I glanced out the window in time to see Duncan’s car pull up in the drive. I raced back upstairs and slammed the door to my room shut. I didn’t want to speak with him just then, not dressed in my pyjamas, knowing what I had to do.
This is already turning out to be a fabulous day.
I debated texting Allan and Bianca to tell them I wasn’t going to attend the funeral after all. I didn’t want to hear Eric’s friends and family talk about how wonderful and inspiring he was, when I knew the truth. Spending the day in bed or slumped over a pint at Tir Na Nog seemed preferable to sitting down in that marquee surrounded by the cloying scent of flowers and trying to pretend I had never met this Eric person before in my life.
But despite the fact that I was never speaking to Eric again, I was still curious about certain aspects of his murder … and his life. I wanted to see if any interesting characters showed up, especially the people from the Ghost Symphony fan forum. I needed to ask Allan about the violin. And besides, the funeral was being held in the house. I didn’t exactly have anywhere else to go.
So I pulled on a black wiggle skirt and tailored jacket, pinned my hair back in a severe style, took a deep, steadying breath, and went downstairs to face the music.
By the time I came downstairs, the house was swarming with people. Cindy and Damon were hovering outside the kitchen, VIP lanyards dangling around their necks, trying to get the catering staff to hand them out some hot coffee. Duncan held court in the entrance hall, directing the ushers and the priest and the servers and the catering staff and yelling at the beefy dude about the flower placement. He was wearing a sombre black suit, but I noticed that his tie had a pattern of jaunty skull and crossbones. A nod to Eric, no doubt. Duncan may have been a thief, but he wasn’t half bad.
He saw me standing on the staircase and rushed over, kissing each of my cheeks with wet lips. I shuddered against his touch, but tried to hide it by pulling my jacket around me and pretending I had a chill.
“Elinor, you look lovely.” Duncan said. “I’m so sorry for the intrusion today, but it was so important for Alice to have her final farewell in this house.”
“It’s OK, really.” I forced a smile. “After spending all this time here, I’m starting to feel as if I knew Alice, and her son. It will be nice to learn a little more about her life.”
“I am sure you will discover some interesting things,” Duncan grinned, his beady eyes flicking nervously around. “She was quite a special lady.”
“She certainly seems to be. Will you be doing a eulogy today?”
“I certainly will,” Duncan patted his jacket pocket. “I’ve got it all written down. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and attend to the sound crew.” He scampered toward the door, heaving his elderly frame out of it so fast that he nearly collided with Allan, who had chosen that moment to show up.
“Sorry! sorry!” Duncan muttered, rushing off.
“Who was that?” Allan came up and clasped my hand. He was looking gorgeous, if a little strangely attired for a funeral, in tight black jeans, a leather belt with some rather painful-looking spikes extending out of it, and a black vest with ERIC MARSHELL LIVES written across the front in gothic script. His hair was gelled and spiked to perfection, and black eyeliner streaked around his eyes, highlighting their piercing blue. At the kitchen door Cindy whirled around, her eyes bugging out when she saw the white-haired rocker. I couldn’t help but feel a smug sense of satisfaction as Allan’s warm hand slid into mine.
“That’s Duncan. He was a close friend of Eric’s family,” I said.
“Where’s he going in such a hurry?”
“Away from me.” I grinned. “He knows I’ve discovered he’s been siphoning money from Alice’s accounts for the last five years. He’s worried I’m going to call the police before his eulogy.”
“And are you?”
“I haven’t decided yet. I thought I’d play it casual.”
Allan grinned as he leaned in to kiss me. “That’s my girl.”
I folded myself into the kiss, trying to force myself to enjoy the simple sensation of skin touching skin. But my mouth still burned from the memory of Eric’s kiss, and although I wanted nothing more than to forget him, my body didn’t want to comply. Allan pulled away, eyes glinting. He held me at arm’s length and stared at my outfit in shock. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
I looked down at my outfit in confusion. “Of course. It’s a funeral. I was trying to be sombre.”
“You look like you work in a bank.” Allan frowned. “Change into something extravagant. This is Eric Marshell’s funeral we’re talking about. There is going to be a ton of press here. I can’t very well show up with a date who resembles Margaret Thatcher.”
Ouch. That comment stung. But I wasn’t about to disappoint my hot drummer date. I went upstairs and turned out my suitcase, but nothing seemed “extravagant” enough.
Then I spied the shopping bag from Clara’s store sitting in the corner. I’d already worn the black dress to our date the other night, but I still had the red dress …
Do I dare? I pulled the dress out of the bag and laid it across the bed, admiring the way the red fabric shimmered in the light. I ran my fingers over the delicate beading on the corset, my heart beating nervously against my chest as I imagined wearing this decadent gown. It was one thing to see it in the changing rooms at a store, but quite another to try it under the harsh light of day. Did I really think it was an appropriate dress for a funeral?
Why not? Devil’s Advocate Elinor challenged me. This day is going to be hard enough as it is, so you might as well look as fabulous as possible.
Sometimes, Devil’s Advocate Elinor made some very valid points. Decision made, I went into the bathroom, pulled off my clothes, and shimmied into the dress. When I looked in the mirror, I could hardly believe the person staring back was actually me. The red made my eyes sparkle and my skin look luminous. I turned around to admire the corset lacing running along my back, and briefly wished I already had my back tattoo – my arms and shoulders seemed oddly bare compared to Eric and Allan and Bianca, and the corset would show off a tattoo so perfectly.
I swayed this way and that, enjoying the swoosh of the skirt as it swirled around me. Everything was nearly perfect, but not quite. I undid the bun I’d made at the nape of my neck, and brushed my hair out, letting it flow freely across my shoulders. I pulled my glasses off my nose and set them down on the vanity unit—everything would be a little blurry today, but it was worth it to make my eyes stand out. Next, I dabbed on a little mascara and eye shadow, then scrambled around in my toiletry bag to find a small necklace with a red ruby droplet Joel had given me some years ago. Now I was ready for a rock musician’s funeral.
I jumped in fright as something metallic clanged on the attic floor above my head. So Eric was still up there. I wondered how he was coping watching all the madness from the attic windows. No, I shook my head. I don’t care how he’s coping. I don’t care about him at all. I am here to support Allan and have fun with Bianca and Cindy, and that’s it.
I grabbed my bag and fled the room. I peered over the railing and cringed as I saw Allan engaged in conversation with Cindy and Damon. “So are you the new guy Elinor has been hiding up here?” said Cindy, batting her eyelashes and touching Allan’s arm in the way she did at clubs when she wanted someone to buy her a drink or dance with her or take her home for a shag. Allan was flashing her with his sexy smile and Damon was sipping his coffee and looking all Russian and stoic and pissed.
“I’m ready now!” I announced as I started to descend the stairs, hoping to distract Cindy before she said something even more embarrassing.
Allan looked up and he did a double take when he saw me. I held my chin high and glided down the stairs the way debutantes did in movies about the South. The corset held my back straight and my chest out, and the skirts swirled around my legs as I shimmied down the stairs. I felt like a movie star.
“Whoa, Elinor.” Cind
y’s eyes bugged out of her head. “You know it’s a funeral, not a fancy dress party, right?”
I looked down at her outfit—a figure-hugging black dress with a plunging neckline—and said, “It’s also not a burlesque show, but that hasn’t stopped you.”
Cindy looked shocked. Damon sniggered. Allan looked like a kid staring at all the presents under the Christmas tree. I gave a serene smile and continued my descent, my chest bursting with newfound confidence.
Halfway down, something crashed above my head. My foot slipped and I stumbled, my heel catching on the corner of a step. I toppled down the remaining stairs, my dress flouncing out around me as I landed in a crumpled heap at the bottom. My knee hit the wooden balustrade and throbbed in protest.
Thanks Eric. I wanted to shout at the ceiling as my face flushed with red. Thanks for making me look like a fool.
Allan ran over and helped me to my feet. “Are you OK? Did you break something?”
“No. I just … tripped on my hem, I think.” I brushed some salt off the skirt. “Maybe I should change my dress?”
“Are you kidding? You look stunning, Elinor. I have half a mind to carry you back up those stairs to your bedroom right now.”
I blushed. “Oh … um …”
Allan looked around the hall. “I don’t understand, though. It was that crash that startled you. It came from in here, not the kitchen, but I can’t see anything broken or damaged.”
So he’d heard the crash, too. Wonderful. That meant Eric was solid enough that the things he did impacted the real world. That could be a very bad thing—an insane drug-dealer ghost who was already upset and unstable, who could now move and influence things on the day of his own funeral. I really hoped my salt trails worked. “Oh, that wasn’t in here. It’s rats.” I said. “There’s a terrible rat problem in the attic.”
“They must be pretty big rats.”
“Yup.” I dusted some more salt off the sole of my pump. The line I’d placed at the bottom of the stairs was now smudged and broken. I’d have to replace it as soon as I could, but I obviously couldn’t do that with everyone watching. So instead I looped my arm through Allan’s, and gestured toward the hallway leading out to the back porch. “Let’s go.”
Allan dropped a VIP lanyard around my neck, then took my arm and escorted me outside, and Cindy and Damon followed close behind. I did a double take as I saw what was out there. The gardeners had transformed the back garden, getting rid of all the choking weeds and trimming the bushes and scrubbing clean the statuary. The garden looked every bit a feature on Great British Gardens—complete with neat edges, low walls, and arches bedecked with roses. The large white marquee covered most of the manicured lawn, strung with fairy lights and skull-shaped balloons and cascading flower arrangements. Inside were rows and rows of seats, many closed off with velvet ropes. Around the outside was a metal barrier, like you’d have at an outdoor concert, and security guards wandering behind it barking orders into walkie-talkies. A lighting crew swung across the stage rig, testing spotlights, and a guitar tech wandered around in circles on the stage, strumming an awkward guitar tune and yelling “check!” into the microphone every time he went past. There were food carts and a portable bar lined up outside. It looked more like a mini outdoor festival than a funeral.
As I walked out on the back porch, I caught a glimpse of a dirty red scooter parked up beside the bushes. I sighed. “Excuse me, I’ll have to get Duncan to talk to the catering staff. It looks like one of them parked this thing here where everyone coming out to the marquee can see it.”
“Actually, that’s mine.” Allan said. “I thought it would be out of the way back here. I’ll move it.”
I snorted back a giggle. “That’s what you drive? A little scooter?”
“Don’t laugh,” he said, patting the seat. “I get great mileage in this little beast.”
“Seriously, you drive that?” This was not the vehicle I imagined this badass driving. “Don’t you need a real car for going to the shops or transporting your drums or stashing dead bodies and things?”
“Dead bodies?” Allan’s voice rose sharply. “Is that some sort of joke?”
“No,” I said quickly, realising what I’d said. Dammit, how insensitive can I be? “I mean, it wasn’t funny. I’m sorry—”
“It’s fine.” Allan turned away. “I’m just in a weird place today, you know?”
I rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine, really.” He took a deep breath, and turned around to face me, his familiar grin back once more. “And for your information, I do have a car. A little Lotus. It’s currently in the workshop.”
“Allan, are you going to be OK today?” I held his hand up. It trembled slightly. “You don’t look great. In fact, you look a bit ill. If this is too much for you, we don’t have to stay. We can go inside and—”
“No way,” Allan shook his head vehemently. The piercings in his face made clanging noises as they struck each other. “The band and I prepared something really special for today. This is the last opportunity I have to tell Eric what he means to me. And besides,” Allan lifted up the bottom of his vest, and revealed a small flask strapped into a secret compartment on his belt. He pulled off the cap and took a swig. “I’ve come prepared. A little liquid courage will see me through.”
I shifted nervously. “I have to ask you something, and it’s a little uncomfortable, because of where we are and how you’re feeling, but I have to get it off my chest.” Allan looked at me, his smile frozen on his face. I hurried on, before I lost my nerve. ”I saw this listing on eBay the other night for Tristan, Eric’s second violin. You told me you had that instrument, so I just wondered what was going on?”
“Oh,” Allan looked a bit uncomfortable himself. He stared at his feet as he spoke softly. “The thing is—and please don’t let anyone else know—I’m sort of in a tight spot right now, financially speaking. I was sort of counting on the advance for the new album, but with Eric gone, that won’t be coming out, so … I was only going to sell Tristan, because I’ll get Isolde whenever we find her. I’m sorry, Elinor, I know it must seem callous of me, but I honestly had no other choice.”
“I wish you’d said something,” I said, feeling a wave of sympathy for him. It must’ve been a tough decision to make, selling Eric’s violin like that. Allan was going through a lot right now.
“Yeah, well.” Allan shrugged, taking another swig from the flask. “A man’s got to fight his own battles, you know. I have only myself to blame.”
Allan offered the flask to me, but I shook my head. I was feeling nervous enough as it was. As Allan was pulling his top back down, a large crowd of people surrounded us. Camera flashes began to go off in my face. I lost Cindy and Damon in the press of the crowd. I sought Allan’s arm for reassurance, but a large TV camera knocked me off balance, and I fell against him instead. He cried out as my elbow caught him in the ribs.
No. I felt my face darkening. I don’t want to be on TV looking like this. If Clyde or any of the other lawyers saw me in this dress, they’d never take me seriously again. It had been hard enough keeping my job after the mess with Joel’s funeral. I tried to hide behind Allan, but he grabbed my wrist and pulled me forward.
“Allan, is this your new girlfriend?” A reporter thrust a tape recorder into Allan’s face. He grinned and pulled me closer to him, squishing my breasts up against his shoulder. “No comment.”
“Won’t you say a few words, Miss …”
“This is Elinor.” Allan filled in, wrapping his arm around my bare shoulders and flicking a stray hair from my face. The cameras went crazy. My face felt like a beetroot. I stared at my shoes, wishing the earth would open up and swallow me whole.
“Say a few words about Eric!” Another reporter yelled, shoving a microphone under my nose.
“No, thanks. I need to—”
“Hey, Ellie, check this out!” Saved by Cindy. I yanked myself from Allan’s grasp, and raced
over to where Cindy and Damon were standing at the barrier. Damon was deep in conversation with someone, his halting Russian accent alive with unusual excitement as he discussed his latest record. Cindy jabbed her finger at one of the seats in the front row. “You’re only a couple of seats away from us!”
“No way.” I stared at my name printed on gold card on the black folding chair. It was true. Allan was sitting next to me, and next to him was Sabrina Slaughter, a famous singer and alternative model. All down the row I saw names of celebrities. My heart started to flutter with something that was part excitement, part dread.
After giving the reporters a few words of sorrow, Allan came to join us. The four of us got drinks at the bar and wandered around the side of the house to watch people arrive, Damon stopping every few feet to introduce himself to anyone who looked vaguely like they were in “the biz”. I could already see a line of cars filling the parking spaces on either side of Blossom Road. The driveway to the house had been roped off and security staff manned the gate, checking tickets, issuing wristbands and pawing through backpacks. Even though the funeral wasn’t starting for another two hours, people had already begun to trickle up the drive and follow the signage around the side of the house to the back garden. Many of them were dressed as though they were attending a rock concert or a Victorian ball—complete with spiked hair, black lace veils and gravity-defying corsetry. Reporters dangling press lanyards circled the house, snapping photographs of its gothic exterior and pulling groups of the more interesting-looking guests together for portraits. Down the back of the garden, where a small gate led to a path through the woods beyond, I could see pairs of people emerging—the celebrities who didn’t like to use the front entrance. It was the strangest funeral I’d ever seen.
“Elinor!”
I turned and waved to Bianca, who was running across the lawn toward us, her wrist circled with a blue band that indicated she was a general admission ticket holder. She looked stunning as always in a short black dress with bell sleeves and a red-leather corset pulling in her already tiny waist. We embraced like old friends.
The Man in Black: A Gothic Romance (Crookshollow Ghosts) Page 25