by Clover Tate
Even under the dock’s thin light I made out Stella’s grin.
chapter twenty-three
I was wary as I pulled into the small church parking lot for Miles’s funeral. I wore a black dress—the same dress I’d worn to Avery’s parents’ funeral a few years earlier—and planned to sit near the back, where I hoped I wouldn’t be noticed. Miles’s family might not be keen on having the roommate of the woman jailed for murdering him present at his funeral. Had it only been me, I would have stayed home. But I was there as Avery’s proxy. I would be her eyes and ears, and I would send her best thoughts. Besides, I’d found Miles’s body. Being with him as his friends and family said good-bye would bring some closure.
I hesitated before signing the register just inside the door but went ahead and wrote my name clearly. A one-sheet program showed a photo of Miles, smiling. I pulled it closer for a better look. I’d heard so much about him, been in his cabin, sat in his bed, even. But I realized that I’d never seen what he looked like animated with life. It was a candid shot, showing Miles’s head and shoulders with firs in the background, as if it had been taken when he was hiking. At first glance, I wouldn’t have said he was handsome. But the intelligence in his eyes and the seed of a smile on his lips showed me he could have been a heartbreaker. The bottom of the program announced a post-funeral reception at Annabelle’s Morning Glory Inn.
I found an empty chair toward the edge, eight or nine rows back, that gave me a good view of the room. An older man held his wife at the front row. Miles’s parents. Stella sat across the room, her eyes on them, her face solemn. She’d been such a good sport last night, even if our outing only knocked another suspect off the list. Today she was a grieving mother.
A few rows behind Stella sat Dave and Jack. Dave turned to me and nodded. He’d told me last night that he’d pack a few things and take them straight from the church to my house. Jack didn’t turn, but I had a good view of his profile. He wore a suit and looked particularly fine, damn him. He’d been right, too: Avery had been at the dock the night Miles was killed. But that didn’t excuse him from jumping to conclusions about her.
Annabelle swept up the aisle. Somehow she’d got her hands on a black gown complete with underskirt and a laced bodice that hugged her torso. She looked like a cross between Laura Ingalls Wilder and Morticia Addams, but that didn’t keep several of the men’s heads from swiveling in her direction. She stopped at the aisle where Dave and Jack were seated and asked people to shift their seats so she could claim a spot next to Jack. Frank entered a moment later, and Annabelle repeated her orchestrations so Frank could sit on her other side. In front of me a few rows was Sam Anderson. Sweet cup of Goffee. Ha.
The pastor, a plump, older woman with gray-streaked hair twisted into a large bun, took the lectern as the soprano finished her hymn. “Welcome,” she said. “I’ve presided over many funerals, and each of them carried a singular feeling of loss. But this service is particularly difficult. Our Holy Father took Miles Logan, with his youth and his talent, from us so early, leaving us a deep grief to bear. We can’t deny that grief, but we can remember that just as God took Miles, he also gave us Miles’s gifts. This afternoon will celebrate his memory.”
Stella discreetly dabbed her eyes. I longed to put my arm around her, but I knew it would bring little comfort. She’d lost Miles so many years ago, then found him only for a short time before losing him again. For a mother to lose her son twice was so unfair.
A few rows behind her, Annabelle’s sobs started up. Jack awkwardly patted her arm but seemed unsure of what to do next. Frank, on her other side, pulled a handkerchief from inside his sport coat and handed it to her. Dave kept his eyes trained on the pastor. Poor Annabelle. For all her irritating characteristics, she was a decent person. I thought of her apology a few days ago and her suggestion that we support each other. Maybe her way of being in the world wasn’t the same as mine, but it didn’t mean we couldn’t be friends. Of a sort, anyway.
Mom was convinced the murder had to do with money. Now that the question of the morel hunters had been solved—I winced a bit—it seemed a logical deduction. Who would be threatened by a new restaurant? I looked at the back of Sam Anderson’s head. He certainly had had a lot to lose. Miles would not only have left the Tidal Basin without a chef, but he would have become a fierce competitor. Media attention and customers would have followed him, and the Tidal Basin would have lost some of its cachet. My landlord, Frank, was the only other money-related possibility I knew, but only because he invested in Rock Point. I couldn’t come up with a reason he might have killed Miles. If anything, Frank would have helped Miles raise the money for the restaurant; then he would have wanted a stake in it. From launching Strings Attached, I had some idea of how to start a business, but a restaurant—with all its employees, suppliers, and the vagaries of tourism—would be a whole different beast.
When the service ended, the pastor indicated where we could line up at the edge of the church and file past the casket. I was tempted to slip out to my car, but for Avery’s sake I wanted to touch the casket and thank Miles for the depth of emotion he’d raised in her, even though if he were alive I would have slapped him for disappearing like he did.
As we formed a slow-moving line, I glanced back and saw Sheriff Koppen toward the rear of the church, his hair pulled back into its sleek ponytail. Without his sheriff’s uniform, his Native American features stood out. He nodded toward me. Not far behind him were Ron, Monica, and their daughter. As far as I knew, they weren’t aware that I was responsible for their losing their mushroom income. I quickly turned and faced the front of the room. The daughter wouldn’t call me out, would she? I relaxed. Even if she recognized me, it didn’t mean her parents would connect me with the sheriff. Unless the sheriff made the connection for them.
Miles’s parents stood, heads bowed, near their son’s casket. I approached and knelt for a moment on the prayer bench and said a few clumsy words in my mind. They had less to do with Miles finding his way to heaven than with justice finding its way in Rock Point.
When I rose, Miles’s mother made eye contact. Her eyes were red and faced lined with grief. “You found him,” she said quietly, without accusation.
A potent surge of pain pierced my heart. “Yes,” I mouthed. Her gaze was unbearable. I dropped my eyes for a moment but couldn’t resist looking up again.
“Sorry,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.
“No, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Someone behind me nudged me away from the prayer bench, and I moved on.
* * *
The streets around the Morning Glory Inn were bumper to bumper with cars. Annabelle had hung black streamers around the inn’s porch. I opened the door to a hall packed with mourners and the low murmur of voices.
Dave had said he’d pass on the reception and go straight to my house, unless I wanted him along. I’d told him he was free to go. Surrounded by strangers, though, some of whom undoubtedly resented my presence, I had a sudden urge to find a friend. Stella, I thought. I’ll find Stella.
Now that I had a purpose, I plunged into the crowded hall. People made way for me, some doing a double take, and at least one elderly man pointed and whispered to a younger man standing with him. A teenaged girl offered me a cucumber sandwich from a platter. I smiled and shook my head and scanned the crowd for Stella.
Off to the side, Jeanette huddled with a couple of Rock Point’s longtime residents. Her plump cheeks jiggled, and her eyes darted through the room as she talked. She’d undoubtedly come away from the reception with plenty of dirt to feed the town’s gossip mill.
At last I found Stella. She was standing alone near the buffet table in the dining room where I’d talked with Annabelle the week before. As elegant as ever in her thick gray chignon, simple but stylish black dress, and swipe of nude lipstick, she was a soothing sight next to the almost-Victorian array of sandwiches and petit fours towering on
footed platters on the buffet. Despite the crowd milling around her, she was still, her gaze softened toward the window.
“Stella.” I put a hand on her arm.
“Oh.” I’d interrupted some faraway thoughts. Up close, she looked older than usual. Tired. “Hello, Emmy.”
“It’s awful for you, isn’t it?” I said.
“I thought I’d gotten used to it, the idea that Miles had died. Today . . .” She let the sentence drift off.
“I suppose that’s part of the function of a funeral, to bring everything home.”
“And force you to deal with it your own way,” she said. “I know. Allen’s funeral was only a few years ago.”
I’d been so lucky, I realized. My parents were healthy, and death wasn’t something I’d had to deal with on an up-close-and-personal basis. Except with Miles, of course. “Can I get you something? Maybe some tea or one of the sandwiches? There’s one trimmed like a star.” It might make a nice kite shape, actually.
Stella smiled. “No, thank you, darling.”
Miles’s parents huddled together on a loveseat across the room. People approached them, said a few words, then left.
“Have you talked to the Logans?” I asked.
“I gave my respects, of course. But really talk? No. This isn’t the right time.”
I felt ashamed for mentioning it. It wasn’t the right time to complicate things emotionally. “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Now it was her turn to comfort me. “You’re a sweet girl, Emmy. You have a good heart, and it shows in your dedication to Avery—and in your caring for me. Thank you.” She touched my arm.
“It’s nothing. Anyone would do the same.”
“I wish that were true, but it’s not so. Be careful of that tender heart.” Compassion softened her expression, but it couldn’t smooth away the sadness. “It’s time for me to get home. I need to spend some time alone.”
“Are you sure? If you want company—”
“Thank you, but I’m sure. I need some time by myself.”
I watched Stella’s head weave into the crowd toward the hall. I ached for her. I’d check in on her tomorrow, see how she felt. Maybe she’d like a walk on the beach.
“Why did Stella leave so soon?” Annabelle asked. She’d materialized out of nowhere, an apron over her dress and a tray in hand. She transferred the few smoked-salmon canapés left on a platter to another and cleared the spot for a tray of tiny cupcakes.
“She needed to get home.” Then, because I didn’t want to talk about it, I said, “Quite a crowd this afternoon. You’ve put together a wonderful reception.”
“It was the least I could do.” Her gaze swept the room, taking in the crowd, the half-finished plates, even lifting to the crazy fish-detailed moldings. “Work helps me get through this. It’s the one thing I know I do well.”
“This can’t be easy for you.”
“I won’t lie. It’s not.” Only when we looked each other straight in the eyes did I realize I’d usually avoided talking directly to her. She looked softer, more vulnerable than I’d remembered. “I’m not the only one, though. Stella, for instance.” She nodded toward the hall through which Stella had just left. What did she know? “Stella worked with him. It’s clearly taking a toll on her.”
“Yes,” I said with relief. Stella’s secret was my secret, too.
“And Ron and Monica,” she said. I hadn’t seen them earlier, but they and their little girl stood in the dining room’s doorway.
Shoot. I still felt awful about messing things up for them. “What about them?”
“You may not know, but the sheriff questioned them about Miles’s death. I guess they thought Miles was picking on their morel turf, and they made a stink at the Tidal Basin. Now they can’t pick at all. Ron’s out of work, too. They’re broke.”
“Oh.” As if I didn’t know.
“I feel awful for them. Since they were murder suspects, no one will offer him a job. Rock Point is so petty that way. Maybe I’ll offer Ron some work taking care of the garden. It’s the least I can do.”
“Annabelle,” I said suddenly. Maybe it was my pain in seeing Stella so upset, or the funeral, or regret over Ron and Monica, but emotion surged. “I’m sorry for your loss. I truly am.”
In that moment, I felt we made a real connection. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Annabelle?” a voice from behind her asked. “Do we have any more napkins?”
“Excuse me,” she said, and hurried toward the kitchen.
That was it. I’d had enough, felt bad enough. I was going home.
“Hey, little miss,” came a familiar voice. Where had I heard it before? I turned to face Ace the plumber. His hair was in a loose ponytail, and he was accompanied by a woman who could have been his double, but for her voluptuous figure. “Meet my old lady, Michelle.”
Michelle had constructed a tower of tiny snacks that the builders of the Empire State Building would have admired. She popped a cheese puff into her mouth. “Pleased to meet you,” she might have said. Her mouth was too full for clarity.
“I didn’t know you knew Miles,” I said.
“Sure. Helped him plumb out the kitchen and bathroom at his cabin. Man, that’s some crazy stuff he had going down there. Built the whole thing around a trailer. Genius.” He looked around, then leaned forward. “I hear you have a special relationship with the deceased, too. Found his body.”
“Yes.”
“Some people been saying your roommate did it.”
“She didn’t.” Ace’s wackiness was getting on my nerves now. To make things worse, Deputy Goff, wearing a dark pantsuit, bumped past me on her way to the buffet table. She curled her lip and didn’t even apologize.
“Relax,” he said. “Why’s that one so rude?” He jerked a thumb toward Goff, who was now jockeying for position with Michelle near the cupcakes.
“Long story,” I said. “I raised some questions that revealed she was on the dock the night Miles was killed. As surely you know.”
Ace chuckled. “Yeah. The sheriff questioned me about that, too. Turns out he doesn’t exactly have a bead on everything that happens in Rock Point—or in his own office.”
“You did see someone besides Goff on the dock, didn’t you?”
“What?”
“Someone else. Not just Goff.” I knew Avery had been there. “I know you did, Ace. I know it. Whether you told Sheriff Koppen or not.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You saw Avery.”
“I don’t know any Avery.”
“You know, the owner of the Brew House?”
He still looked stumped.
“A blond?”
A smile of understanding spread over his face. “Oh, I saw a blond all right. And that’s all I’m saying. Don’t worry, I won’t blab on your friend.”
Before I could ask him what he was talking about, he turned his back and grabbed Michelle by the arm. She tipped her plate into her tote bag, and they headed for the door.
* * *
On the street, I heard a girl’s voice. “I know you,” she said.
Standing near the rear of the car was the little girl I’d seen at the burnout. Ron and Monica’s daughter.
“Come on, Hannah,” said the woman I now knew as Monica.
The girl ignored her mother. “What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?” I countered. Good grief. We were at it again.
Monica approached and took the girl by the arm. “I’m sorry. She needs to know everyone.”
“No apologies necessary,” I said. Worry lines trimmed Monica’s eyes and mouth. “In fact, I was just about to see if she’d like a kite.”
Monica stepped back, but Hannah clapped her hands together. “A kite!”
�
�Yes, I own a kite store in Rock Point. I have an old diamond kite I keep in the trunk, and it occurred to me it was perfect for a little girl.”
The girl turned to her mother. “Can I?”
I popped the hatch and pulled out an old red kite I kept for testing the wind. It was worn from years of test flights, and normally I would have been too ashamed of its condition to offer it to a stranger. But instinct—and maybe guilt—convinced me offer it up now.
“No. We can’t accept a gift like that,” Monica said.
“Honey?” Ron asked from their old Suburu across the lot. His steps crunched on the gravel as he approached.
“I was just saying that I have an old kite in my trunk, and I’d love to give it to your daughter.”
“Can I, Dad?” Hannah asked.
“I feel kind of embarrassed offering it really,” I said. “It’s in such bad shape. But I thought if your daughter needed an extra kite, you know, one for when you don’t want to be too careful—”
“We can’t accept it, but thank you,” Ron said. He drew his daughter close. Looking from mother to father I could see these were decent people down on their luck. Thanks to me, they were really, really down on their luck.
“Oh well. I guess I’ll just leave it for the garbage truck.” I pulled the kite from the truck and wound its long tail around my hand. “It’s in awful shape. Part of the tail is ripped away.”
Monica glanced at Ron. He bit his lower lip, then released it. “Well, if you were going to throw it away anyway, we might be able to use it a few times.”
“Hurray!” the girl said.
“I’d feel much better about it getting a few final sails in the sky rather than seeing the Dumpster,” I said.
Hannah held the kite and smiled so wide I thought her lips would crack. “Can we fly it? Can we take it to the beach?”
“I was just going to the beach myself for a walk. Would you like me to show you how to fly it?”
Monica’s expression softened as she watched her daughter. “Oh, Ron, could we?”