Authors: Amanda Flower
Another pair of ushers dismissed the mourners row-by-row. From my row, I noted who attended the service and who did not. The mayor and his wife were among the first to leave, followed by some Martin dignitaries, including Lepcheck and the president. Cowardly, I pretended to read Olivia’s bio when Lepcheck passed my shoulder. Even after I knew he was gone, I continued to stare at Olivia’s bio. Three brief paragraphs. Again, I couldn’t read it.
Someone pinched my arm. Bobby smiled down at me. I smiled back. The reception line had stalled. The Martin professor leaned over me. “Bobby, it’s so good to see you. Are you a friend of the family?”
Bobby glanced past me. “Good afternoon, Adele. A friend of a friend.”
“Oh, it’s so nice that you would sacrifice your afternoon for a friend of a friend.”
Bobby grimaced. I looked away, afraid that I would laugh.
“I know this isn’t the best time, Bobby, but I was wondering how the library plans to increase its materials budget for the philosophy department. If Martin wants to add such a prestigious major, they need to have the right resources for those students,” Adele droned.
“You’re absolutely right, Adele.”
She beamed at him.
“The line’s moving.” He gave my arm another pat and moved on.
Adele settled back into her seat in a huff. An academic scorned. I kept my mouth shut about the materials budget for the philosophy department. Lasha had mocked the proposal when it had crossed her desk.
A pimply faced usher fidgeted next to my seat. I led my row into the reception line.
The narrow narthex and doors of the church made it impossible for me to escape the line. I rubbed my sweaty palms on my skirt as I shuffled closer to the Blocken contingent.
Bree shook my hand first. “So good of you to come.”
I nodded. I tilted away from the Blockens, who were greeting the stream of mourners.
Bree, clinging to my hand, yanked me toward her. I stumbled. “I see an opening after the woman in that god-awful bird hat. You can sneak through the door,” she whispered in my ear.
I glanced at the woman in the hat, which was truly hideous, a wide black mesh number with a small starling clinging to the brim. A small opening revealing summer sunlight twinkled behind her, enough for a small man or an aggressive woman to slip through. I whispered a thank-you to Bree.
Safely on the sidewalk, I rotated my tense shoulders under my thin suit jacket. The square was congested with mourners, hearse, and caravan. A Stripling police officer stepped out of his cruiser to direct the gridlock. I wove through a tangle of autos to the relative safety of the square’s center green, a tiny park with ancient sycamores, park benches, and a gazebo for weddings. I hurried through it and another tangle of vehicles to the Presbyterian lot.
The steering wheel burnt my hands. As I rolled down both windows and leaned back on the scorching vinyl headrest, I clenched my eyelids.
A loud metallic pop like an exploding aluminum soda can startled me. A featureless face leaned into the car. I screamed, giving any B movie heroine a run for her money.
“Relax,” A voice broke through my hysteria. “India?”
I gulped down the last cry on my lips. Psycho killers don’t usually know your name. Unless they’re stalkers, my brain added. I took a breath to scream again.
“It’s Rick.”
Rick? Rick who? Mains. Oh. Does he want me to call him Rick? I’m not calling him Rick, I thought.
I peered through the open window. Mains’s face loomed white as Santa’s beard. Served him right.
I braced my hands on my chest and thrust my heart back behind my sternum. He backed up from the car door.
“You nearly gave me a heart attack. I could sue the city for this. Terrorizing law-abiding citizens,” I said.
“Whoa there,” he said as if I were a testy gelding. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but you overreacted.”
“Overreacted? Overreacted.” I struggled out of my car and the heavy door pinched my left calf on the way out. After freeing myself from the metal beast, I slammed the door shut. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I’m a little on edge.”
Mains threw his hands up like one of his perps. “I said I was sorry.”
“Yeah, well.” I couldn’t think of anything to end the sentence. I leaned on the hood of the car to mask my confusion.
I noticed how the sunshine reflected off Mains’s dark hair. Carmen had been right: he did have great hair. No, no, no, no. I will not do this. He’s not cute, I told myself. I can’t think that. I tried to focus on Mark freezing to death in the Justice Center jail cell. Leave, my brain begged. Leave now.
Mains interrupted my inner debate. “Who was that guy you were chatting up at the funeral?”
“You were at the funeral? I never saw you.”
“I sat directly behind you. You never looked back.”
He must mean Bobby, I thought
.
I took a breath. “Why do you care who that guy was? Is he wanted for something?”
He scowled and wiped his damp forehead with a gray handkerchief that matched his tie. “We need to talk.”
The metal hood burned the back of my thighs, but I didn’t move. The temperature camped in the high eighties and the humidity was as stubborn. I removed my jacket and tossed it through the open window onto the seat. “Why, Detective?”
“Your brother was arraigned this morning. To my surprise, Lewis Clive stated that bond would not be posted on Mark’s behalf.”
I ignored the implied questions. “How much?”
“A hundred thousand.”
“A hundred thousand dollars,” I whispered. “Why?”
“The judge believes Mark is a flight risk.”
I had a sinking feeling. “Who was the judge?”
“The Honorable Martha Luckas.”
As I feared. Back when the Honorable Martha Luckas was only a public defender, she was my family’s next door neighbor on Kilbourne Street. Many times, my daydreamy brother would ride his mountain bike through her impeccable front lawn and flower beds in his haste to return home to his beloved calculus problems.
“Of course, it would be her.” I laughed mirthlessly. “A flight risk? Mark doesn’t know a soul outside of Stripling.” I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes and willed myself to breathe normally.
“By the way the judge was staring down your brother, Mark’s lucky she set bond at all.”
I removed my hands. “Is Stripling really this corrupt?”
“Not corrupt.” Mains said, nonplused. “Small.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Why isn’t your family posting bail?”
Before I could answer or avoid an answer, heavy footsteps approached from behind. Unwilling to be caught unaware again, I spun around. Kirk jogged across the parking lot. He waved a hand over his head. “Detective!”
Mains stepped away from me and approached Kirk.
Despite the humidity, Kirk wasn’t winded from his jaunt across the square, a fringe benefit of his peak physical condition. Another benefit would be the ability to crack Brazil nuts with his biceps.
Mains greeted Kirk in muted tones, but Kirk spoke normally. “How’s the case going? Are you going to get him? I would’ve been at the courthouse today, if it hadn’t been . . .”
Mains made uninformative and generic statements about the case against my brother, obviously aware of my proximity.
“I can testify,” Kirk declared. “Anything to put that bastard away.”
My best recourse was to slip into my car and drive away. The ancient door hinges wailed under the simple movement. With the speed of a greyhound, Kirk was beside me. He smacked the hood of the car. I wondered if the automobile would require body work after all its post-funeral love taps. Not that the pounding could make it look much worse.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded. “You shouldn’t have been at her funeral. You weren’t invited.” His face was the color of an overripe raspberry.
“Last time I checked, Kirk, funerals didn’t require RSVPs. Furthermore, I’ve known Olivia my entire life and have every right to attend her funeral.”
Kirk stood inches from me, pressing me back into the car. I straightened to my full height and looked down at him. “You and that brother of yours orchestrated Olivia’s death,” he growled.
“What kind of crock conspiracy theory is that? And is
orchestrated
your word for the day?”
“India,” Mains warned, edging closer.
“Mark had nothing to do with Olivia’s death, and neither did I.”
Kirk pressed against my body and lifted his hand as if to strike. Mains was there in an instant.
He grabbed Kirk’s wrist in a viselike grip. “If you hit her, Mr. Row, you will spend the rest of the day in jail, no matter who Regina Blocken calls.” He released Kirk’s wrist.
Kirk lowered his hand. “Tell that brother of yours it’s prison or the funeral home.”
Mains yanked Kirk away from me. Kirk stalked off across the parking lot.
Mains watched him cross the street, then turned to me. “Are you all right?” His expression was one of true concern.
“Fine,” I whispered.
Maybe Mark was better off in jail. Even with that in mind, I would do my best to get him out.
I had resituated myself behind the reference counter at Ryan when Erin approached the desk with a handful of yellow while-you-were-out slips. She fanned them on the counter. “I didn’t go to college to be a secretary, you know.”
I thanked her, and she looked at me strangely, probably because she expected a smart retort; I disappointed her.
“Four messages from your mother, each more hysterical than the last, and another two from some dude named Lewis Clive.”
The first message from my mother read, “India, call me immediately.” Followed by “India, call the second you get in.” Then, “India, turn on your cell phone and call me.” Finally, “India, this is your mother. I’m expecting a call.”
Erin leaned on the counter. “She had me read them back to her to make sure that I got the emphasis just right.”
“Fantastic.”
“India, what’s going on? Rumors on campus say that your brother’s in jail for murdering that woman in the fountain. Everybody already knows that he’s been fired.”
I took a deep breath. “Suspended,” I corrected.
“Whatever,” she said, as if the distinction meant nothing.
“Erin, I really can’t talk about this with—”
“Anyway, I told them they were full of it. Professor Hayes would never hurt anyone.” Before I could respond, she turned and retreated to her post at the checkout desk.
During my break, I went to the student union to return Lew’s phone call. A lone graduate student slept in a dimly lit booth. Piles of books, notebooks, and printouts hid the table’s dark surface and his face.
I slipped into an empty booth and turned on my cell phone. The tiny digital screen announced that my mailbox was full. I bet I knew who most of those messages were from. I dialed Lew’s number.
“It’s about time you called,” Lew rasped.
I made no apology. “Isn’t a hundred thousand dollars a little steep for bail?”
“Oh, you heard. Your mother called, I suspect.”
I didn’t correct him.
I heard Lew take a long drag. I feared my eardrum would be inhaled through the phone. “A hundred thousand is not unusual for a murder rap, but I agree that it is high in Mark’s case. I asked the judge to release him on his own recognizance, just as a formality, but I knew she’d never buy it.
With Mark’s ties to the community, etcetera, I can’t understand the exorbitant amount, especially since the D.A. is only charging him with manslaughter. I objected heartily, but no go.”
Oh, only manslaughter. Well that makes things so much better, I thought.
“The judge and Mark have a history,” I said and told him about the trampled flower gardens.
“Oh. God, I hate this small-town crap.”
I agreed and longed for the anonymity of Chicago. Maybe I should have stayed there after art school.
“That explains that. The judge took one look at your brother and set her jaw. It didn’t help that your parents were kicked out of the courtroom for disturbing the proceedings. Do you know they had T-shirts made up? But I don’t have to tell you about your folks, do I?”
“No, you don’t. Were the Blockens there?”
“Just the doc as far as I could see, and pretty unemotional. Olivia’s funeral was today.”
“I know; I was there.”
“Ah.” He inhaled.
“How did Mark react?”
“He sniffled a little. Thank God, he didn’t cry.” Lew coughed and took another mouthful of nicotine.
“I mean, to my parents not posting bond.”
“I haven’t had a chance to tell him yet. The courtroom was in such an uproar after Luckas’s decision that he was taken from the room before we could speak. I’m on my way to the jail right now.”
I ended the call and walked back to the library.
By late afternoon, I was more than ready to go home. The week had robbed me of what little librarian fervor I’d had, and my eyes drifted shut, then jerked open at a tapping on the reference counter. I opened them to Lepcheck’s scowl. His perpetual grimace matched his understated, but pricey funeral suit nicely. Lasha stood behind him with her arms crossed over her expansive chest in a gleaming kelly green pants suit. Ina would’ve approved of the ensemble.
“Do you have a reference question, Dr. Lepcheck?” I asked in my best helpful librarian voice.
He tugged on the tip of his goatee, a perturbing habit. “Ms. Hayes, Dr. Lint and I would like to speak to you in her office.”
“Who will watch the reference desk?” I asked, instantly regretting it.
He scowled. “Now.”
I followed their ridged backs, one black, one kelly green, toward Lasha’s cramped office. We passed Andy and Erin. Erin glanced up from a novel and Andy from a gamer website. The looks on their faces were those of witnesses watching a friend enter a Texas gas chamber. Dead librarian walking.
Lasha hadn’t tidied her office for the occasion. The innumerable stacks of library books in varied stages of acquiring or discarding covered every flat surface including the four chairs. Lasha pushed the piles off three.