The comments didn’t stop, but they did lower in volume.
“You can leave all your personal effects with Martinez here,” Hunt told me. “That includes your jewelry and anything in your pockets.”
Martinez looked bored. I supposed it was better than looking too interested in my possessions. My bag was in Connor’s car, so there wasn’t much. My phone, candy cane earrings, a king-size Caramello wrapper, and a clump of lint. Martinez scrawled each item on a receipt.
“I don’t need those back,” I said, pointing at the wrapper and lint.
“We’ll return them to you, ma’am. Don’t want any misunderstandings later.”
Fabulous.
Hunt patted me down with methodical indifference, and I tried to convince myself it was like going to the doctor. Or a full-body masseuse. He gave a nod to Martinez. Surprise, surprise, I didn’t have any weapons hidden on my person.
“Fill in your details here, check over the list of your personal effects, then sign your name at the bottom.”
I suppressed a sigh and leaned over the form. In all the stories you hear about prison, nobody tells you about the paperwork.
Maybe I was supposed to be flattered they trusted me to wield something as dangerous as a pen.
When I was done, Hunt prodded me toward the cell block. I suspected he’d usually hand the mundane business of processing a perp to somebody else. Which must mean he was relishing throwing my ass in jail too much to give it up.
It was then I realized that while the dividing walls between the cells were solid brick, each cell was set up for two. Adrenaline flowed through my veins. What type of criminal would I be sharing with? A drug dealer? A murderer? McCarthy?
Please don’t let it be McCarthy.
Hunt shoved me inside the nearest cell and locked it behind me. “Sleep tight, Avery.”
All I could tell about my cellmate was that they were large and fast asleep. They were covered head to toe in a gray blanket, but I knew the fast asleep thing by the guttural snores bouncing off the brick walls.
At least it couldn’t be McCarthy. She was tiny and too much of a control freak to snore.
Grateful to postpone facing them, whoever they were, I went to the unoccupied bunk and curled up on it, feeling vulnerable and exposed. Bunk was a generous term for the fixed metal platform with a gym mat on top. I pulled the scratchy blanket over me and wondered how the hell it had come to this.
I’d only been trying to help. And for what? Our most promising theory was a dead end, so my inside knowledge had done nothing but lead us on a wild goose chase. Or a wild sociopath chase. We hadn’t even figured out what Earnest had been planning to expose.
A few more tears leaked out, and I brushed them away. His funeral was tomorrow morning. Would Hunt allow me to go? Mrs. Dunst wouldn’t understand if I was a no-show, and while I hated feeling like a fraud, I hated the idea of her going without moral support even more.
My pity party wasn’t helping anyone. I closed my eyes against the harsh, unfeeling glare of the fluorescent lights and tried to escape in sleep.
19
Two hours into my attempt at sleep, the on-duty police officer rapped on the bars. “Avery? You missed the dinner round, but you can have a bottle of water if you want it.”
I got up, mostly to stretch out my stiff limbs, and took the water. Would I get food, too, if I said I was a diabetic? The officer moved on before I decided whether it was worth the risk of being caught out.
There was a piece of paper stuck to the bottom of the bottle. I flipped it upside down.
Don’t worry. I’ll get you out.
Connor. It must be. I felt a rush of gratitude toward him. I had no idea how he’d managed to get the note to me, but the gesture meant a lot. And surely if he could orchestrate the note, he could arrange my freedom too.
I crawled back onto the gym mat and, with the piece of paper clutched in my hand, found a piece of hope to clutch in my heart.
The note helped me get through the next eight hours, but sleep was far from the escape I was hoping for. On the bright side, pretending to doze did stop me having to talk to my cellmate when she eventually stopped snoring.
Unfortunately, ten hours into my incarceration, I was busting for the toilet. Even more unfortunate, the toilet was affixed to the wall between our bunks, with no privacy at all.
Except for a one-night stand that convinced me never to do another one-night stand, my doodah hadn’t been bared in front of anyone since my ex-husband. I wasn’t keen on baring it now.
But not even Connor could save me from my bladder.
When I couldn’t hold on any longer, my cellmate took my emergence from the itchy blanket as an invitation to talk. She was big and black and beautiful and sat on her bunk like it was a sofa in the finest luxury hotel. “Hell, girl, what’re you looking so sad for?”
I finished my business and returned to my bunk. I didn’t want to talk about it.
“Did your man beat you? You ’bout to do hard time? Your friend got shot? What?”
When she put it that way, maybe my issues weren’t so bad. “I’m worried I’ll miss a funeral,” I told her. It was true, and less embarrassing than admitting I was this shaken after ten hours in lockup.
She sucked her bottom lip in sympathy. “You got no one to bail you?”
I knew Connor was working to get me out, but the promise was wearing a tad thin. Hunt must be blocking his attempts somehow. “I’m not sure,” I said.
I’d been trying to keep my eyes off the clock since it struck seven thirty, but I looked at it now. Two and half hours until Earnest’s funeral.
A new officer was on duty this morning. She passed out breakfast to much jeering and griping by my jail mates. On the menu were a plastic bowl of plain grits, (with a plastic spoon, of course), an apple, and a bottle of water. I was starving after skipping dinner last night, so I spooned the first of the lukewarm grits into my mouth with gusto.
My cellmate brought her rations over and sat next to me on my bunk. I shifted over to make room. She sure was friendly.
Abruptly the jagged end of her snapped-off spoon was pressing into my jugular.
Thoughts rushed through my head. The officer was out of sight. I’d miss Earnest’s funeral. I’d need my own funeral. My parents would learn I died in prison. Just before Christmas.
“Hand over your breakfast, real nice like, and no one’ll get hurt. A skinny bitch like you don’t need it.”
I passed the apple and grits to her gingerly.
“That’s right.” The spoon stabbed a little deeper. “And if anyone asks, you weren’t hungry.”
“Got it,” I squeaked. I was too scared to nod.
The spoon left my neck, and she went back over to her bunk.
I sipped my water in an attempt to quiet my gurgling stomach and avoided so much as looking in her direction. There was no note on this one, and it was hard not to give in to my despair. I had no idea how this jail thing worked. All I knew was I wanted out.
“Rough night, huh?” Commander Hunt stood behind the barred door, looking more pleased than I’d ever seen him. Like the cowboy who’d roped the steer only to find out it was his neighbor’s prized bull that he’d been coveting for a month.
I pushed myself off the bunk, trying not to grimace at the aching stiffness in my muscles or the picture I must’ve made with my mascara-streaked cheeks and inevitable zombie hairdo.
“Quite cozy, actually,” I said before remembering that pissing him off might not be in my best interest.
His smirk told me he didn’t believe me. “Ah well, if you’d like to stay awhile longer, I have some paperwork to do.”
I gripped the bars in front of him. “No. Please. I’ve learned my lesson.”
I could see he didn’t believe that either.
“I have to be there for Earnest’s funeral. For Mrs. Dunst’s sake.”
His face lost all its humor. “That’s the sole reason I’m letting you out right now
.” He took his time unlocking the cell. “Don’t you dare forget it.”
“Yes, sir,” I said meekly. I felt meek. If he told me that I had to click my heels together three times and wish to go home before he’d let me out, I would’ve done it without question.
I was not cut out to be a criminal.
I didn’t have the balls for it. Or the body for it. I felt every one of my twenty-nine years, and the crick in my neck was so bad I couldn’t turn my head. At least it wasn’t spouting blood, compliments of my friendly cellmate.
Connor was waiting out front to drive me home. It was just as well. I would’ve had a great deal of trouble checking my blind spot. He strode up to me and wrapped me in his arms, enveloping me in his clean, fresh scent and calm, competent strength. “I’ve made sure Hunt won’t be pressing any charges, but I’m so sorry I didn’t get you out sooner,” he murmured.
His concern confirmed my fear that I looked as bad as I expected.
He released me and handed over an espresso and a Danish pastry, which I sorely needed. The pastry was a lot better than the grits I’d almost died for, and the coffee was even more amazing. He opened the car door for me and lapsed into silence, giving me space. I needed that too. I felt drained and shell-shocked and in no way strong enough to face Earnest’s funeral.
With LA traffic the way it was, Hunt had barely given me time to shower and change before getting to the church. But the shower was nonnegotiable. Preferably a hot, long one. Maybe I could forgo makeup since I’d probably cry it off anyway, and Earnest had never cared whether I’d worn it.
I’d forgotten Oliver, Etta, Aunt Alice, and Henrietta were coming to the funeral until I walked inside and found them waiting for me.
“Where have you been?”
“Are you okay?”
“Did you spend the night at Connor’s again?”
“You better get ready fast; we need to leave in fifteen minutes!”
Without answering any of them, I grabbed a muffin and headed for the shower.
My neck, at least, felt better after the shower. We headed to the church in two cars. I couldn’t bear the idea of being squished in with everyone, so I made the excuse that I might end up staying late or going to Mrs. Dunst’s afterward. Oliver took Henrietta and Aunt Alice. Etta came with me. Perhaps sensing the same thing as Connor, she stayed quiet for the drive. LA offered a weak drizzle of rain for the occasion, so we listened to the swoosh of the window wipers and the sounds of traffic.
I was wearing the navy dress I’d worn to my first Taste Society interview, waterproof mascara, and a heavy heart. The dress only fit me thanks to hardly eating yesterday.
I’d known there was a chance we would bury Earnest before we caught his killer. But I hadn’t expected us to be back to square one. Even though working on the case had gotten me an overnight stay in jail, I couldn’t help but think about it. This time, however, I wouldn’t make the mistake of taking action.
If not for the whistle-blowing thing, why would someone want to kill sweet, gentle, do-gooder Earnest? There were so few people who’d had anything to do with him in person over the past three years.
Maybe I could examine everyone’s faces during the service and at the cemetery. Didn’t killers tend to show up at their victim’s funerals? To gloat? Even if that was a myth perpetuated by television dramas, it was a statistical probability that the killer knew Earnest personally, which meant they might have to attend for appearance’s sake. Besides, as much as I was sure he’d like to, Hunt couldn’t punish me for looking at people.
As we pulled up to the church, I realized that studying everybody’s expressions would be easier said than done. The parking lot was already packed to capacity, and cars lined the street. On the one hand, I was glad Mrs. Dunst might see how many lives Earnest had impacted. On the other, the astronomical amount of people who’d shown up meant I’d be lucky to get standing room in the church, let alone be able to search faces.
My group squeezed into the back, unable to avoid brushing against the other mourners. It was stuffy, like Earnest’s apartment, but the smell was a dizzying cocktail of perfume, flowers, and body odor rather than stale junk food. I missed the stale junk food scent. And the quiet of just the two of us. Had my funeral group been a few minutes later, we wouldn’t have even fit inside the building.
I wanted to find Mrs. Dunst, but it would be difficult to get to her through the crowd and the service was already starting. Beyond cursing Hunt for making me so late, all I could do was hope she had friends by her side.
The minister welcomed us and said a few brief words before handing over the microphone. Jay followed with a beautiful, heartfelt eulogy. He told the story of Earnest’s life, painting a vivid picture of the man I’d never had the chance to know, the happy, carefree youth, and finishing with the man he’d become: stronger and purer for having been broken. It had everyone choking up, Jay included. Even Aunt Alice dabbed at a few tears for this man she’d never met.
Judging by my own tissue, my waterproof mascara wasn’t living up to its name. All my remaining anger at Jay had melted away with it.
Mrs. Dunst and I had chosen to have a closed casket, reasoning that Earnest would’ve been uncomfortable with everyone looking at him. So at the end of the service, the few people lucky enough to have gotten seats stood up to sing “The Lord is My Shepherd,” and then the coffin bearers carried Earnest down the aisle—to the glorious menace of the Star Wars “Imperial March.” I found myself laughing and crying at the same time. Earnest would’ve loved it.
The church emptied rapidly as everyone made their way to the cemetery. I sought out Mrs. Dunst and gave her a hug. “Sorry I couldn’t find you earlier.”
“It’s fine, darling. I’m just glad you’re here. And who is this?”
My tagalong group was lingering behind me, so I made introductions, and we walked outside together. Somehow the momentary joy I’d felt was sucked away by the cold wind, leaving me even more fragile than before. We crossed the parking lot and entered the cemetery, the earth soft under our feet from the drizzle. My heels sank into it, and I noticed hundreds of similar holes left by other guests.
As the minister closed with a few final words and the casket was lowered into the ground, I stood beside Mrs. Dunst and held her hand. Although we’d known Earnest was gone for almost a week now, watching the casket disappear below the line of fresh-cut earth brought a sense of painful finality. Her grip was tight in mine.
People made their way toward us to offer condolences. Most of them I didn’t recognize. Most of them Mrs. Dunst didn’t recognize either, seeing as they were fans of BusiLeaks who had come to show their support. None of them had “murderer” written on their faces.
Dr. Kelly came forward and introduced herself to Mrs. Dunst. She’d swapped her red suit jacket for a black one, and she clasped my hand too. I’d filled Mrs. Dunst in about her and Earnest’s secret progress, so there wasn’t much to say.
“I’m very sorry to meet you under these tragic circumstances. Earnest was a very strong person, stronger than most, and he learned that from you.”
Her expression was serene, of course.
I had my doubts about Kelly, but probably only because she was a shrink.
Mr. Bradley, the landlord, was there too and all of Earnest’s neighbors. I was coming back from telling my own support team to go home without me when Humphrey headed my way. His face was strained and his broad shoulders weighed down even more than usual, overly so considering he didn’t know Earnest well. Then I noticed the old woman next to him.
She leaned heavily on his arm and smacked him for going too fast and then too slow as they covered the last ten yards. When they stopped, she drew herself up to her full height of five ten, standing awfully steady for someone who’d been leaning so much on Humphrey a moment ago, and sized me up like I was a flasher’s shriveled trouser snake.
“Isobel, this is my mother, Mrs. Fierro.”
This was the mother he got u
p at all hours for? I could see the resemblance in their large, heavyset frames and light brown eyes, but I still found it hard to believe. Did she have his one true love locked in her basement or something to keep him obedient?
“So you’re the girlfriend,” she said. “Next time, organize seating for the seniors. I have a bad knee, and standing in this freezing cemetery makes it worse, you know.”
I clenched my jaw to stop it from dropping. Next time?
Humphrey’s face had grown even more pained. “Sorry.” He leaned in and spoke softly. “She goes to a lot of funerals these days, and it’s made her… blasé.”
Mrs. Fierro turned her glower onto him.
“I wanted to offer our condolences,” he said, “and also, if you need a hand moving stuff out of the apartment, knock on my door. I’d be happy to help.”
“Thank you. That’s very kind.”
Mrs. Fierro rolled her eyes and then grabbed his arm to be escorted away.
Once again, it put my jail time into perspective. If I had a mother like her, I might have counted it as a relief.
20
After walking Mrs. Dunst back to her car after the funeral, I went straight home and slept on my wonderfully comfortable bed with Meow for three blissful hours. When I woke up, I decided after days of traumatic events, it was time to switch off from it all and try to restore my inner balance.
For me that meant staying home, baking delicious food, and eating it.
Happily, the apartment was empty of Oliver and guests. I baked a triple batch of chocolate-chip-and-toffee cookies to share between said guests and Mrs. Dunst. Then I made a double batch of gingerbread men for the hell of it since Christmas was just three and a half more days away. Meow kept me company by stalking cockroaches under the fridge.
She would be my only company on Christmas too. Oliver was flying to England to see his family. Aunt Alice and Henrietta would be leaving soon. Or so I prayed. And Etta had a hot date lined up. If I’d had the money for overpriced Christmas tickets, I would’ve flown home to spend the holiday with my parents and Lily in a heartbeat. Instead, I’d have to make do with a Skype call.
The Hunger Pains (An Eat, Pray, Die Humorous Mystery Book 2) Page 17