Then she added the black Coach handbag June had given her for college graduation, no doubt picturing it as the perfect accessory for the wardrobe of business suits and pumps that Tilda would soon accumulate, and she was good to go for the three-and-a-half-hour drive to Weldon.
The listing on the Weldon Sentinel Web site hadn’t specified that the funeral was private, so Tilda hadn’t expected to have any problem slipping into the back of the service. But as she turned onto the road the church was on, traffic went from a flow to a trickle, even though her directions said she had three blocks to go. Deciding that a little walk would be easier than trying to get closer, she parked at the first available space on the side of the road. She had her digital camera, but didn’t think it would look right to start snapping shots of the mourners, so she left it in her trunk. She could always discreetly take a few shots with her cell phone if something particularly juicy happened.
As Tilda approached the church, she found herself dividing the crowd into categories.
First were the actual mourners: Holly’s family and friends. Of course the closest family members would arrive in limos later—Tilda didn’t see a hearse, which meant that the funeral procession hadn’t arrived yet—but there were some people there whose faces showed signs of actual grief. They were dressed much like Tilda, in suits and dresses in muted colors, if not all in black.
Then there were those there to pay their respects: business associates, neighbors, and church members. Tilda suspected some of them were industry types Holly had worked with back in the day. These tended to be dressed a notch better than the first group, which made sense. They were there to be seen.
Sprinkled here and there were the curious types who invariably turned up for funerals of well-known people and murder victims—with the murder of a minor celebrity they were getting a double helping of schadenfreude. Tilda’s mother would have sniffed loudly at their velour jogging suits and polo shirts with chinos.
Around the edges were other members of the press, and at least the TV people were dressed decently. Tilda spotted local affiliate trucks from two of the big three networks, E! and CNN. The cameramen were busily filming the crowd and establishing shots of the First United Methodist Church of Weldon, which was a scenic steepled one that could have been used as an encyclopedia illustration for “traditional New England Protestant house of worship.” The print media representatives—newspaper and magazine reporters—were a mixed bag, with outfits ranging from the respectful to the ludicrous. Tilda noted with more than a little satisfaction that her attire was better than that of most of her colleagues.
Last there were the fans, and even though they were dressed the least appropriately—mostly in jeans and Kissing Cousins T-shirts—tears were running down their faces and they were hugging each other openly.
Then Tilda corrected herself to add one more group of people—cops, in uniform and out. Presumably some were there to control the crowd, but no doubt others were there scanning the crowd for suspects.
Just as she got as close to the church as the press of people would easily allow, the hearse drove up, followed by a line of black limos. Police officers started clearing the path as the pall bearers gathered, and the pink-and-white-rose-covered casket was unloaded and readied to be escorted to the church. A tall, handsome man whom Tilda recognized as Holly’s husband followed directly behind the casket. He looked worn and sad and was clutching the hands of Holly’s and his two children, who seemed more baffled than anything else.
If she’d been a news reporter, she would probably have felt compelled to try to wrangle an interview with him, even angling for a photo or three of his grief-stricken face. But since he wasn’t a celebrity, Entertain Me! wouldn’t be interested. Usually she deplored that attitude as being shallow, but this time she was just as glad her personal and professional needs meshed. She could leave the man and his children in peace.
Two women who looked like smudged copies of Holly came after, along with an older man and woman—likely the sisters and parents Holly had mentioned in her interview. A dozen or so others followed them, most of them probably other family members, but near the back Tilda spotted another man she recognized. Irv Munch, the producer and creator of Kissing Cousins, was walking with Holly’s family.
Munch was skinnier than when she’d seen him last, but he didn’t look so much fit as shriveled. His gray hair was still thick, and though he was dressed a bit West Coast for the Connecticut crowd, he wasn’t flashy. As Tilda tried to decide if she was impressed by his coming so far to say good-bye to Holly, or suspicious that he was there to take advantage of publicity, two women near her called out to him. Munch’s wince was minute, but Tilda could tell he’d heard them, even though he didn’t turn their way as he walked past on his way into the church.
The crowd started to ooze toward the church doors, slowed by police officers trying to make sure rubberneckers weren’t allowed in, and Tilda saw them turn away a couple of reporters. She was starting to think that she’d wasted her time driving down, when she found herself immediately behind the petite women who’d tried to get Munch’s attention.
“Poor Mr. Munch,” one of them said. “He’s so sunken in his grief that he didn’t even hear us.”
“I wish we could sit with him,” the other said. “I’m sure it would make him feel better.”
“Gabrielle? Gwendolyn?” Tilda said hesitantly.
They turned as one, smiling in that vague way that told her they couldn’t quite place her.
Most people, even stone Kissing Cousins fans, would have been hard pressed to place them too. Gabrielle and Gwendolyn Roman had been part of the cast, but just barely. They’d played Gabby and Gwen, the unimaginatively named twin Cousins added to the show when ratings began to slip. Just as unimaginatively, Gabby was normal and Gwen was weird, so the family feud was kept on an even footing. To give the girls credit, they’d done exactly what they’d been hired to do. They were cute. They had no discernible acting talent, even allowing for the fact that they’d only been seven, but they were darned cute.
Despite their dimples, the strategy hadn’t helped—if anything, it sped the show’s demise. Most fans considered their first appearance the moment the show jumped the shark. About the only people who acknowledged them as part of the cast were some particularly imaginative slash fiction writers.
Surprisingly the two young actresses had never realized how disliked they were. They’d had very few acting jobs since the show was canceled, most of those prepuberty, and made their living taking advantage of the nostalgia market to appear at collectibles shows and fan conventions. Tilda could see that they weren’t sure if she was a fan from one of their road trips or somebody worth their time.
“Tilda Harper,” she said. “I interviewed you two for Entertain Me!”
“Tilda!” Gabrielle and Gwendolyn gushed in unison, and the three of them kissed in the airspace of each other’s cheeks.
Focused as she’d been on funeral fashions, Tilda was surprised she’d missed the duo. Though they were indeed dressed in black, their dresses were well above the knees, their shoes were strappy sandals with spike heels, and they’d tied black ribbons around their perky ponytails. The overall effect was Widow’s Weed Barbie.
“It’s so good to see you,” Gabrielle said, and Gwendolyn added, “It’s been too long.”
“I’m just sorry it’s on such a sad occasion,” Tilda said.
They nodded. “We cannot tell you how destroyed we are,” Gabrielle said, and Gwendolyn lifted an actual cloth handkerchief to her eyes, searching for a tear. “Holly was one of our closest, dearest friends.”
“Despite the great age difference,” Gwendolyn put in. “She was like a mother to us.” That made it Gabrielle’s turn to wipe at her eyes.
The two actresses were just as convincing as they’d been on Kissing Cousins. Which was to say, not at all. Tilda wondered how many hairs had been torn from how many directors’ heads in trying to get a decent acting job
out of the twin moppets. Even the rawest actress could usually sob on command, but even at a funeral, Gabrielle and Gwendolyn couldn’t dredge up a single convincing sniff between them. If they managed to avoid makeup stains, they’d be able to put those handkerchiefs back into their lingerie drawer as soon as the funeral was over, ready for their next performance.
Fortunately for her, Tilda knew they were no better at detecting insincerity in others, so she said, “I’d hoped to pay my respects, but they’re not allowing the press inside.” She nodded at the police officers waving off a TV crew. “I’d love to be able to talk to you two more after the service, but I don’t think I should just hang around—”
“Don’t be silly!” Gabrielle said quickly. “You’re not just press. You’re a friend. You can come sit with us!”
Gwendolyn nodded vigorously, her hair ribbon bobbing indignantly.
“If you’re sure I won’t be intruding,” Tilda said with mock reluctance.
In response, one twin took hold of her right arm while the other took her left, and the three of them headed for the door of the church. The police, no doubt overwhelmed by the sheer perkiness of the twins, didn’t object as they went in and found space in a pew a third of the way down the aisle.
Tilda had attended enough funerals in her life to know that Holly’s was fairly standard. The eulogies reminded her of a high school valedictorian speech, where the speaker tries so hard to draw on her special experiences of high school, never realizing that her references to bad school lunches, exciting football games, favorite rock bands, and assorted hijinks sounded just like every other valedictorian speech ever given. It wasn’t that the eulogies given by Holly’s best friend, neighbor, and business partner were insincere. It’s just that they didn’t really say anything about the woman.
Still, Holly’s family and friends seemed comforted, though there were plenty of tears. That made the twins’ few noticeable signs of grief all the more glaring. Then again, Tilda thought, she wasn’t exactly broken up herself. Though she hadn’t been friends with Holly, or even particularly liked her, she had met her twice and spoken to her on the phone several times. The least she could do in honor of the woman was regret her passing, not just mentally take note of the mourners for her article. So she deliberately shut down the reporter part of her brain and drew on the Catholic training she’d abandoned as soon as she was confirmed to offer a private prayer while the preacher did it his way.
The eulogies were followed by absolutely glorious performances of “Amazing Grace” and “How Great Thou Art.” After the first few bars made it plain that this was not the usual church soloist, Tilda craned her neck to peek up at the choir loft and was surprised that she recognized the soloist. It was one of Holly’s former costars. Katie Langevoort had played the insufferable Felicia, the worst specimen of tattletale, Goody Two-shoes, teacher’s pet ever to foul a television set. Though she’d only been a child when the show was made, rumor had it that she’d received sacks full of hate mail every week, and she was still the unlikely star of a ridiculous amount of improbably kinky fan fiction and artwork on the Web.
Like Holly, Katie hadn’t had much success in acting after Kissing Cousins, but she hadn’t left show business. Instead she’d changed her name to Kathleen Owen and become a gospel singer, so her prissier-than-thou reputation was a help instead of a hindrance. From what Tilda could tell from her previous telephone interviews, she was making a good living at it, and after hearing her moving renditions of the funeral war-horses, she understood why.
The service ended shortly afterward, and Tilda stood with the other mourners while the coffin was taken down the aisle to the waiting hearse. As the widower and his children walked after it, Tilda heard Gabrielle whisper, “My God, they’re younger than we were when we made the show.” As if trying to imagine how they’d have felt in such a position, the twins finally honestly cried, and Tilda awkwardly patted them both.
Gabrielle’s and Gwendolyn’s tears subsided as they took their turn to leave the church and pulled out matching Ray-Bans. During the service, the minister had passed on the request that the graveside service be for the family only, so once the hearse left and the widower and other relatives climbed into their limos to follow it, most of the mourners were left standing on the church steps as if waiting for permission to leave.
The twins were apparently fully recovered from their earlier distress and were watching the crowd, Tilda momentarily forgotten. “Do you see Mr. Munch?” Gabrielle asked her sister.
“No, but there’s Noel.”
Noel Clark was another former Kissing Cousins cast member. He’d played Elbert, the budding mad scientist who was rarely seen without his white lab coat.
“Should we go talk to him?” Gabrielle wanted to know.
“Why bother? He said he could get us a walk-on on City Hospital, and that went nowhere.” Gwendolyn looked further afield. “There’s Katie Langevoort, but she’s left the industry.”
“Is Mercy Ashford here?” Tilda asked.
“I doubt it,” Gwendolyn said with a shrug. “She wasn’t at Jim Bonnier’s funeral.”
“Or Alex Johnson’s.” Gabrielle echoed her sister’s shrug.
“Really?” Tilda said. “I’d have thought she’d want to show her respects.”
Gwendolyn sniffed. “I don’t think Mercy cared enough to bother. Do you know we’ve never heard one word from her in all the years since the show ended? Not so much as a phone call!”
“She pretended to like us too,” Gabrielle added. “She made a point of telling us her address and phone number at the wrap party, and wrote ours down. She even gave us presents.”
“Matching purses.”
“But that was the last we ever heard of her. When we tried to call, the number was disconnected, and when we sent a Christmas card, it came back unopened.”
“Of course, we were so much younger than she was,” Gwendolyn took pains to remind Tilda.
Just then, a man came up to the three of them and said, “Gwendolyn, Gabrielle, I’m so glad to see you.”
“Lawrence!” the twins said in unison, beaming at the man.
Like the twins, Tilda suspected Lawrence wasn’t quite as young as he wished he were, but he was still reasonably appealing, with sandy blond hair, a decent tan, and only a few lines in his face. He was well-built and nicely dressed in his somber but stylish Hugo Boss suit. He’d have been perfect casting for a widowed or divorced father in a sitcom—old enough to theoretically be the father of a brood of implausibly attractive teenagers, young enough that script writers would be able to inundate him with romances until one culminated in a very special two-part end-of-season wedding episode.
He completed the cheek-kissing ceremony, having bussed the twins on both sides, and then took one hand from each. “What a sad, sad day. You two must be distraught.”
As if in answer to a cue, the twins lifted their hankies to their eyes again.
“Destroyed,” Gwendolyn said.
“Devastated,” Gabrielle agreed.
The three of them shook their heads sadly until their grief was assuaged. Then Lawrence turned to Tilda and said, “I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Lawrence White.”
“Tilda Harper,” she replied.
“Tilda is an industry reporter too,” Gabrielle said. “She interviewed us for Entertain Me!”
“Is that right?” Lawrence said. “That’s an excellent publication.”
“I just freelance for them,” Tilda said.
“Still, you must know Nicole Webber.”
“I’m afraid I must,” Tilda agreed.
He blinked, as if trying to figure out how to respond, then apparently decided to move on. “I’m always impressed by how current Entertain Me! is, what with being published in Boston.”
Tilda bristled. “Boston is the Hub of the Universe.” When he blinked again, she added, “It’s Boston’s nickname, the Hub City. Supposedly it’s the hub of the universe.”
“Interesting,” he lied politely.
“Don’t be such a snob, Lawrence,” Gabrielle said, swatting him playfully. “Gwendolyn and I are going to be in Boston ourselves in a couple of weeks. We’re speaking at a conference.”
“Maybe you could cover it, Tilda,” Gwendolyn said.
“I’ll see if one of my editors is interested,” Tilda said, but she doubted anybody who paid actual money would be. She knew that the “conference” was in fact the Beantown Collectibles Extravaganza, and the twins were only two of the slate of cult actors, costumed wrestlers, and former Playboy pinups who would be hawking autographs and photo ops to willing fans. However, since she frequently attended that kind of event, she added, “Maybe we can get together for drinks while you’re in town.”
Curse of the Kissing Cousins Page 5