“Warren Bradley brought something special into our lives,” Rob began, not at all sure what that “something special” was. “His loss leaves a void that will not be easily filled.”
Rob noticed Alma and the rest of the Ladies of Liberty dabbing the corners of their eyes with lace handkerchiefs while nodding approvingly. He had long been accustomed to their disapproving glances every year at Sausalito City Hall’s annual holiday season gathering, or, individually, as they passed him on the street and pretended not to notice him. At last year’s annual July 4th community picnic, they closely observed Rob and Karin as they passed by with their two small children in tow. And at the annual chili cook-off competition, none of the ladies would dream of sampling his chili or cornbread.
“Like many of you, I always enjoyed reading Warren's columns in The Standard,” Rob said as he looked toward the back of the church and saw Holly rolling her eyes and mouthing, “Oh please!”
He shifted his gaze so that Holly was out of his sightline. The last thing he needed to do was giggle.
“His love of life revealed itself in everything he did, from his volunteer work to his careful preparation of some of the best gourmet dishes many of us have ever sampled.”
Rob told of those times Warren would stop by the office with leftovers from a dinner he had served guests the night before. “Warren, always generously thinking of the rest of us at the paper, would call and say, ‘Don’t go out for lunch today, I want to bring you something wonderful.’”
In truth, Rob knew this was Warren’s way of angling for extra space for his column or a more prominent byline, or perhaps the chance to confirm or deny some gossip he had heard while buzzing about town.
“In our grief,” Rob said, concluding, “let us take time to be thankful for a life that enriched us as individuals and as a community. I’ll always think of Warren preparing a gourmet dinner for the many people who loved him, and whom he loved in return. It is unlikely that any of us will meet someone as unique and as gifted as Warren Bradley again.”
Thank God, Holly mouthed silently, adding an exaggerated sneer for Rob’s benefit.
Rob wasn't sure if he had lived up to Alma's expectations. But after the service, each one of the Ladies of Liberty made it a point to go up and thank him for his “thoughtful and lovely words.”
Even Bea, a woman who wore a dour expression every day of the year, walked over to Rob and said, “Thank you for being here for Warren. One of the very last times I spoke to him, he said, ‘You have to take certain risks as a journalist if you’re ever going to get the job done.’ I’ll always think of him when I see a man or a woman in your profession risking their safety so that the rest of us can live in a better world.”
“Yes…right,” Rob said, as he bit his lip to keep from smiling over the idea that Warren was anything like the daring, hard-working journalists that Bea had just described. It didn’t surprise him that the comment had been taken out of context, or that it carried the apparent subtext: Warren’s recent reporting on Grant Randolph’s arrest had somehow led to his murder.
Rob then realized that Alma's ladies must be spreading this line of reasoning to anyone willing to listen. At the same time, he felt grateful for what he viewed as a momentary truce with his most persistent critics.
Rob was in mid-bite of a piece of chocolate cake when Holly tugged at his sleeve. “Jeez, you were spreading the manure a bit thick up there, don't you think?”
“Would you have preferred if I called him an officious little snob with an overinflated sense of self, who had a bad habit of airing other people’s dirty laundry?” Rob said in a whisper.
“That would have been perfect!” Holly replied with a broad smile.
They both laughed. Holly then stood on her toes and whispered in Rob’s ear, “I think Warren’s killer is in this room! How about you?”
“That would be interesting,” Rob said, as he returned the smile and nod of one more of the Ladies of Liberty.
Holly scanned the room. “So, let’s see…how about Randolph’s pal, Ray Sirica?”
“A little old, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, but the guy works out like five days a week! He may be in his fifties, but he’s built like a tree trunk. I don’t think he’d have too much trouble carrying Warren around like a play doll and leaving him posed on his back deck.”
Rob looked over at Sirica, who had come without Debbie to the service. While he never gave a man’s physique a second thought, he could appreciate Holly’s point. He had a benign smile, but there was a certain physical power about him that suggested he could have quickly suffocated Bradley if he was so inclined.
“And, of course, that letter he sent in about Warren spreading ‘half-truths’ regarding the incident between the Randolphs and saying, ‘None of us would want to be placed in the crosshairs of the gossiping gourmet,’” Holly said, as she used air quotes. “I don’t know him very well, but I wouldn’t want to get up in that guy’s grill.”
In the middle of their exchange, Karin walked up. “What are you two up to? You look thick as thieves.”
There was no jealousy in Karin regarding Rob and Holly’s relationship. Readily aware that they’d been comrades under fire for several years, she jokingly referred to Holly as Rob’s office wife.
In fact, Karin knew better than most the stress of Holly's job, having worked alongside Rob before leaving the paper to start a family.
“Believe me,” she explained to any friend who asked, “Rob needs a strong woman to keep him in line, both at the paper and at home.”
“We think there’s a good chance that Warren
