We had to wait a few minutes to get a table and then had to share it with a couple of friends. We spent the meal catching up with them—new house, new job, new baby—and it wasn’t until we were driving over to Cotton Grove that I had a chance to tell Dwight the meager facts I had picked up from my nieces.
He was sorry that Emma and Lee hadn’t stayed longer at the party, “but I’ve put Mayleen on it,” he said, naming one of the more capable deputies on his squad. “She’ll get a list of everyone who stepped through the Crowder door that night. I’m pretty sure we’ll wind up identifying whoever spiked her drink if the DA wants to prosecute for contributing to the girl’s death. Which I doubt.”
His opinion of our new DA wasn’t much higher than mine. “Any good attorney can argue that it was Mallory’s inexperience and the Benadryl that made her swerve for something and flip the car, not a shot of whiskey.”
“Did the troopers find any dead animals at the site?” I asked.
“Nope.”
“Did they look?”
“They always look. She must have missed whatever it was.”
I described Jane Ann and Jess’s insistence that Malcolm had drilled it into her not to brake and swerve for any small animal.
“A deer then,” he said dismissively. “Or a big dog, because she certainly braked to avoid hitting something.”
“And not another car?” I persisted.
“No skid marks in the other lane and only a short one in hers.”
I knew that meant she hadn’t seen whatever she braked and swerved for till the last minute.
We got to Aldcroft’s Funeral Home a little before seven and the spacious parking lot was completely filled. Cars lined both sides of the street.
“You dressed warm enough to walk a couple of blocks,” Dwight asked, “or you want me to let you out in front?”
I told him I was fine to walk, but I was wishing for fur-lined boots instead of thin heels by the time we reached the entrance. At most large funerals, the line is out the door and down the sidewalk, but tonight’s temperature hovered in the thirties and everyone had squeezed inside. The line began in the front lobby, stretched all the way to the far reaches of the building, and doubled back on itself.
From experience, we knew that it would be at least ninety minutes before we could work our way to the parlor where Sarah and Malcolm would be standing next to their daughter’s open casket.
Aldcroft’s is the nicest of the local funeral homes. Outside, it looks like Tara, with fluted columns that sit on the stone terrace and rise to a classic pediment, all painted a dazzling white that glowed in the floodlights artfully hidden among the boxwood foundation plantings. Inside was hushed elegance, from the crystal chandelier eight feet above our heads to the thick pearl gray carpet beneath our feet. Gilt-framed portraits of three generations of Aldcroft morticians looked out from walls covered in pale pink silk.
Large floor pots of bright red poinsettias swathed in gold foil acknowledged the season, and tall white electric candles rose from sprays of holly that looked so real I had to touch a leaf to realize it wasn’t. Despite the crush of bodies, there was no laughter or light talk, and the decor did nothing to disperse the funeral home smell, a mixture of air freshener and a vague aroma that I always associate with refrigerated flowers and greenery. We paused to speak in solemn tones with several people on line there in the lobby, to hug old friends or shake hands depending on the degree of kin or friendship.
Dwight’s mother and his two sisters came in right behind us. Nancy Faye and Beth had both been in school with Malcolm and Sarah. Miss Emily, of course, had been Mallory’s principal, and she had also taught Sarah when she was in the eighth grade. Tonight she looked a bit drawn and tired from dealing with another student’s death on top of the usual end-of-semester red tape.
Nancy Faye immediately asked Dwight to try and convince Miss Emily to go out for something to eat instead of standing for so long. “She won’t listen to us.”
That indomitable woman shook her head. “Stop fussing, Nancy Faye. I’m not hungry.”
Dwight’s sisters are dears, but they do tend to cluck over Miss Emily like mother hens at times, almost as if in competition for who can show the most concern.
Duck Aldcroft, courtly and solicitous, offered her one of the couches that lined the lobby. “Why don’t you just sit down there, Mrs. Bryant, and wait for your girls to come back by?”
“Why, thank you, Duck. It’s been a long day. I believe I will sit for a while.”
She may have been a bit tired, but I had a feeling that she accepted his offer so she could get away from too much clucking. Either that or she wanted to take the pulse of the community, because no sooner had she crossed to the couch than several people stepped out of line to speak to her.
“She’ll be worn out by the time we get back to her,” said Beth as several newcomers took their places behind her and the line shuffled forward toward the back halls.
“Are you sure you don’t want to have supper first?” I asked Miss Emily. “We can go and be back long before Nancy Faye and Beth come through.”
“Don’t listen to those girls,” she said, her voice crisp with exasperation. “They think everything can be made better with food. I’m not hungry. Just heartsick for the children we keep losing.”
I stopped to speak to some of my own high school friends whose children were now at West Colleton, then joined Dwight and his sisters.
As our line turned the first corner, we met Zach and Barbara inching forward with Lee and Emma. Emma’s eyes were red from crying, but Barbara had an arm around her waist, so I gathered that Annie Sue’s advice had worked and there would be no repercussions for stopping by that party Tuesday night.
I got a warm hug from Zach and an air kiss from Barbara, which made me glad when they turned the corner and we no longer had to make small talk.
