disappointment.
How he missed hearing
25
Wednesday, July 12, 11:45 A.M.
Good Shepherd Cemetery, Las Piernas
The graveside service began under a hot July sun that made the black-veiled woman sway from the heat. No, Frank decided, it wasn’t the heat that made her sway. Although she held the boy’s hand firmly, she seemed distracted, more upset than at the church. The boy continued to watch Frank. It might have unnerved him to have anyone else regard him so fixedly, but there was nothing hostile or even overly curious in the boy’s stare. It was as if the grave between them formed a much deeper chasm, and the boy was willing him to find a place to cross. For what reason, Frank could not begin to guess.
He was wondering again if the boy could be Lefebvre’s son when movement several yards away caught his attention. A large, neatly dressed man sought the sparse shade of a jacaranda tree. There was deeper shade nearer to the grave, but the man seemed to want to keep his distance. He was wearing wraparound sunglasses and looked down in a slightly different direction often enough to make Frank briefly wonder if the man was there not for the funeral, but to visit a grave. Something about him made the hair on the back of Frank’s neck rise — the way he stood, the way he moved, the way he watched the mourners. Frank looked to see if Reed or Pete had noticed him and saw that they were as attuned to the man as he was. It was then that Frank noticed that the man was looking down and away not toward a gravestone, but to avert his face from the camera whenever Reed moved it toward him.
Reed’s presence was not obvious, but the man knew where he was. Matt Arden also knew. Now Frank saw that Arden was watching the man beneath the jacaranda, too.
The large stranger stood straighter and walked away. Pete followed him.
The priest was sprinkling the casket with holy water when a high-pitched, electronic ringing rent the air. As the rest of the group near the grave looked on in irritation and disbelief, Tory Randolph pulled a phone from her purse.
“Hi,” she said in a loud voice. “I’m so glad you called me back. I’ve been trying to reach you about the material for the draperies in the guest cottage. Have you—”
But before she could get any further in her drapery order, the woman in the black veil marched over to her, grabbed the phone from her hand, and pitched it onto the nearby pavement with a force and accuracy that could have won her a place in the Dodgers’ starting lineup.
“Hey!” Tory protested. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Today is not about you,” the woman said angrily.
“Do I know you?” Tory said.
Frank began moving toward them, wondering if they were going to start a shoving match right here in the cemetery.
“Get out of here,” the woman said. “Get out now.”
Tory put her hands on her hips. “Just a—”
“Apologize,” Dale Britton said to his wife with surprising firmness.
Tory eyed him angrily but said nothing.
“Very well, then, I will.” He turned to the veiled woman. “We apologize. It was incredibly rude to create a disturbance at a time like this. I’m sorry, Ms.—?”
“I’ll send money for the phone,” she said, not telling him her name.
“That won’t be necessary. Our condolences to your family.”
He took Tory by the arm and steered her toward their gold Lexus. She got into the driver’s seat and pulled away from the curb almost before he was able to get into the car. Frank noticed that Britton had slammed part of his suit coat in the door — several inches of dark blue fabric waved along the side of the car as Tory sped away.
The assembled guests murmured, but the ceremony ended without further disturbance. The family group stayed behind as most of the mourners left. Irene moved a little distance away to give the family some privacy.
He looked for Pete, but didn’t see him. Pete had apparently followed the jacaranda man. Reed signaled to Frank that he was going, too.
The woman in the veil and Matt Arden were talking with someone from the funeral home, choosing which flowers would be taken with them. Yvette Nereault walked over to Frank. “So — I am saying good-bye to you. I go back home today. You have my phone number there, I know. I’ll wait to hear what you learn.”
While she was talking, Frank became aware of someone coming closer, to stand next to him. When he looked down, he was not surprised to see the boy.
Yvette said something to the boy in French. He answered, looking stubborn. He moved even closer to Frank.
“Won’t you introduce me to your nephew?” Frank said, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Yvette Nereault was unable to hide her surprise. The boy gave a small smile of triumph.
Behind them, a woman’s voice said, “Don’t say another word to him!”
Frank turned to see the veiled woman. Matt Arden stood next to her.
“It’s too late,” Arden said to her. He studied Frank, then said, “If we can count on your confidence — we can introduce him.”
“Confidence from the department?” Frank asked, feeling the ground shift beneath his feet as surely as if he had stepped backward and into the grave.
“Especially from the department,” the woman said.
