Then there was Emily, the ex-wives, and other locals who knew him.
Peering at the detective, I said, "You think the killer is here, don't you?"
"I didn't say that."
"But you aren't denying it either," I pressed.
He ran a hand across his mouth. "Let's just say that we're doing our best to catch a killer. That includes going anywhere the case takes us that might help achieve that goal."
I nodded, recognizing that he wasn't about to confide in me regarding who the suspect might be, even though I was the one who found the body. "I understand."
He flashed a weak grin. "Yeah, I thought you would."
"I guess I'll let you get back to it then," I told him.
"And I'll try to stay out of your way," he said, in reference to us almost colliding.
I moved a bit further away from the gathering to take a moment to reflect on Brent's passing and the legacy he had left behind.
I heard someone approaching and turned to see Josh, the sole male member of our book club.
"I thought you could use some company," he said.
"Thanks," I said, gazing up at him. His short dark blonde hair was parted to the side, and he was wearing a black suit. "I just needed a moment."
Josh nodded. "I know you were friends with Brent London. That was nice what you said about him."
"I meant every word," I stressed, as if he would think otherwise.
"I'm sure you did. I was really looking forward to picking his brain at the next book club meeting."
"We all were." I couldn't help but wonder just how much of his brain was left to pick. Brent seemed quite lucid during our last chat. But we hadn't really spoken about anything too challenging that might have stalled him in his thoughts. I tried not to think about that and instead turned to see Pierce saying a few words about Brent.
I couldn't make out everything, but did hear him say how much he had learned from Brent about the process of writing and continuing to improve one's craft. I was sure that Brent would have been very pleased to know that his mentoring had paid off with Pierce, and probably others along the way as well.
I decided I might as well inform Josh that Pierce had agreed to take Brent's place as our guest of honor at the next book club meeting.
"That's great." Josh seemed suitably enthusiastic, in spite of believing that Pierce was not quite in Brent's league as a writer. That was debatable, but probably accurate, since Brent had more experience that came with age, wisdom, and published works.
"I thought it was nice of him," I said.
"I'll try not to be too rough on him about some of the problems I had with his last book."
"I didn't think there were that many issues," I said.
"There weren't, but there was still plenty of room for improvement."
"Isn't there always?"
"For some more than others," Josh said. "But don't worry; I just want to keep things interesting."
"I'm not worried at all," I stressed. "I'm sure Pierce can take care of himself and doesn't need me running interference for him."
Josh smiled. "Agreed." After a short pause, he said, "Look, do you think we could get together for a drink sometime? If I'm way out of line...or this isn't the time or place—"
My eyes widened in surprise. Though we had certainly been cordial since he started attending the book club meetings, he had not given me any indication that he was interested in me socially. Or was it more about book talk and not really a date?
Either way, he was a nice looking man who seemed interesting enough.
"No, you're not out of line," I told him. "I'd like to get together for a drink sometime."
He flashed a boyish grin. "Terrific."
"Call me," I said, knowing that all the book club members had each other's numbers.
"I will," he said, walking away.
By now, the gravesite service was over and everyone was leaving. Emily headed toward me and I met her halfway.
"Are you doing okay?" I asked, feeling for her in having to go through this too many times already during her young life.
"Yeah. It was a nice funeral and a proper send off for Uncle Brent."
I smiled. "Yes it was."
"Let's go to this reading of his will and get it over with," she said.
We were on the same page in wanting to honor Brent's wishes and move on with our lives, as he would have wanted, even while his killer remained on the loose.
CHAPTER TEN
The Ormond, York, and McBride Law Firm was located in downtown Cozy Pines, occupying the entire third floor of the Bainbridge Building. Brianna greeted us inside the lobby.
"Thanks for coming," she said. "I know this has been a difficult time for both of you."
"Not as hard as it's been for my uncle," Emily said tonelessly. "He should be here too..."
Brianna nodded and said, "In fact, in some ways Brent will be here with us as we carry out his last wishes."
"That's true," I told her, remembering that Brent would be speaking to us on video, making it seem like he was still alive.
Brianna extended her arm toward a hallway. "Why don't we head into the conference room? Everyone else is already there waiting."
Admittedly, I was curious as to who that entailed, though I was pretty sure I knew at least some of those Brent would have chosen among his beneficiaries.
We stepped inside a large room with a long conference table. Seated around it were Brent's ex-wives—Deidre, Ashley, and Margo—along with Pierce, the housekeeper Luisa and, surprisingly, Brent's girlfriend, Ivana Croxley. Noticeably absent was Brent's former girlfriend, Karla Terrell.
"I'm sure that you all know Emily, Brent's niece," Brianna said. "And Riley Reed, a longtime frie
nd of Brent's."
"Oh yes, we all know Emily and most of us know Riley," Pierce said.
"I definitely know Ms. Reed," Ashley said tartly. "She was the one who got away. Or at least Brent seemed to think so."
I cocked a brow and said to her, "I think Brent and I parted mutually. If he told you otherwise—"
"He didn't have to," she claimed. "It was always Riley this and Riley that. At times, I honestly found it quite nauseating."
"Sorry you felt that way," I said. "But you were the one he chose to marry and vice versa. That should count for something."
"Maybe it will." She rolled her eyes and leaned back in the chair.
"Leave Riley alone," Margo said. "I think we all know that Brent was far from perfect, and the same holds true for each of us. Let's not blame others for our own faults."
She flashed Ashley a hard look and she offered no response.
"Indeed, let's show some respect for the dead," Pierce said. "Which, I assume is the reason we're all here."
Emily frowned. "My uncle invited everyone for a reason. Don't take that from him."
"Well, perhaps now we can move on to the order of business," Deidre muttered, glancing at her watch. "My husband's waiting patiently for me outside, bless his heart."
"Agreed," Brianna said. She glanced at me, and then Emily, before saying, "Why don't you both take a seat and we'll get started."
Emily slid into a chair next to Margo and I sat beside Pierce.
"Are you ready for whatever Brent has in store for us?" he whispered.
"I have no choice in the matter," I told him. "After all, isn't that why we're here?"
"Good point. Let the show begin."
We watched as Brianna pointed a remote at a big screen television on the wall. Momentarily, Brent's handsome face filled the screen.
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