Of all the friends and family members who had attended Colt’s funeral, none of them appeared to ache at his loss like the woman he had wanted to marry.
While I didn’t find her the most sympathetic female I’d ever met, seeing her sitting all by herself tugged at my heartstrings.
“You coming?” Lucille asked when I stopped at the back row.
“I’ll catch up with you.” I touched Steve’s hand as he stepped around me. “And I’ll see you later.”
He gave me a hard stare. “Remember what we’ve talked about.”
“Every word, Detective.”
The second he disappeared from view, I took a seat next to Jessica. “It was a nice service, wasn’t it?”
Sniffling, she wiped her nose. “More than nice. Beautiful,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.
I nodded, looking up at the dust motes floating on the sunlight cascading through the narrow windows. “Beautiful day, too. I’ll be taking Fozzie out for a long walk later, if you’d like to join us.”
“I can’t. Seth…won’t…” She blotted her eyes with her soggy tissue. “He’ll be expecting me to be there when he gets home.”
“Is he working today?”
Jessica nodded.
Then it was safe to assume that her new boyfriend didn’t know that she was attending her old boyfriend’s funeral.
I handed her the pack of tissues I kept in my tote. “Guys don’t always understand the things we need to do.”
Shaking her head, she blew her nose.
“Sometimes, it’s best to just keep it to ourselves.” More than sometimes when that guy was a cop.
Jessica’s full lips curled into a sad smile as another tear trickled down her cheek. “Colt got me, though. I hardly ever had to explain anything. He just got me.”
“But you ended up leaving him.”
“We were better friends than lovers.”
“That happens sometimes.” I just hoped that didn’t end up as my fate with Steve.
Jessica stared at Colt’s casket for several silent seconds. “Who did that to him?” she finally asked.
“I don’t know.” But I was certain that Rusty Naylor could help me with the answer to that question.
Chapter Twenty-Two
STANDING ON THE funeral home’s front step, I watched Jessica Tuohy take baby steps to the parking lot as if her own funeral awaited her.
I can’t say that I blamed Jessica. I knew she had her doubts about the man she was living with. So did I, but while he may have been angry enough at Colt to deliver a solid punch to his nose, I didn’t think Seth Lukin was a murderer.
“Whatcha doin’?” asked a little voice behind me.
I turned and smiled at Madison Caldwell, the four-year-old cutie I had met last Monday. “I was just saying good-bye to somebody who had to go home.”
I looked through the doorway and didn’t see a parent keeping a watchful eye on her. “Should you be out here?”
Pulling at the ruffle on her navy sailor dress, she shrugged. “I’m looking for my daddy.”
“Did he come outside?”
“I think so.”
I took her hand in mine. “Then maybe we should go look for him. Do you know which way he went?”
“No.” She jumped to the next step and then gazed up at me, beaming. “I made it, but I’m really good at jumping. Can you jump?”
Not in heels. “Not like you can.”
“I didn’t think so,” she said, leaping to the next step. “Because you’re so old.”
And I was feeling older by the second. “It’s a good thing you’re so cute.”
She gave me a toothy grin. “I know.”
“Let’s find your dad before he gets worried about missing out on some of this cuteness.”
The bench under a shade tree in the parking lot was unoccupied, and other than Jessica, I didn’t see anyone near any of the cars. That left one other likely place where Eric could be: the designated smoking area on the south side of the building. So as soon as Madison’s feet hit the paved walkway, I followed my nose to the corner of the building, where I heard male voices.
Putting my index finger to my mouth, I pulled Madison behind me. “Let me see who’s back here first,” I whispered. Because it sounded like they were in a heated discussion.
She nodded, but I knew I had just a few seconds before she’d run out to see if one of the men was her father.
Flattening myself against the exterior wall of the reception room, I peeked around the corner and spotted Glenn Ferguson stubbing out a cigarette.
“I don’t care. I want you out of here,” he told Rusty Naylor, who appeared to be more interested in the smoke rings he was blowing.
Naylor then muttered something I couldn’t hear over a truck braking as it approached the Red Apple Market, and he took a step in my direction.
Yikes! I needed to make myself scarce.
Taking Madison by the shoulders, I herded her back the way we came. “There’s icky cigarette smoke over there, but if we head back inside,” where it wouldn’t look like one of us was eavesdropping, “I’m sure we can find your dad.”
“Daddy!” she squealed, running up the steps when my prediction came true. “I found you.”
Eric picked his daughter up, balancing her on his arm. “Hello, monkey. Were you looking for me?”
Madison pointed at me. “We were—”
“Having a good time, playing on the steps.” I pasted a smile on my face while I broke into a sweat.
“Thanks for keeping an eye on her.” Carrying her up the steps, he gently gave her tummy a poke. “Haven’t Mommy and I told you to stay where we can see you?”
Madison heaved a sigh. “Yes.”
“The next time we go somewhere, I want you to remember that.”
She waved at Glenn Ferguson when he came into view. “Grampa, are you coming back to the party?”
“I’m right behind you.” He winked at me from the base of the steps. “I’m just a little slower.”
“I think that goes for pretty much all of us here,” I said, trying to sound like my heart hadn’t leapt into my throat while I snuck a peek at Rusty Naylor striding toward the parking lot.
Holding the door open for me, Eric’s father-in-law extended his hand. “I don’t think we’ve officially met. Glenn Ferguson.”
“Charmaine Digby.”
His handshake was firm and warm, the light blue eyes behind his glasses calm as a still lake. But lakes often had hidden depths, and while the man oozed grandfatherly charm along with a smoking-room odor that his cologne couldn’t disguise, I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. Especially after what I’d just overheard.
“Ah, I’ve heard about you,” he said, ushering me into the foyer.
Since I’d talked to most of his family members, I shouldn’t have been surprised. But when you witness the undeniable head of the family barking an order that could have been borrowed from a Godfather movie, it’s not the thing you want to hear.
I made what I hoped wasn’t a lame attempt to laugh him off. “Are you sure you’re not confusing me with my mother?”
“Marietta Moreau, right?”
Whoa. He knew exactly who I was.
I nodded like a bobblehead.
He leaned a little closer, a curl at his lips. “These old eyes aren’t that bad, although you do look a little alike. No, I heard you had a Jaguar you’re thinking about selling.”
He knew me because of my car? He had to have talked to Eric. “Not just yet.”
Dropping the smile, he retrieved a business card from his jacket pocket. “Let us know if you change your mind. I’m sure we can make you a very competitive offer.”
I just hoped it wasn’t an offer that I couldn’t refuse.
* * *
“Good golly, child,” Gram said when I joined her and Marietta near the corner, where Glenn and Diana Ferguson huddled by the window overlooking the parking lot. “You’re as white as a sh
eet.” Gram pressed the back of her hand against my forehead. “You’re clammy, too. Are you sick?”
I grabbed a napkin from the nearest table and mopped my brow. “I’m fine. I just got a little hot in this wool suit.”
“Hot!” Venting a breath, Marietta fanned herself with a funeral program. “Give it another decade. Then, you’ll know what hot feels like.”
Sheesh. It wasn’t a misery competition. “I can hardly wait.”
I didn’t have the time for this. Glenn Ferguson was heading for the door.
“Be back in a minute,” I said on my way to the punch bowl, where I could have an unobstructed view of the foyer.
While I filled a cup, I watched Mr. Ferguson cross his arms, looming at the door like an aging bouncer in a designer suit.
The role of enforcer didn’t fit him as well as the cut of his suit. But it seemed that the authoritarian man at the door wanted the satisfaction of seeing a black Cougar leaving the lot.
“How’s the punch?” a male voice asked, interrupting my thoughts.
I handed my cup to a kid-free Eric. “You tell me.”
He screwed up his face as he took a sip. “It’s disgusting. My kids will love it.”
I looked past him at his wife holding their young son, but I didn’t see a little girl in the vicinity.
Not that it was my job to watch her, especially when I was preoccupied with what her grandfather was up to, but… “Madison isn’t out playing on the steps again, is she?”
In an instant he flicked on the high beams of his toothy salesman’s smile. “Not yet, but I’m sure it’s just a matter of time until that escape artist makes her move.”
“Well, she’s a darling escape artist.”
“Thanks.” He eased closer. “I should also thank you for looking after her earlier. Ordinarily, Bethany and I wouldn’t bring the kids to something like this, but our babysitter wanted to come,” he said, casting a glance at his mother-in-law. “So whaddya do? You bring the kids with you.”
It felt like he was being uncharacteristically chatty.
Was it that difficult to say a simple thank you?
My gut told me Yes.
“Speaking of which…” Eric held out his hand to the daughter sidling up next to him. “What’s up, monkey?”
“Mommy says she needs the diaper bag.” She wrinkled her nose. “Connor pooped.”
“Duty calls.” Eric gave me the most sincere smile I’d ever seen on his face. “Good seeing you again.”
Watching him let Madison lead the way to the door, it struck me that fatherhood may have mellowed Eric Caldwell. It certainly appeared that some of his pricklier edges had been softened.
He was still a prick who only deigned to speak with me because he wanted to make a sale, but he had a lovely family that he obviously adored.
“Good for you,” I muttered, tamping down the unexpected niggle of envy I felt flaring in my chest. “Even a prick can be a good dad.”
Steve would make a good dad.
“What?” Where did that come from?
“What just happened?” Lucille asked, pouring herself some punch. “Did I miss something?”
Yes, and I wasn’t about to have a heart-to-heart about it with the biggest mouth in town.
I grabbed another cup for her to fill. “Nothing important.” Just Rusty Naylor getting ordered off the premises and me letting my imagination run amok.
“Anyone show up to have some last words with the stiff?”
Other than Jessica after the room had cleared out? “Nope.”
Lucille grunted. “Bummer. I’d still lay odds that our suspect was at the funeral. Might even be here in this room.”
I glanced in Glenn Ferguson’s direction. “Maybe.”
“Been through the receiving line yet?” Lucille asked between slurps of punch while she scanned the crowd.
I glanced over at the Ziegler clan, standing near the front window, where a red-faced Kendra looked like she was about to blow her top. “Not yet.”
“You’d better hurry before this wingding breaks up, ‘cause Kendra’s been spoutin’ off like she’s ready for a cage match.”
“With her husband?” I didn’t know Damon well, but he sure looked like a burr had gotten under his saddle.
Lucille solemnly shook her head. “Her father. According to Renee, Tami invited him to the funeral without letting her daughter know.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah. She has a few choice words for him after all these years.”
When an estranged brother of my grandfather’s showed up for his funeral, Gram had made a point of instructing me that death could serve as a powerful motivator to forgive and look past old hurts.
Clearly, that was not the case today.
If I needed any further evidence of that fact, all I needed to do was look at the sour face of the reporter sneaking furtive glances at Mr. Ferris and an increasingly pissed-off Marietta. “Seems like temperatures are running hot today.”
“I know.” Lucille nodded with satisfaction. “Usually these things are snoozers, but not today.”
“No kidding.”
As if sensing the tension in the room, Glenn Ferguson guided his wife toward the back wall, where Gram was chatting with the Pembrokes.
If there were some more choice words being spoken in that gaggle of seniors, I wanted to hear them, and excused myself to deliver a cup of punch to my grandmother.
Averting my gaze when Mr. Ferguson looked at me as if I belonged at the kids’ table, I pressed the paper cup into Gram’s hand. “Sorry for taking so long.”
“Oh, thank you, dear.” Gram nudged me toward the Pembrokes, which I knew from years of experience was my cue to demonstrate the good manners she had painstakingly drilled into me. “You remember my granddaughter, Charmaine.”
“It’s nice to see you again,” I said, shaking Mr. Pembroke’s hand.
“My wife tells me she ran into you at the grocery store the other day.” He flashed me an endearing grin. “It seems to be our destiny to run into one another—one way or another.”
Gram heaved a dramatic sigh worthy of Marietta. “Which is why I will never again let my daughter drive my car.”
“And why I get conscripted to act as her chauffeur.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized I’d as good as stuck my foot in it, especially when Katherine Pembroke’s eyes started pooling with tears.
I sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive, given the reason we’re here.”
“No, I’m sorry. If it hadn’t been… Colt might still be…” Biting her lip, Mrs. Pembroke shook her head. “We never should have gotten into that limo that night.”
Diana Ferguson wrapped her arm around her friend. “I arranged for it, so there’s plenty of blame to go around if you want to go there.”
I stole a glance at Mr. Ferguson, who had clamped his mouth shut. Obviously, he didn’t plan on joining his wife as a blame game partner.
Mrs. Pembroke wiped her eyes with the handkerchief her husband had offered her. “When I think of that poor boy… It’s just sad.” She looked at my grandmother. “Did you know that Colt was one of the young men who painted our house?”
Gram inched closer. “I hadn’t even realized that you’d had it painted until I drove by a few days ago.”
After she’d heard it had been broken into and wanted to see it for herself. She had left out that part.
“It’s tragic what happened, but your house looks positively refreshed with the new paint.” Gram gave me an elbow jab. “Doesn’t it?”
What was I supposed to say? “It looks great, especially now with the azaleas in bloom.”
Blinking back fresh tears, Mrs. Pembroke cracked a bittersweet smile. “Those boys took such good care of my azaleas. I don’t think I lost a single bud.”
“The last outfit that painted my house brutalized my rose bushes, so that’s good to know. Who’d you use?” Gram asked.
Mrs. Pembroke turned to h
er husband, who shrugged. “Darned if I can remember. You recommended them,” he said to his buddy, Glenn. “What was the name?”
Glenn Ferguson recommended them? Holy crap!
“Boynton House Painting,” Mr. Ferguson deadpanned.
Gram gave me another nudge. “Remember that. I’ll want to give them a call.”
“No problem.” Because there was no way I would be forgetting that name, or the man who had just provided it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I DON’T WANT to stay here,” Marietta said, pacing in front of my grandmother’s kitchen table. “Let’s all get in the car and go do something.”
Gram blew out a sigh as she put the tea kettle on the stove. “Mary Jo, we just got home.”
She wouldn’t say it, but somewhere in that sigh contained Gram’s dismay that we had driven off, leaving Barry Ferris standing alone in the parking lot like a jilted lover.
The poor schmuck was learning the hard way that Marietta didn’t like surprises, especially in the form of a stunning ex-girlfriend.
“Doesn’t mean we have to stay home.” My mother flashed a brittle smile at me. “It’s a sunny afternoon. Everything’s in bloom. We should go for a long drive and enjoy the day, just we girls.”
Forget it. The only drive I wanted to do was to my apartment. Unfortunately, my wheels were in the shop, so I was stuck in the middle of this drama until Gram drove me home.
“Oh, I know.” Marietta shuffled her stilettos to a stop next to the refrigerator. “We could go have dinner at that country inn you like in Clatska, Mama.”
Gram shook her head. “Sweetheart, that place closed years ago, besides—”
“Fine,” Marietta bit out between clenched teeth. “We’ll go somewhere else. We can figure it out on the way.”
“I’ve been on my feet for most of the last hour and I’m tired,” Gram said to my mother. “I’m going to have some tea and relax, and so should you.”
Hugging herself, Marietta lowered her gaze. “I don’t want any tea.”
“Suit yourself. I’m gonna change my clothes.” Gram crossed the room, giving me an exasperated look as she headed for the stairs. “And while I’m gone I’d appreciate it if you’d talk some sense into your mother.”
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