mailman; Babe, her red hair neat in its French braid. He watched her arm make short, palsied movements, then realized she was taking notes. Disgusted by what his profession forced people to do, he looked away from her, across the aisle to Steve Cornwell. Even sitting, he towered over the man beside him. In the next pew were Tug Wilson, Raymond Chute, Debbie Van Tuyl from the bank, the Klipps who lived across from him, the-he stopped, thinking this was exactly what he was doing when Mary Beth Higbee was being murdered. Identifying people. It made him feel sick. A spate of coughing and rustling drew his attention.
The Higbees were filing in. The mother first, then the daughter, and behind her the father. Colin's throat tightened. The immediate family was followed by others; grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins. Father Dominick and three altar boys appeared from a door at the back and the Mass began.
When it was over the pallbearers carrying the casket filed out first, the family next, and then the others. On the sidewalk Colin watched as the reporter from
People formed small groups, talking softly. Joe Carroll slammed the back door of the hearse, the sound recalling memories Colin had tried to forget.
Neither he nor the Griffings were going to the cemetery, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. The hearse pulled away. Cars followed, yellow flags attached to their aerials designating their right to be in the procession. When the first car passed, Colin got a glimpse of Higbee, his head on his wife's shoulder, tears streaming down his cheeks.
A man next to Colin said to a woman, 'You'd think the father would have a little dignity. Besides, he should be taking care of his wife, it's harder on her.'
Colin wanted to tell him he was wrong. It hurt the father just as much, perhaps more, because he felt responsible. Wasn't he supposed to guard his children against such eventualities? He admired Higbee not giving a damn what people thought, experiencing his grief now instead of later like Colin had.
When the cars were gone the small groups began breaking up, dribbling away. Hallock and Copin stood on either side of the church, watching. Colin knew they were hoping to get an idea, a clue. He started toward Hallock but was stopped by a furious expression crossing the man's face. Then Colin saw the scruffy figure of Jim Drew approaching the chief.
'Get the hell away from me. Drew,' Hallock spat.
'But, Chief,' Drew pleaded, 'I gotta talk to ya. Gotta tell ya about it.'
Frantically, Hallock glanced around, then relaxed some, seeing that the reporters had left. He motioned to Copin with a nod of his head.
Copin took Drew by the arm. 'Come on, Jim, let's go.'
'But I gotta talk to the chief. It's important. I gotta tell him about the little girl.'
'Yeah, yeah, we know. Let's go for a walk, you tell me about it, okay?'
'I… I guess.'
Copin and Drew started down Main Street toward the town. Colin looked back at Hallock. A muscle was jumping in his cheek.
Mark said, 'Everybody's got a breaking point. I guess Hallock just couldn't hear a fake confession about the murder of a little girl.'
Colin wondered what Hallock would think of his story, the murders of his children and wife. He wished he could tell him but knew that was a Pandora's box he'd better leave closed.
Wednesday afternoon Annie said to Sarah, 'I'm having dinner with Colin on Saturday night.'
'1 think that's great,' Sarah said.
They were sitting in Annie's office in the basement of the parish hall. The room was small and comfortable, with a new couch, flowered curtains, an oak desk and chair.
'Is it?'
'What do you mean?' She wished she could have a cigarette but the Please Don't Smoke sign was staring her right in the face.
'I guess I mean, is it really great to be going out with Colin Maguire? Is there something I should know about him?'
'Know about him?' Sarah fussed with her hair, twirling a curl.
'He's intelligent and very nice but there seems to be, oh, I don't know, something odd about him. No, that's not right. It's not that he's odd or weird, he's-guarded.'
'Guarded?'
'Sarah, why are you repeating everything I say?'
'Repeating everything you say?'
'See? You're doing it again. And please don't say, 'doing it again.''
Sarah laughed. 'I'm sorry. I guess I'm distracted,' she lied.
'Is it Mark?'
'No.'
'Is everything okay between you?'
'Fine.'
'Why don't I believe you?'
Sarah shrugged. 'I'm dying for a cigarette, that's what you're picking up.'
'If you'd give up the vile things then you wouldn't be distracted when you come here.'
'True. But I'm not giving them up, so lay off,' she gently chided. 'And Mark and I are okay. It's tough sometimes. I wonder if he's thinking about her, missing her.'
Annie nodded and thought of Bob. What would she have done if Bob had had an affair? It was impossible to imagine.
'He says he loves me and that he doesn't miss her or anything. Still, I can't help wondering from time to time. Trusting him again is going to take awhile.'
'It's bound to.'
'And he understands that.' She smiled dreamily, thinking back. 'Sometimes Mark's so sweet and thoughtful. He sends me love cards in the mail. You know the kind I mean?'
'Yes.' Bob had sent her cards like that. She recalled one that had said 'Life is just a chair of bowlies.' There was a picture of an overstuffed chair with hundreds of bowls in it. Inside he'd written, 'For my darling. I can't tell you how much I admire what you're doing. I long to be the preacher's husband. Love you forever.' But forever had turned out to be never.
'What is it?' Sarah asked.
'Nothing.'
'You were thinking of Bob, weren't you?'
'Yes.'
'Oh, Annie,' she said sympathetically. 'I feel like a dope worrying about Mark and Amy. I should be grateful I still have him.'
'Just because my husband died doesn't mean you don't have a right to feel insecure, Sarah.'
'I know.'
'No, you don't.'
'No, I don't.'
They laughed, reached out and squeezed a hand.
Sarah said, 'You were talking about Colin.' She didn't really want to go back to that subject, but Annie was her friend and didn't often ask for anything.
'I was just wondering what it was I detected in him, as if he had a secret or something. Dumb, I know.'
Sarah wanted to tell her that it wasn't dumb, in fact, was perceptive, but her loyalty had to be with Colin on this. If he wanted to tell Annie about Nancy and the children that was fine. It wasn't her place to tell her. Still, she had to say something. 'He has a few problems. Nothing serious.'
'Like not being able to ride in a car with anyone?'
'Yes.'
