Among the Departed

by Vicki Delany

  “Sad. Yes. But no sadder than the last fifteen years have been.”

  She took the glasses off and touched a tissue to her nose. Her eyes were red, and the pupils were very large.

  Had Nicky had a hit of cocaine before coming to her father’s funeral?

  She saw Smith looking at her and quickly put the glasses back on. “I’d better join Kyle and Mom. Who now can proudly bask in the title of widow.”

  Nicky picked her way across the lawn. Mrs. Nowak wore a black dress about two sizes too big and a black straw hat more suited to gardening than church. Kyle slouched in a pair of paint-spotted jeans and a black T-shirt with lurid graphics advertising a heavy-metal band.

  “Wow,” Christa said. “Did you think that was a rather mean thing to say?”

  “I’m beginning to think Nicky is a rather mean person. Let’s go inside and find seats. It looks like it’s going to be a full house.”

  Sacred Heart was an old church, built in Trafalgar’s heyday of the 1880s when riches of forests and mines poured jobs and money into the area. The population was smaller then, but everyone went to Church on Sunday. The Catholics to Sacred Heart, the Anglicans to St. Peter and Paul, assorted other denominations to smaller houses of worship. Expecting the twentieth century to bring nothing but growth and prosperity, those early Catholic citizens built a large, proud church. The tall white steeple was still the first thing one saw, arriving in town from upriver. The stained glass windows were perfect examples of high religious art, the wooden pews and soaring rafters cut from ancient first-growth forest, the gardens lovingly attended year round.

  All the building lacked in the early years of the twenty-first century was parishioners.

  Sacred Heart was fuller today than it had been for a long, long time. Father O’Malley could only wish this many people would come to mass regularly, not just for a funeral with a mystery surrounding it.

  He recognized the chief constable, the detective sergeant, the editor-in-chief of the Trafalgar Gazette, the news reporter. The MLA was in attendance, as were the mayor, members of the city council, and assorted prominent men and women.

  Too bad they weren’t in Church to hear the word of God.

  The service droned on and Molly Smith tried not to think about the contents of the closed black casket at the front of the church. Instead she remembered Brian Nowak. She’d liked Mr. Nowak. Much as a thirteen-year-old girl could like the father of one of her friends. He was there for his children when he was wanted—driving them to parties or games—but not when he wasn’t.

  He didn’t deserve to spend the last fifteen years on the mountainside. Alone. Forgotten.

  No, not forgotten. His family never forgot him.

  Almost impossible to believe Nicky would have become a prostitute if her father had lived. The Nowaks had been one of the few religious families young Moonlight had known. As a child Nicky hadn’t rebelled against that religiosity. She’d accompanied her family to church without complaint and was active in its youth and sports groups. She seemed to be close to her dad in much the same way Molly was close to Andy.

  They’d been good friends, Moonlight Smith and Nicky Nowak, talking on the phone for hours, sleep-overs at each other’s houses, going to movies and school dances together, just hanging out watching TV, listening to music, and growing up. Nicky’s family wasn’t into the outdoors, and Andy Smith was training his kids to be wilderness guides, but Nicky liked to jump off the Smith’s dock or lie on the beach on a hot summer’s day. The only thing the girls didn’t do together was ski. Nicky didn’t ski. Molly had tried nagging her into it once and Lucky had sharply told her to stop it. Probably, Smith realized now, the family couldn’t afford the expensive equipment and lift fees.

  All that ended when Brian Nowak disappeared. She only ever saw Nicky at school, her attendance becoming increasingly sporadic. Lucky encouraged Molly to continue to invite Nicky to do things, and she did, but Nicky always said no, she had to go straight home. Then Molly found another best friend and she stopped even thinking about Nicky.

  Nicky, who’d been a great student when her dad was around, quit school as soon as she turned sixteen. One day she simply wasn’t there. It had made no difference at all in young Moonlight Smith’s life.

  Should she have tried harder to keep the friendship going? It wouldn’t have helped.

  Nicky’s fate was sealed that April day along with her father’s.

  Look at Kyle. Couldn’t even bother to put on clean pants or a decent shirt for his dad’s funeral, slouching in the front pew, examining his fingernails as though he were bored. To young Molly, Kyle had been nothing but an older brother, vaguely present, usually with a sneer or a mocking laugh. He was a good bit thinner now than he’d been back then. Sallow-faced and hunched.

  At every other funeral Smith had been to, including that of her own father, the family had clung to each other, arms round shoulders, heads bent together, hands clasping. The Nowaks sat so far apart, you could put another person between them and no one would have to shift over.

  Mrs. Nowak had always been quiet. A small, nervous woman, constantly cooking or cleaning. A little mouse, particularly compared to Smith’s own larger-than-life mother. She thought about the last time she’d seen Brian Nowak. The last time almost anyone had seen him. They’d been having pancakes, but he didn’t want any.

  A man got up to talk about Brian Nowak’s devotion to his family, and the woman seated behind Smith stifled a sob.

  ***

  John Winters paid no attention to the service. He sat at the back by himself and watched the congregation. Eliza had come, said a few words to Kyle and his mother. Greg Hunt was there, sitting alone. The priest had greeted Mrs. Nowak and her children at the door to the church. Kyle ignored the man’s outstretched hand and pushed ahead of his mother and sister.

  Kyle was clearly hostile to Father O’Malley, but Winters didn’t know if it was personal or if Kyle had simply turned against the church.

  The chief constable had looked pleased with himself, standing in the churchyard with a strangely demure Lucky Smith. They might as well have hung a sign around their necks advertising that they were now a couple. Instead, like everyone not willing to make their relationship public, they assumed they were protecting a big secret.

  Winters realized people were standing. Pleased the service was over he also started to rise. He quickly dropped back down. Communion, and the faithful were preparing to be served the host.

  Nicky Nowak looked sedate and modest in a gray suit. He wondered if, like the Queen, she travelled everywhere with suitable funeral attire.

  He hoped she’d be heading out of town soon. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was about her, but he sensed she was trouble.

  Her brother wasn’t a whole lot better. Eliza had spent most of last week raving about Kyle Nowak’s art and the show he was going to have in Vancouver. Winters had been at the opening night reception of the current show at Eliza’s Trafalgar gallery and liked the paintings. The prices were high but not unreasonable, and he thought she might actually be able to make some money at this. Why she assumed anyone with a lick of taste would be interested in Kyle’s art was well beyond his understanding.

  But Eliza was happy, and that made John Winters very happy, indeed.

  At last the service came to an end. Mrs. Nowak and her children rose from their seats, and Father O’Malley preceded them down the aisle. Nicky had her hand on her mother’s arm, but Kyle walked alone. Eyes fixed on the floor, he glanced at no one as they passed.

  Winters was one of the last out the door. There would be no reception, and the service at the graveside was for family only. He stepped to one side of the carved oak doors and watched. People were gathering on the lawn, chatting in small groups. Mrs. Nowak and her children stood underneath a massive oak. It had probably not been her intention but
a receiving line began to form, forcing Mrs. Nowak to shake hands and accept condolences.

  Nicky was not playful and flirty now. She took her place beside her mother, close but not touching, back straight, head high. She had been perfectly made up when they entered the church, now tears carved rivers though her face and her mascara and eye shadow was rubbed almost off. Kyle studied his running shoes and stuck his hand out without looking at who stood in front of him. Mrs. Nowak said, “Thank you for coming,” and “So nice to see you,” with no inflection in her voice.

  If he had been here in any role other than investigating detective, Winters would have told Father O’Malley to get the family out of here and end their torment.

  Instead the priest was talking to Greg Hunt as the Realtor made his way down the line. As Winters watched, Hunt said something to Nicky. Then he reached for Mrs. Nowak’s hand, but before he could touch her, Kyle shoved his mother out of the way. He stepped in front of her and faced Hunt. Nicky looked startled, her mother bewildered. Conversation in the receiving line died. Winters moved quickly away from the door and down the steps.

  “Stay the hell away from my mother,” Kyle said.

  “I’m only wanting to extend my condolences,” Hunt said.

  “We don’t want them or need them.”

  “Kyle,” Nicky said.

  “Shut up.” Kyle stood firmly in front of his mother. Hunt lowered his head and walked away. Kyle turned to his mother and said something Winters couldn’t catch. Then he stalked off. The people in line shifted in embarrassment and everyone began talking at the same time.

  “Wonder what that was about.” Molly Smith walked over to stand beside Winters.

  “I’d like to know.”

  “I suspect Kyle’s never grown up. He’s trapped in a fifteen-year-old time warp. Whereas Nicky has gone way beyond where she was back then. This has got to be pretty hard on them all.”

  “Yes.”

  “Harder on Mr. Nowak, though. I wonder if he knew that day how badly his kids would turn out. He was so sad, as if he knew he was going to miss them.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said his kids turned out badly. Nicky looks…”

  “I mean about Nowak.”

  “He was sad.” Her blue eyes opened wide. “And he was. I’d forgotten how sad he was that morning.”

  “Tell me everything you remember.”

  She closed her eyes and was quiet for a long time. Around them birds sang, people murmured, car engines started up. “I’d been at Nicky’s for a sleepover. You knew that, right? I had to go home right after breakfast because Nicky and her family were going to church, and Mom came to pick me up. Mr. Nowak was at breakfast. We had pancakes. They weren’t very good and the syrup was corn syrup, not maple like my mom used. Mr. Nowak didn’t have any. He snapped at Mrs. Nowak when she tried to get him to eat and told her to stop nagging him, he wasn’t hungry. He sat there and drank coffee and watched us. No, that’s wrong, he didn’t watch us. He watched Nicky.”

  Smith’s eyes flew open. She fixed them on Winters’ face. “He watched her like he would never see her again. Like he was trying to memorize what she looked like. Oh, my gosh. I forgot all of that. I was sitting in church remembering the last time I saw him, and I guess that started things coming to the surface.

  “Have you read the Lord of the Rings?”

  “Let’s talk about that later, what else do you remember?”

  “That’s it. Lord of the Rings was pretty much de rigueur reading in my house.” She grimaced. “Which is why I am cursed with the middle name of Legolas. Anyway, in the book the young Hobbits know Bilbo is getting ready to leave the Shire even though he thinks he’s keeping it secret because he’s always muttering things like I wonder if I will ever see such-and-such again. That’s the feeling I got from Mr. Nowak. He knew, that morning, nothing would ever be the same again.”

  Winters let out a long breath. “Are you sure?”

  “Not at all. Would I go to court and swear to it? No. It was fifteen years ago and I was a kid. Kids don’t pay much attention to their friends’ parents. But I did like Mr. Nowak, more than a lot of the fathers I knew, and I think because I liked him I could tell he was sad. When he disappeared and the chief asked me about that morning, I didn’t mention that. Adults were always having moods, so I didn’t think it mattered. All that other stuff, about never being here again, really John, I’ve only thought about that now.” She lifted her hands in the air. “Maybe I’m talking garbage.”

  The churchyard was emptying out. Most people had said their condolences and left. A few groups remained, chatting amongst themselves in low voices. One elderly lady stood in front of a fresh gravestone, head bowed. Lucky and Christa waited for Smith beside her car. The funeral home attendant, solemn in black, approached the Nowaks, and gestured toward the waiting limousine. He took Mrs. Nowak’s arm and they began to move away. Nicky followed, tight butt swaying under the form-fitting skirt, sharp heels digging into the grass. Like most of the men remaining, Sergeant Winters glanced at her. He started to turn away, and then his head almost swiveled on his shoulders as he did a double-take. He started to move toward her, but stopped as the family reached the waiting limousine.

  “John?”

  “Something just occurred to me. I’ll follow it up when we get back to the office. I don’t think you’re talking garbage at all. It’s funny, the sort of memories we hold and how they can come popping to the surface when given the slightest nudge. Brian Nowak was sad that morning. Something very important was about to happen. Important enough that he wanted to pull memories of the family breakfast close. As if he knew it would never happen again.” He gave Smith a lopsided smile. “Now all I have to do is find out what that something was.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Smith hadn’t stopped thinking about Brian Nowak and that last breakfast, but try as she might, she couldn’t remember anything more. She couldn’t even be sure if the memories she did have were authentic. It had been a long time, and so much had happened since an apparently normal Sunday morning in Trafalgar.

  “Nicky’s heading back to Vancouver first thing tomorrow,” Lucky had said as Smith drove out of the church parking lot.

  “Good riddance,” Smith said.

  “She’s going to phone you later and see if you’d like to go to dinner.”

  “I’m working.”

  “I told her that.”

  “Good.”

  “Did something happen between you?” Lucky asked. In the backseat, Christa leaned forward.

  “She only tried to seduce Adam, that’s all. She knows he’s my boyfriend.”

  “Oh,” Lucky had said.

  Smith’s phone rang as she was heading out the door dressed for work. John Winters, asking her to come to his office as soon as she arrived.

  Ray Lopez was there, not looking happy.

  “We have a rough description of a woman of interest in the May Chen case,” Winters said. “Very pretty. Small and thin.”

  “With big breasts and long black hair,” Lopez interrupted.

  “Don’t know why I didn’t think of it earlier, but when I saw her at the funeral… Sounds exactly like Nicky Nowak. See what you can find, Ray, about Nicky’s acquaintances.”

  “Your friend Nicky…” Winters began.

  “She’s no friend of mine.”

  “May have been seen in the company of a man we suspect is attempting to lure young girls to Vancouver. For reasons we can only guess at. It’s possible he contacted May Chen prior to her running away, and she might have gone to join him.”

  “Wow.”

  “Do you know anything about an Englishman Nicky might be traveling with?”

  “She never mentioned anyone.” Smith shifted her feet. “I wasn’t going to say anythin
g, John, but in light of what you’ve just told me… She tried to pick up Adam the other night. He was pretty sure she would have asked for money.”

  “Can’t say I’m too surprised. I thought she looked like she might be not quite on the up-and-up, but I figured she’d have the good manners not to work around her father’s funeral. I want to have a chat with our Nicky. And not where her mother’s hovering over me, offering tea and cookies. Get her. Bring her to me.”

  ***

  Nicole did not like driving in the mountains at night. Too many wild animals out there—and only some of them had four legs. If it wasn’t for the eight-hour drive back to Vancouver, she’d have left immediately after the funeral.

  It had been tough, really tough. Mom had cried, but Kyle had sat there like he was carved out of stone. The only emotion he’d shown all day was when that man tried to shake Mom’s hand. Nicky didn’t even know who he was, but Kyle had shoved the guy out of the way.

  Weird. Kyle was weird.

  Living in the same house as their mother for the past fifteen years would have made anyone weird. He’d had plans, Kyle, big plans. When they were growing up all he talked about was being an artist. He was going to travel the world, painting everything he saw, being feted by rich and famous art collectors everywhere he went. He wanted to paint in the Impressionist style—like Renoir or Monet. He hoped to go to art college for grounding, and then study in Paris. Nicky had wanted to be a marine biologist and work with dolphins and whales. Her family had never had much money, but Dad always told Nicky and Kyle they would have whatever education they were capable of.

  Dreams. What good were dreams, hopes, plans? Kyle had never seen the other side of these mountains, never mind Paris. And Nicky? Nicky and her childish fantasies died when her father did.

  Only Nicole continued to live.

  She wanted to go to dinner with Molly tonight. One last chance to talk about the old days and pretend they were innocent young girls again. Obviously that wasn’t going to happen. Molly had refused an offer of lunch and then cut her dead when Nicky’d approached her at the church.