was a sleepy, sparsely inhabited rural area devoted to small family farms and modest mercantile stores. With so much growth these past thirty years, business had boomed and the Johnsons were now a family of wealth and influence. Between them, Malcolm and his family belonged to most of the civic organizations and they had a large circle of friends, relatives, and important customers.
All had sent impressive arrangements.
Interspersed among the flowers were monitor screens set at eye level, and soft, solemn music issued from a single speaker. Eighteen years of Mallory Johnson’s life played out in endless loops of still photographs, from her infancy to just a few weeks ago. One screen was devoted to a silent DVD of Mallory as she arrived at the homecoming game with her court, smiling and waving. Her tiara sparkled beneath the floodlights and she was breathtakingly beautiful and alive.
Beside us, Miss Emily caught her breath and sudden tears filled her eyes. “Do
We signed the visitors’ book and entered the parlor that was so crowded that it was impossible at first to see the casket. The reception line began with Sarah’s family—her sister and brother, their spouses and children, and then her parents.
Next came Mallory’s brother Charlie, an awkward young man who seemed to be going through the motions mechanically as I took his hand and murmured my sympathy. He appeared to be about six-three with small, closely set hazel eyes in a long narrow face. It was a pleasant enough face, but clearly Mallory had inherited all the beauty in that family. When his eyes met Dwight’s, he seemed to focus, and for a moment I thought he was going to say something more than “Thank you” to Dwight’s own words of sympathy, but the moment passed and we moved on to Sarah and Malcolm.
Both seemed emotionally and physically drained. Someone had brought a chair for Malcolm, who sat with hunched shoulders and responded dully to those who tried to console him. Sarah was still on her feet and she teared up again when Miss Emily reached out to hug her. I wondered how she could possibly have any tears left.
“Bless you for coming,” she murmured as Miss Emily moved on to Malcolm and our turn came to speak. She took Dwight’s hand. “Is there anything more you can tell us, Dwight?”
He shook his head and his words included Malcolm. “I wish there was, Sarah. Malcolm.”
“You don’t get it, Dwight. She never touched liquor,” Malcolm said, his voice ragged with pain as he stood to face his old teammate and plead for an answer. “So how did it get in her system? How? Answer me that. Whoever did that to her is as much to blame as the person who made her run off the road, and if I ever find out who—Look at her, man! Is that the face of a drunk?”
He wrenched Dwight’s arm in an angry explosive gesture that put him close enough to Mallory to touch her. They had dressed her in her homecoming gown and tiara, and whatever injuries had caused her death, her lovely face had been unharmed. Malcolm cupped that ivory-smooth cheek in his hand and his anger dissolved into despair again. “My little girl. My baby. She shouldn’t be lying here. She shouldn’t, Dwight.” He was sobbing now. “She shouldn’t. Oh, God, she
Sarah stepped forward to put her arms around him, her own face crumpled with grief, and Malcolm’s stern- faced father came from the other side. Together they calmed him down and the line moved grimly forward again. Soon we were past Malcolm’s parents, his brother, and the brother’s wife and adult children, then mercifully out of the parlor and back into the lobby.
Again, there were people we had to speak to as we headed for the door, but we didn’t linger. Outside on the front terrace, the temperature was so near freezing that we quickly said good night to Dwight’s sisters and mother and were turning onto the sidewalk when we realized that Miss Emily had followed us.
“Mama?” Dwight said.
“I’ll ride home with you and Deborah,” she said, giving him a meaningful look.
He was as instantly curious as I was, but she gave us both a warning shake of her head as a cluster of people passed us and murmured, “Good night, Miss Emily. ’Night, Deborah.”
“Why don’t you two wait here and I’ll go get the car,” he said.
“I can walk,” she said sharply. “After all that sitting, it feels good to move my legs.”
Despite her protests, I insisted that Miss Emily ride in front with Dwight, and I think she was glad to be closer to the heat vents. Dwight always grumbles because my car isn’t as roomy as his truck, and with his seat pushed back as far as it would go to accommodate his long legs, I was squeezed in behind his mother.
As soon as we pulled out onto the street, she turned to Dwight and said, “Was Vicodin in Mallory’s bloodstream when she died?”
“Where on earth did you get that notion?” he countered.
“Something I heard tonight,” she said, confirming my earlier suspicion that she had deliberately chosen to sit where everyone would pass. “Whatever one child knows these days, they all seem to know. It’s almost like one of those old
“And?”
“Kevin’s not a bad kid. Not really. He pushes the boundaries and he gets away with it because he’s nice-looking and has a glib tongue on him. He can make his parents laugh so they don’t rein him in as much as they ought to.” She sighed and loosened the scarf around her neck.
“Too hot?” Dwight reached for the controls.
“Not yet. What about you, Deborah?” she asked. “You getting any of this heat?”
“I can feel my toes again,” I said, “so y’all make it comfortable for yourselves.”
“The party,” Dwight prodded.
