by Gary Parker
Neither did Tick. Protecting her from the brunt of the police investigation now fully under way, he led her through a series of questions about Jack’s disappearance—when she saw him last, talked to him last, expected him home—all the questions the authorities need to ask. On Sunday a group of lab technicians and a detective named Luke Tyler came to search through her house, but she was at the funeral home at the time and didn’t even meet them.
“No problem,” Tick told her when she came home and found out she had missed the detective. “I asked you the same questions Tyler will. He said for you to get through the funeral, he’ll see you the next day.”
“Is he finding anything?” she asked.
Tick shook his bald head. “Not yet, but we’re just getting started. Tyler will come back here before the week ends. With the funeral and all, he didn’t want to upset people by tearing things up too much here or at the store. But something will turn up, I know it will.”
Her energy directed elsewhere, Connie had worried little about the investigation. She would focus on it after the funeral. For now, the kids consumed her every thought.
Spending all her free time with Daniel and Katie, Connie somehow made it through the days that separated her from the moment she learned of Jack’s death and the moment she now faced, the moment of his burial. Gritting her teeth, she held back the tears and forced herself to pay attention to Reverend Wallace’s concluding remarks.
“I cannot answer the question that plagues all of us today,” he said. “I cannot answer the question ‘Why?’ That question is beyond the human mind to answer. But I can point you to the One who knows the answer to all the questions. I can point you to the Lord’s grace, a grace we are told is sufficient for all our needs.
“In times like this we find out the truth of that great promise. My prayer is that you will do just that, that you will discover its truth and hold tight to it in the days to come. May you hold tight to the truth that Jesus Christ is the resurrection and the life and those who believe in Him will never die. With that truth you will find your hope and your comfort. Shall we pray.” Connie bowed her head, and the pastor prayed. Behind her, she heard muffled sobs. Friends filled the church—merchants and city workers from downtown Jefferson City who came into the store every day; fellow elders and deacons from the church, all arranged in a row, their faces heavy with grief; government officials of all levels.
Directly behind her sat Tick and Tess, a steady reminder of their love and care. Beside Tess sat Anita, her eyes bloodshot from one too many drinks. She had arrived alone at ten that morning, informing Connie immediately that she had to leave on a nine o’clock flight. So much for maternal love, Connie thought. She knew she needed to forgive her mom. Life had dealt Anita a tough hand. But right now, Connie couldn’t do it. Right now she simply mourned the estrangement and vowed to do whatever necessary to keep it from happening to her and her children.
Behind Anita sat Wilt Carver, one of Jack’s best friends. Wilt, the state attorney general, had come by the house on Saturday afternoon, his handsome face creased with sadness. Telling Connie to call if she needed anything, anything at all, he stayed for almost an hour and grieved with her. With his wife on one side and his mother and father on the other, his presence assured her Jack’s murder would receive all due attention from people in high places.
Feeling Daniel on her shoulder and Katie snuggling against her side, Connie tried to focus on Reverend Wallace’s prayer, but her mind continued to wander. In the next few days she had to talk to Detective Tyler, though she didn’t know what she could tell him. He already knew about the phone calls.
Reverend Wallace concluded his prayer, and Connie jerked her thoughts back to the present.
“So keep us strong, O Lord. In the name of Jesus who loves us all, we pray. Amen.”
Opening her eyes, Connie stood and waited while the pallbearers moved to the coffin. Then, holding tightly to Daniel and Katie, she followed Jack’s casket to the hearse. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, as if a movie producer had deliberately altered the film to make the moments creep by. Climbing into the backseat of a silver limousine, she saw people moving past her, but none of them looked real. People she had known for years appeared waxen to her, pale imitations of human beings, clones of people she once knew, but clones without personalities, false figures with no insides. She watched the clones climb into their cars and felt like a clone herself.
She spotted Cedric Blacker crossing the street, wearing a dark black suit with a crisp white shirt underneath. His presence shook her out of her stupor. She bit her lip to keep from rolling down the window and blasting him with her suspicions. How dare he come to Jack’s funeral! Digging her fingers into her stomach, she held back, choking the emotion threatening to spill out in white heat.
The funeral director slid into the front seat and turned to her. “You ready, Mrs. Brandon?”
Connie nodded, grateful he had distracted her from Blacker. The funeral director pulled the car out of the lot. Connie wrapped her arms around Katie and held Daniel by the hand. None of them spoke. The limousine fell in behind a police car and turned left, headed to the cemetery.
Resting her head against the seat, Connie closed her eyes and prayed for her children. They had stayed so quiet the last three days. In a way, Connie expected as much. Not knowing how to react, they pretty much kept to themselves. Several of Daniel’s friends came and parked themselves at the house, sleeping on the floor, hovering over Daniel like defenders of a wounded member of the herd. Though Connie saw him talking to them, he kept silent around her. That didn’t really bother her. She had more than enough to do and his friends kept him busy. But, as soon as this funeral ended, she planned to create more time with him, make sure he knew of her support.
To her left, Connie noticed a milk truck pull over and stop. She sighed, wondering if the man in the truck knew the identity of the one he honored by his small act of respect. Probably not. Just a gesture, a tip of the hat from one life to another, an acknowledgment that we’re all tied up in this together, even if we don’t know one person from the next. The funeral limo left the truck behind and turned right, moving through a row of maple trees just beginning to wear their spring green.
Connie hugged Katie closer. Her dark blue dress, starched tightly, crinkled against her shoulder. Connie bit her lip. Little Katie would forget so much about her daddy. The passing years would wash away most of what she now remembered. Connie hated to think of that, but knew she could do little to change it. Her only solace came from knowing that the same years that wiped away Katie’s memories would also wash away the worst of her grief. In many ways, her age gave her an advantage. Katie was plenty old enough to grieve but still young enough to recover from it.
For a second, Connie thought of her own childhood. She had done that a good bit over the last two days. No deep ties to her parents, no grandparents alive, and no aunts or uncles close enough to know. Somehow though, in spite of the loneliness of her childhood, she had survived those years. Her father’s military stoicism gave her a strong dose of discipline even if it lacked the tempering of much love. Given the circumstances, Connie knew she had received as much care as many children did, and her sadness over her youth had dimmed over time. She trusted Katie would do okay, too, but she didn’t know for sure.
After all, her parents hadn’t disappeared because of the act of another human being. What happened to them happened because of their own choices, their own failures. But Jack, she felt certain, had died at the hands of another human being, through an act of pure evil. A murder could make a child afraid to live.
The funeral car turned right and passed through a stone gate. Seeing the wrought iron over the gate, Connie suddenly realized they had reached the cemetery. She gulped, then bit her lip. The car pulled past a number of headstones, then made a final left turn and came to a stop.
“Wait here a minute,” said the funeral director. “We’ll let everyone else get out; then we
’ll come for you.”
Connie watched him climb out. She cleared her throat.
“This part is almost over,” she said, looking first to Katie and then to Daniel. “Just the committal service left.”
“What’s a committal service?” asked Katie.
Connie inhaled, then breathed it out. “It’s where we commit Daddy back to God,” she said. “We leave Daddy here in the cemetery, and God takes care of him.”
“Didn’t God always take care of Daddy?”
Connie paused, the question taking her off guard. Though not sure if Katie saw the implications of what she asked, Connie certainly did. If God always took care of Daddy, then what happened the night Daddy died?
“Yes, God did take care of Daddy,” she said, trying to formulate her answer as she talked. “But some bad people didn’t do what God wanted them to do. They did something God doesn’t like.”
“Does God let people do that?” Katie pressed.
“Yes, God lets people do bad things. Not because God wants them to do the bad things, but because the people don’t love God like they should.”
Katie scrunched her face, obviously pondering Connie’s response. The door on her left suddenly opened and the funeral director stuck his head inside.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
Connie glanced at Daniel. He nodded, his shoulders erect in his navy suit, white shirt, and yellow tie. She took Katie’s hand. “It’s time to go, sweetheart,” she said. Daniel slid across the seat and stepped out of the car. Katie followed him. Connie trailed them both. Then, hand in hand, they moved over the soft grass, one step at a time behind the funeral director, who led them to Reverend Wallace. At a nod from the pastor, they took their places behind the casket, trailing it as it moved closer and closer toward a green canopy that covered four rows of folding chairs.
At the chairs, they took a seat in the front row and stared straight ahead. Around them, a circle of friends made a protective barrier, as if by their circle they could block out the hurt of the world beyond their enclosure. In the center of the circle and directly in front of Connie, Jack’s casket rested on a quartet of silver bars raised about three feet off the ground. Connie knew what lay below the bars—a hole big enough to bury the box that held the body of her precious Jack. She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and forced herself to think of something else.
Reverend Wallace began to read Scripture. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me to . . .”
Connie quietly began to sob. Daniel tightened his grip on her hand. Katie shook against her shoulder.
The preacher read, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; For You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me. . . . ”
Connie slipped a pair of sunglasses from her jacket pocket and placed them over her eyes. The preacher finished the twenty-third Psalm and began to pray.
“Now, O God, we leave this believer in Your hands. Just as You created him forty years ago for life upon this earth, so You have now re-created him anew for life in Your own heavenly kingdom. We need no longer concern ourselves with his destiny. We know that he is alive forever.
“We pray now for the future of his wife and children. Grant to them Your eternal presence and divine strength. Without these, they cannot go on. With them, they will not falter. Give them now the abiding and comforting and consoling word that in Jesus Christ there is life and life eternally. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
With a collective sigh of relief, the crowd opened its eyes. Connie felt the people watching her. For an instant, she didn’t move. She stared around the circle of her friends, nodding ever so slightly to first this one and then another. She recognized all of them, good people, people who had attended church with them, who had shopped at Jack’s store, who had made their lives peaceful and happy in this gentle community. Not every one of these people had agreed with Jack about gambling, of course. A few had even challenged him openly, in public forums when he had made his position clear.
A scary thought occurred to Connie. A number of these people stood to make money if gambling moved into Jefferson City. Did any of them have enough at stake to want Jack out of the way? She searched the crowd for Cedric Blacker, then noted with relief that he hadn’t come to the graveside. Good. She didn’t want him here.
She gazed across the crowd again. Was it possible someone here had done a despicable deed from a purely selfish motive? Shuddering, she dropped her eyes and decided the time had come to leave. The time to walk away, to trust Jack to the God he loved, the time, somehow, to get on with her life. Help the police find Jack’s killer, take care of her children, start her law practice, run the Good Books Store . . .
She stood up, Daniel and Katie moving with her. Her black pumps slipping a bit on the green astro turf under her feet, she stepped to the casket. Then, standing by the coffin, she leaned forward and whispered, her voice so low no one but the dead could hear it.
“Jack, this is Sunset,” she choked. “I loved you the day I met you in church, and I’ll love you until the day I die. I’ll do my best to take care of the kids. I’ll teach them what you tried to teach them. I’ll try my hardest to keep them close to God. I’ll insist that no matter what, they do what’s right.”
She paused one final second. It didn’t seem right to leave just yet, to turn her back and walk away, to abandon Jack to the deep hole under the coffin. But what else could she do? Death did this to people; it separated them, cut asunder their relationship, destroyed the unity they shared.
A sense of panic hit her and she swayed for a moment. What else could she say? A sudden inspiration came to her and a bemused smile tickled her face. The notion seemed out of place, but, at the same time, it somehow fit what Jack might have wanted. Steadying herself, she bent close to the casket. Her lips almost touched the finely grained cherry wood that enclosed Jack’s body. She whispered to him, speaking again the words he spoke to her the night of their first date when he took her to the grocery store after church to get ice cream.
“Just think, Jack,” she said, her eyes wet with a strange combination of grief and remembrance. “Just what you’ve always wanted. In heaven, you can eat all the ice cream you want and never get fat.”
Hoping with all her heart that Jack’s often-stated joke about heaven was now proven correct, she moved away from the coffin, Daniel and Katie in tow. Within seconds, she reached the funeral car and sagged into the backseat. Exhausted from holding in her emotions, she hardly moved as friend after friend came by to offer last-minute words of encouragement, last-minute prayers for comfort, and last-minute commitments to help her when she needed it. For only a few did she really rouse herself.
When Wilt Carver stepped to the car, she raised up and greeted him warmly. Jack cared for this man, a friend since high school days in Miller. Wilt, his dark hair now streaked slightly with gray, hugged her tightly.
“I’m going to miss him so much, Connie,” he moaned, his eyes moist. “He and I have known each other a long time.”
Connie’s heart hurt for the man. Though the son of one of the wealthiest families in Missouri and on track to serve as governor or senator of the state, Wilt Carver had his own set of problems. His wife, though with him today, had left him recently, then returned. Rumor was their problems hadn’t ended. She resented the influence Wilt’s father allegedly imposed on their marriage and wanted some space between the two families. But, given Wilt’s obvious political dreams and his family’s even more obvious power and finances, such independence seemed impossible.
Her threats to leave again kept the political corridors buzzing. That kind of trouble could dim a man’s political star, even one with the advantages Wilt enjoyed. To add to that, a good friend turned up murdered.
“Jack really liked you, Wilt,” she said. “He prayed for you often.”
Wilt nodded. “I need those prayers,” he said. “Now more than ev
er. What with Vicky leaving me and all.”
Though unsure about the timing, Connie felt a sudden urge to do what she thought Jack would do in this kind of situation.
“You know what you need, Wilt,” she said. “You need the grace the Lord gives us. Nothing else can give us the peace we all want, the sense of comfort.”
“You sound like Jack,” he said. “He told me that over and over.”
“He was right, you know. That’s what we all need.”
Wilt raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m thinking about it,” he said.
“Good, I’ll pray for you to do more than think.”
Wilt moved away, and the line of people shuffled ahead another step. Gradually, the crowd eased past Connie, its chatter dying in the afternoon sun. In like fashion, a succession of car engines coughed to action, then moved away, carrying their occupants back to the normalcy of lives untouched by the grim specter of a murdered loved one. Connie heard them leaving and her mind slipped away. She mouthed expressions of thanks and comments of appreciation, but the faces ran together and she noticed only a few of them. Then she heard a familiar voice and made herself focus again. Dabbing her eyes, she saw Tick Garner stick his head into the door. Behind him stood Tess, wringing her hands, a distant look in her eyes.
“Can I see you just one minute?” Tick asked, a scowl creasing his bald head.
Her senses dulled, Connie didn’t understand at first that he wanted her to step out of the car. But something in his posture nudged her to attention, told her he wanted to say something for her ears only.
“I’ll be just a minute,” she said to Daniel and Katie, sitting by her. Neither of them argued. They were as worn out as she.
Stepping from the limo, she followed Tick to a spot a good twenty feet away. Tess walked beside her, a comforting hand on her back. When they stopped, Tick began to scuff his shoes at the ground, his eyes evasive. Connie waited, giving him time to say his piece. From his manner, she guessed it had to do with the investigation. Did they have a suspect? Maybe even an arrest?