CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Ward Parkway Episcopal Church was a massive limestone cathedral more suited to the Old World than to Kansas City. It was filled with several hundred mourners, many of whom were attorneys paying their last respects before picking off Sullivan amp; Christenson’s clients. Somber greetings and heartfelt condolences couldn’t hide their burgeoning appetites.
Mason saw his aunt Claire signing the guest book when he walked into the church. She was tall and big boned. She considered her size an advantage. There was nothing diminutive about her, in either appearance or demeanor. He caught her eye when she turned around and she nodded in reply, waiting for him to make his way through the line and add his name to the book.
“Thanks for coming,” he told her.
“I didn’t know the man, but he was your partner, so I decided to show the family flag.”
An older woman employed by the firm as a secretary interrupted their conversation and embraced Mason. “He’s gone to a better place, to paradise,” she said.
“I never knew a paradise that didn’t have a snake in it,” Claire said after the woman peeled herself away.
“That’s not a heaven-bound theology.”
“So what? I’m not heaven bound. Just plant me in the ground and call it a day. If I do enough in this life, I don’t much care about the next. And, by the way, next time your senior partner dies, tell me before I read about it in the paper.”
“Sorry. Things have been a little wild.”
“The paper said the police are investigating. What’s going on?”
Mason leaned into her to muffle his response. “It looks like he was murdered.”
“By whom?”
“The official position is person or persons unknown. Only the living are suspected.”
“Including you?”
“Including me.” Mason spotted Sandra Connelly heading for the seats cordoned off for members of the firm. “I’ll call you later.”
Mason joined Sandra in the third row, behind the family. The Sullivans had no children. Pamela, Diane Farrell at her side, and an array of anonymous siblings, in-laws, and cousins made their black-clothed entrance as the congregation silenced itself.
The minister invoked a boilerplate eulogy praising Sullivan’s many civic contributions, his devotion to family and church, and the tragic untimeliness of his death. When he left Sullivan one miracle short of sainthood, Mason figured they’d never met. Harlan Christenson spoke briefly but movingly of their years of practice and the brotherly bond that had held them together.
“What a crock!” Sandra whispered. “Harlan needed Sullivan, but Sullivan would have dropped him like a bad habit if he could have found a way.”
Mason turned toward her, but his eyes found Kelly Holt slipping into an empty seat across the aisle. She smiled at him as she sat down before looking away. He kept staring.
“My mother always told me it’s not polite to flirt at funerals. Who is she?” Sandra asked.
“Kelly Holt, the FBI agent who quit the bureau and landed in the Ozarks. What in the hell is she doing here?”
“Put your tongue back in your mouth before you ask her.”
“No subtly, huh?”
“Zero. And it doesn’t do much for my ego either.”
“Remember what your mother told you.”
Christenson finished, the organ played, and the congregation stood as the family followed the casket out of the church. Mason and Sandra left to join the procession to the cemetery and had reached their cars when Kelly caught up with them.
“Hello, Counselor. Got room for one more?”
Sandra stuck out her right hand. “I’m Sandra Connelly, one of Lou’s partners. We’re running the firm’s investigation into Sullivan’s death. Lou tells me you’re handling the Ozark end of things.”
“I wasn’t aware of the firm’s investigation. Perhaps we can help each other.”
Mason opened the passenger door to his car before their serve and volley moved to the net.
“I’ll just follow in my car,” Sandra said, slamming her door closed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“What was all that about?” Kelly asked as he pulled into the funeral procession.
“I don’t think she likes you.”
“She doesn’t even know me. Do you?”
“What? Like you?” Kelly was bright, strong, and attractive. What wasn’t to like? She was also direct and Mason usually wasn’t, but he liked the question. “You’re my favorite former FBI agent turned sheriff.”
“Well, you’re not my favorite smart-ass lawyer. But I’m getting used to you. Now, what’s this about the firm investigating Sullivan’s death?”
“I’m not investigating Sullivan’s death. I’m trying to figure out how much trouble he left behind, and I’m starting to feel like the guy who follows the elephants around at the circus with a shovel.”
“How deep is it?”
“Stop me if I tell you what you already know. Your pal St. John sends his regards. Why didn’t you tell me you’d been investigating the firm?”
“Listen, Counselor. After all your talk about privileged information, you should be the last person to complain. But you may be able to help me.”
“With what? You still haven’t told me how you know that Sullivan was murdered. Tell me what’s going on. Then we’ll see who can help who.”
“Whom.”
“Are you always this annoying?”
“Are you always this insecure?”
“You just bring out the best in me.”
“Maybe I should have gotten a ride with your partner.”
It may not have been Romantic Comedy 101, but the banter was easy and the teasing friendly and promising.
“Okay, that’s enough combat for one funeral. Am I still a suspect?”
“I checked the damage to your car. One of my deputies took a report from a farmer who was hauling a truckload of hay down Highway 5 when some idiot tried to pass another car in a no-passing zone going the other way. The farmer said the idiot flew off the road just before he was about to get creamed.”
“You see? My story checks out.”
“Wrong. It doesn’t mean your story checks out. Passing in a no-passing zone makes more sense than your story that someone was trying to kill you. I could charge you with reckless driving.”
She smiled as she said it, which comforted Mason. It wasn’t the smile of a woman about to arrest him.
“Why didn’t the farmer come back to check on me?”
“He had to go home and change his shorts.”
“So I scared the shit out of him. Very cute. Have you been practicing your punch line all day?”
“Just since breakfast. Actually, the farmer does back you up. He said the other driver held you out in the wrong lane. And he did have to change his shorts. Did you?”
“Yeah. And I haven’t stopped since. Now, what’s the story on Sullivan?”
She faced him with a pure cop look that left no room for negotiation. “I want your complete cooperation.”
