Most of Faye’s crew had come. Davion had not known Frida, and the expression on his face when he made his excuses had given Faye the impression that he had a morbid fear of funerals. He had stayed at the motel.
Yvonna hadn’t given a reason for not going and Faye didn’t ask. It was fine with Faye if they wanted to stay behind, and it was fine with her that the other three had come. This terrible murder had made impacts on her crew that would continue to ripple. They were having to deal with mortality at a very young age, and now they were faced with losing this job that had promised them short-term paychecks and long-term opportunities. If Davion and Yvonna didn’t want to go to the funeral of someone they didn’t know, Faye completely understood.
Jeremiah and his three employees all looked funeral-appropriate, in both clothing and attitude. Jeremiah was wearing his Sunday best, down to a dove gray bow tie. Richard had managed a suit and tie, probably because he had local family who could lend him dress clothes. Ayesha and Stephanie had been forced to make do with what was in their suitcases, but they were dressed in neat button-down shirts and well-pressed work pants.
Walt Walker, whose charcoal gray suit set off a tie in a soft, muted shade of green, was taking long strides across the room toward Kali. She looked up at the man as he surreptitiously handed her a piece of peppermint candy, its nickel-sized disk twisted in cellophane. Faye could tell that he was hoping that she would smile, but he had no luck that she could see.
Reverend Atkinson stood next to the open casket. After people paid their respects to Laneer and Kali, they filed past the casket and paid their respects to Frida. Some people wept loudly and openly. Some reached out to touch the dead woman one last time. Others passed her in tears and silence.
Faye didn’t enjoy this part of a funeral, but she knew that people grieved differently, so she joined in the communal act of saying good-bye. The most spiritual moment for her would come during the service, when she felt her own frail voice blend into the congregation’s full-throated rendition of old and well-loved hymns. Those were the moments when she felt closest to the loved ones who had gone on before her.
Laneer was nearby, still holding Kali’s hand and still responding to the sympathy of others.
“Yes, Kali will live with me. It will be hard to be without Frida, but we love each other very much. We will be okay.”
“No, the police don’t know who did it.”
“Sometimes, I think I still hear her sweet voice.”
Faye’s turn to pass by the casket and pay her respects had come. She’d been dreading this moment, because she remembered how Frida had looked in the last hours of her life.
She was surprised to see that the mortician had wrought a miracle.
This was not to say that Frida looked good. All the mourners who were making the obligatory exclamation of “She looks so natural!” were either lying or fooling themselves.
Frida looked like a model of a woman created by a 3D printer—plastic, stiff, and lifeless, and the soft petals of the flowers surrounding her face only made it worse. But the mortician’s magic, which Faye knew nothing about and hoped she never did, had done what needed doing. Makeup, internal stitches, prosthetics—whatever they’d done to Frida had been a gift to the guests at this funeral, and to Frida’s memory. And it had been a blessing to Kali.
The minister nodded to Laneer as the last few mourners passed the casket, and Laneer took Kali by the hand.
Reverend Atkinson addressed the room, saying, “If Ms. Stone’s friends will all take a seat in the chapel, we will give the family a few last moments with the deceased.”
Faye joined the line of people leaving the room. She noticed that Linton wasn’t leaving. He sat alone in a chair, several steps away from Laneer and Kali. Everyone in a cluster of Frida’s other relatives was pointedly ignoring him. As the minister moved to close the door, a thin woman in her forties hurried over to him. She pointed her finger at Linton and whispered something in the minister’s ear.
Reverend Atkinson walked over to him and said, “This time is for family only, son.”
Linton stayed seated, meaty hands folded on his lap. “Frida was my wife. And Kali is my stepdaughter.”
“Not any more,” the thin woman said.
“You don’t divorce children, and I ain’t divorced anyway.” He looked to the minister for help.
“Madame,” said Reverend Atkinson. “Some charity, perhaps.”
Except for Laneer, the cluster of relatives gave a simultaneous shake of their heads and their spokeswoman put their opinion into a single word. “No.”
Laneer took a step toward them. “Catherine, it’s not for you to say.”
“No” she said again. “Frida didn’t want him in her life and her family don’t want him here.”
Faye could see that Laneer was preparing to speak his piece as the family elder, but Linton didn’t let him. He rose from the chair and said, “I won’t stay where I’m not wanted. But I want you people to know this and to remember it. Frida was my wife. I made a bad mistake and I paid for it. I lost Frida. I want to do right for Kali, now that her mama can’t be here, and I will do right for her. Do you hear me, sweetie? If you ever need somebody, you’ll always have me.”
Without waiting to see whether Kali would answer, Linton followed the non-family members out of the room, and Faye followed him. She knew that Laneer, the obstreperous Catherine, Frida’s other relatives, and Kali were behind her, and something within her couldn’t resist turning for a last look as the door closed. Faye studied the little face for a glimpse of how she
