by Debra Webb
“It’s so nice to see you,” Rowan said, hoping he’d take the cue and move on.
Jared reached for her hand, gave it a squeeze. “We should have dinner sometime. It would be very nice to converse with someone equally intellectually interesting. It’s quite a challenge in this small town.”
Somehow Rowan managed to keep the smile on her lips but she refused to say a word and chance him considering her response an agreement. What an arrogant man!
When he’d finally melded into the crowd of visitors, she wandered into the parlor and took her position. Within the next half hour the room filled to capacity. The overflow stood in small groups in the corridor, chatting, while some huddled together in the lobby, but all eventually made their way through the parlor and shared their condolences with the family.
A few minutes before visitation was scheduled to end, the crowd remained good-sized, at least forty or forty-five guests. Mr. Whitt had operated Whitt’s Barber Shop for forty years. Everyone in and around Winchester knew him. She imagined there would be a full chapel tomorrow for his service and a large crowd at Franklin Memorial Gardens for the burial. She would need to go over the instructions with the pallbearers ahead of time. She’d arranged a police escort for the procession. Charlotte Kinsley, a part-time funeral assistant, would be taking care of the music and overseeing the loading of the flowers. Herman would be filling in for Woody.
A man walked into the parlor and made his way up the center aisle to the receiving line at the casket. Rowan might not have paid attention to him as he passed her position near the door except for his aftershave. There was something familiar about it. Not that his scent was relevant. Most brands of aftershave could be purchased and worn by anyone. He stood at the open casket for a moment, his head bowed in silent reflection, and then he nodded to the family and moved away, taking a position on the other side of the room. His attention came to rest on Rowan.
Rowan looked away, and focused on the family. Several minutes later she still felt the man watching her. She mulled over his physical appearance. Black hair peppered with gray. He was medium height, with broad shoulders. Maybe sixty-five. Unlike most of those who had paid their respects to Mr. Whitt tonight, this man’s suit was not an off-the-rack mass-produced label. She reminded herself she had not lived in Winchester in twenty-one years. He could be a new resident. Maybe he had known her father and was considering walking over and speaking to Rowan. Either way, this certainly wasn’t the first time she had been the object of curious stares since her return to Winchester. The DuPont girls had always been objects of curiosity. Whatever else Rowan had done, growing up in a funeral home guaranteed labels like odd and strange.
Worst-case scenario, he could be an investigative reporter from any of the larger media outlets. God knew she had endured more than her share in the past two months. The media was determined to paint her as some sort of accessory or coconspirator in Julian’s handiwork rather than the victim she was.
Victim. Fury tightened in her belly. She hated Julian for what he’d done. Hated every minute of every hour she’d spent with him...hated that she had trusted him so completely. Foremost, she despised that she had even once looked up to him in a fatherly way.
The minutes passed and the stranger stayed right where he was and continued watching her almost as if he wanted her to recognize he was doing so.
Had the task force decided to send in someone new to make sure she was not in contact with Julian? For the first few weeks after her return to Winchester, an FBI agent had followed her around. Eventually, he’d stopped appearing around every corner. Of course that didn’t mean he or another one wouldn’t show up again.
She looked away. Julian had stolen her father and left a black mark on the career she had worked so hard to build. He had torn her apart, personally and professionally.
If it took the rest of her life, she intended to see that he paid for his depraved crimes.
* * *
Ten minutes before visitation was scheduled to end, Rowan moved up the aisle and sat down near Mr. Whitt’s son, Lance, another barber who would be taking over the family business. Most of the family was seated now, weary of the production of the receiving line. Mrs. Whitt sat in the front row with her sister.
“I just wanted to let you know that we have about ten minutes left.” Rowan patted Lance on the arm. “If you need longer, let me know.”
He tried to smile, couldn’t quite manage the feat. “We’ll be ready to go.” He glanced at his wife, who sat on the other end of the pew. “The babies are asleep, and the last thing we want to do is have them wake up and start crying.”
Lance was taking his father’s death particularly hard. The two had worked together every day since Lance graduated high school. Now he had to go back into that barbershop and work without the man who had taught him everything he needed to know about good barbering. He had told Rowan his father’s life story when he made the funeral arrangements. His mother had been far too distraught.
“The most difficult thing about coming back to Winchester,” Rowan said quietly, “was knowing my father wouldn’t be here. Walking into this house, taking up the work that he taught me as a child—it was really challenging those first couple of weeks.” He turned to her and she smiled. “But it gets easier, I promise.”
He nodded. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind. I know customers are expecting me back by Friday and I don’t want to let them down.”
“I remind myself,” she said, “that this is what my father wanted, and that gives me great comfort.”
Lance actually smiled then. “My dad always said he was building a future for me and my kids.” He shrugged. “And he did. I can’t let him down. Not after all his hard work.”
“Exactly.” Rowan gave his arm another pat and stood. “Whenever you’re ready.”
As she moved back toward the door, she felt the stranger’s gaze on her again. He’d no doubt been watching while she spoke to Lance Whitt. She wanted to know who he was and why he continued to stare at her. His relentless stare made her uneasy. But she wouldn’t confront him with the family still gathered. If he lingered as they began to leave, she would question him then.
By quarter to nine, the family had moved to the lobby and was making the final preparations to go. Thank goodness Jared Knowles had received a call and hurried away. She made a mental note to avoid the man in the future. Mrs. Whitt had thanked Rowan repeatedly for the great job she did readying her husband. Rowan reminded Lance that the family could arrive an hour before tomorrow’s funeral to spend some private time with Mr. Whitt.
The stranger hung back, lingering in the fringes of the close family members. While Rowan had Lance off to one side, she asked, “Is that man in the charcoal suit a member of your family or just a close friend?”
He glanced at the man who watched without turning away. “No, ma’am. I don’t know him.”
“Maybe he was one of your father’s customers.”
Lance shook his head. “I’ve never seen him before. Would you like me to stay until he leaves?”
Rowan smiled. “That’s very kind of you, but you should go on. Chief Brannigan will be here in a few minutes. I’m sure I’ll be fine until then.”
Lance urged her to reconsider, but she insisted he go on with his family. As he walked out and she prepared to confront the man, a woman walked through the entrance and directly toward Rowan.
Rowan resisted the urge to tell her that the funeral home was closing. She wanted to question this man and close up for the night, but deep down she was grateful for the buffer. When she would have greeted the woman, she abruptly recognized her.
Audrey Anderson from the Gazette, Winchester’s newspaper.
The idea that some breaking news had occurred during the visitation was Rowan’s first thought. Maybe Billy wouldn’t make it at nine, after all. She couldn’t help wondering if there was an upd
ate about the bones or maybe if Billy had found Mrs. Phillips’s killer.
“Rowan.” Audrey glanced at the man loitering a dozen or so feet away before settling her full attention on Rowan.
“Audrey.” Rowan gave her a nod and a polite smile.
Three years younger, she hadn’t been friends with Rowan in school. In fact, Rowan only knew her because of the friendship of their fathers, and that had been a very long time ago. She remembered Audrey’s father’s death, and she had wondered at the time what she would do if she lost her father, since he was all she’d had left by then.
Now she knew.
The Anderson name had been big news a couple of months ago. The discovery of decades-old remains in the basement of the newspaper building had made national headlines. With her find at the lake today, Rowan couldn’t help wondering how many other bodies were hidden around Winchester. Strange how such a small town could have people go missing and no one notice. She supposed the bones she had found this morning would likely prove to be an outsider’s just as those found in the newspaper basement had been.
“Do you have a couple of minutes to talk?”
Rowan instinctively braced. “What’s this about? Business or a personal matter?”
If Audrey had questions about Geneva Phillips or the bones Rowan had stumbled upon, she couldn’t help her.
“Actually, it’s about you.”
Ah, Rowan got it now. Audrey wanted an exclusive about the woman—the psychiatrist who had worked with Metro Nashville PD for more than six years—who hadn’t recognized a serial killer when she saw one. Not just any serial killer, mind you, but the serial killer who had been her mentor and friend for years. The same one who had murdered her father and over a hundred other people.
“I’m afraid I don’t have time for an interview tonight, Audrey.” She shook her head, hoped her expression showed some level of regret no matter that she felt none. “I have to attend to Mr. Whitt and close the funeral home for the night. Perhaps another time.”
“Actually—” she glanced again at the man determined to linger “—I don’t think this can wait, Rowan. Otherwise, I would gladly schedule something for the morning.”
So maybe there was some sort of news Rowan had missed. “Give me a moment,” she said.
Rowan had reached the end of her patience with this guy watching every move she made. She marched over to him, crossed her arms over her chest and looked him straight in the eyes. “May I help you, sir?”
He shifted his jacket. Rowan tensed but then she saw the badge clipped to his belt. “I’m Detective Cash Barton, ma’am, Los Angeles PD. I need to ask you a few questions.”
First, Rowan had no idea why Los Angeles PD would want to ask her anything. The vague notion that Julian had likely murdered someone there filtered through her mind. He had victims all over the country. Second, badges could be purchased on the internet, and this man’s wardrobe suggested he did not live on a cop’s salary. “Let’s see your official ID, Detective Barton.”
He pulled out his credentials case and flipped it open for her to view.
“Would you remove it from the case, please?”
With an impatient sigh, he removed the identification from the case and handed it to her. Rowan examined it carefully and then passed it back to him.
Satisfied, she asked, “How can I help you, Detective?”
Barton glanced at Audrey. “We need to speak privately, ma’am.”
Rowan nodded. “Well, make yourself comfortable.” She gestured to the two sofas facing each other with a coffee table in between. “Have a cup of coffee—you’ll find it in the lounge around the corner—and I’ll be right with you.”
With that she turned on her heel and walked back to where Audrey waited. “You don’t mind if I prepare Mr. Whitt for refrigeration while we talk?”
Audrey’s face visibly paled. “Whatever works for you.”
They walked back to Parlor Three. Rowan reached beneath Mr. Whitt’s shoulders and lowered the portion of the casket bed that allowed his head and upper torso to be slightly elevated during the visitation. She would prepare his body in the casket in the same manner for the funeral tomorrow. The family had requested a casket with this feature. Once he was lying flat, she adjusted the small flowers left in the casket by the grandchildren and closed the full-length lid. Most families requested only a half viewing casket, but some, like the Whitts, wanted a full view.
Audrey didn’t speak until Rowan had closed the lid. She seemed to release the breath she’d been holding. “I heard about the bones you discovered out by the lake.”
Rowan hoped the conversation stayed focused on the present and not the recent past. “I’m afraid you’ll have to speak to Chief Brannigan about that, Audrey. I really can’t discuss anything about what I did or did not find.”
She nodded. “I know. But what I wanted to ask you is why you were at that particular spot this morning. Do you still visit the place where Raven’s body was found?”
Rowan stared at her for a long moment. Then she lifted the skirt and released the brakes of the cart supporting the casket. “Walk with me.”
The flowers could wait, but she needed to get Mr. Whitt into refrigeration. Bodies deteriorated rapidly at room temperature—even a chilly room temperature—despite the chemicals involved in the embalming process. Some things were inevitable and decomposition was one of them.
Audrey followed along, opening the side door marked Staff Only that led into a private corridor. At the elevator, Rowan said, “Push the down button, please.”
Although the celebrated reporter hesitated, she did as Rowan asked. Once they were loaded onto the elevator with Mr. Whitt, the car bumped into movement, sliding slowly downward until it bounced to a stop at the basement level. Rowan pushed the cart past the dark mortuary room and toward the refrigeration unit. Audrey opened the door and Rowan rolled Mr. Whitt inside. The newspaperwoman, on the other hand, waited in the corridor.
When Rowan closed up the refrigeration unit, Audrey said, “Can we talk upstairs?”
Rowan smiled, couldn’t help herself. “Certainly.”
This time they climbed the stairs. Audrey seemed inordinately relieved they didn’t take the cargo elevator made especially for transporting caskets.
Rowan snagged the flatbed cart en route back to the parlor. The cart was for moving the flowers from one location to another or to the van for transporting to the cemetery. It was long and flat, the loading surface only a few inches off the floor, and yet the handle for maneuvering it stood at waist level. This cart made life considerably easier. Rowan remembered well moving flowers from the parlors to the walk-in coolers and back again. The task had been assigned to her and her sister from the time they were ten years old.
Rowan had loaded the most delicate flower arrangements onto the cart before she spoke. “I haven’t been back to that place since I was eighteen.” She paused in her work. “When I was a teenager I went fairly often.” She didn’t know why she felt compelled to share that information with this woman, but she did anyway. “We were identical twins. I felt it was my obligation to visit her there and at the cemetery.”
Audrey picked up an arrangement. “Have you been to the cemetery?”
“That one can stay,” Rowan said, nodding to the arrangement Audrey held, then pointing to another. “That one should go.”
Audrey placed the arrangement back where it had been and reached for the one Rowan had indicated.
“I visited her when we laid my father to rest.”
When Rowan prepared to push the cart out of the room, Audrey asked, “There’s just one more question I wanted to ask.”
Took her long enough to get to the point of her visit. Rowan doubted her showing up tonight had anything to do with when or how often she visited her dead sister.
Rowan shrugged. “Ask away. I reserve the
right not to answer if I don’t feel comfortable doing so.”
Audrey turned her hands up. “Fair enough. Do you think the bones you discovered have anything to do with your sister’s death?”
The bold statement was the last thing Rowan would have considered the ambitious reporter might ask. It was a concept that, frankly, had not crossed her mind. She’d been too busy all afternoon and evening to ponder the find. She had not considered any sort of connection.
“No.” She shook her head. “My sister drowned a good distance from where her body was discovered tangled in those branches. I can’t see how one would have had anything to do with the other. In fact, I’m not sure they know how or when those bones came to be in that particular spot as of yet.”
Audrey canted her head and studied Rowan a moment. “Quite the coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”
Before she could respond, the detective from Los Angeles walked in. “I really need to speak to you, Dr. DuPont.”
Rowan looked to Audrey. “I’m sorry. I honestly can’t answer that question since I have no idea of the circumstances involved.”
Audrey nodded. “Very well. If you want to talk about things, call me. I have a number of handy resources. I’d like to make sure this story gets reported properly. The truth is important to me, Rowan. I’ll do the story right whether anyone else does or not.”
“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
When Audrey had left the room, Rowan turned to Barton. “So, how can I help you, Detective?”
“I’d like to talk to you about the remains you found.”
Big surprise. Apparently the whole world now knew about the bones. Although she had no idea why a detective from Los Angeles would be involved. “As I told Ms. Anderson, that’s a subject you’ll need to discuss with Chief Brannigan.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “He should be here any minute. I’m certain he can address any questions you have.”