The highly intellectualized discussion faded now, as Judy was finished dispersing her husband’s ashes.
Father Darren, ever smiling, spread his hands to them all and said, “‘I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shalt stand at the latter day upon the earth.’ Go in peace, to love and serve the Lord!”
The congregation’s reply strayed across the field: “Amen.”
“It’s about time,” Junior said. “I’m tired a’ standin’ around.”
Ricky’s eyes roamed the crowd as a line formed, townsfolk waiting to convey their condolences to Judy. “Where is he?”
“Here they come. Shit. Sutter’s coming too.”
Sutter and Trey approached the two brothers, neither looking happy. “What’ choo boys doin’ here?” Chief Sutter demanded.
The brothers shrugged. “Just payin’ our last respects to Dwayne,” Junior told him.
“You boys didn’t give a shit about Dwayne,” Trey said, standing right up to them.
Ricky frowned. “We knew Dwayne, all right. Didn’t always get along, but now that he’s dead . . . like my brother said, it’s only right fer us to pay some respect.”
“Bullshit,” the chief said. “You’re about the two biggest lowlifes in all of Agan’s Point—”
“You ain’t got no right to say that!” Junior said back.
‟—and neither of ya got any respect for no one. I told you two last time after Harriet Farmer got all that jewelry stole out of her house—I don’t wanna even
see
either of you nowheres around me. You see me walkin’ down the street, you turn around and walk the other way.”
Ricky glared back. “We didn’t have
nothin’
to with that break-in, Chief,” he lied, “and it ain’t proper for you to hassle us just ‘cos you don’t like us.”
“You guys busted into that old lady’s house and ya know it,” Trey told them, jabbing a finger hard against Ricky’s chest. “Oh, you don’t like me pokin’ ya? Do something about it.”
Ricky’s eyes lowered, and under his breath he said, “This is bullshit.”
Next, Chief Sutter bellied right up into his face. “And I know it was you two peepin’ on the Chester girls and their babysitter. Truck just like yours was seen leavin’ the street. What a pair a’ scumbags.”
Now Junior tried to get right back in Sutter’s face. “We didn’t peep on nobody,” he lied just as well as his brother. In fact, they’d been doing the same since adolescence. Junior’s voice increased in volume. “And that’s downright shitty a’ you to say we’d do somethin’ like that. The Chester girls ain’t even in high school yet.”
“That’s what I mean,” the chief countered, and then he jabbed a hard finger. “And you better keep your lyin’ voice down, ‘cos if you disturb this service with your bullshit, I’m kickin’ both your asses.”
Junior’s face began to twitch, as it often did when he was riled. But was he stupid enough to assault the chief of police?
Junior opened his hand, prepared to give Sutter a good, hard shove.
Trey jumped in front of him, pushing him back. Even Ricky, the slightly wiser one, grabbed his brother by the arm to stave off the blow.
‟Forget it, Junior,” he ordered. “Don’t give ’em an excuse to bust us.”
Trey kept pushing Junior away from the chief. “Grow a brain for a change and listen to your brother, you asswipe.” He leveled his gaze on both of them. “Get your deadbeat asses out of here while you still can. We will
not
allow a scene here. You fuck this up for Judy, me ’n’ the chief are gonna fuck
you
boys up but good.”
Junior’s eyes were red with rage. He shook off his brother’s hand, then turned and stalked off. Ricky followed him.
When they were back at the road where everyone had parked, Ricky slapped Junior’s shoulder. “Shit, man! I thought you were really gonna shove Sutter!”
“Damn well had a mind to. I’d love to roust that fat fuck.”
“So’d Trey slip ya the contact?”
Junior reached into the back pocket of his slacks. “Fucker should be a pickpocket. Slippery, ya know? I didn’t even feel it.” He slipped out a small piece of paper.
The paper read:
The Hilds. Tonight. Glove compartment.
“Hmm,” Junior said.
They both lumbered to their pickup truck, a dented hulk. Ricky excitedly flung open the door, then popped down the door to the glove box.
“The man came through!”
Junior eyed the contents of the envelope. “Yeah, and he ain’t foolin’ around.”
A thousand dollars in cash filled the envelope.
(II)
Later, the house sprawled with friends, neighbors, and other well-wishers.
This is definitely a Southern-style funeral reception,
Patricia observed. The gathering began quietly but soon unwound into something close to a party. Local women had all brought food—cakes, salads, cold cuts—but it didn’t take long before the banquet table took a backseat to alcohol.
This is how they do it. . . .
Younger Squatter women silently aided Ernie in dispensing the drinks, yet Patricia didn’t see any of the Squatters actually drinking themselves.
Oh, that’s right,
she remembered.
They’re teetotalers.
Just about everyone else, though, was proving the opposite.
But Patricia was surprised by how well composed her sister remained during the service. There were tears, of course, but nothing close to the breakdown Patricia foresaw. Again, it seemed that Patricia’s mere presence was her sister’s main source of comfort.
As late afternoon became evening, Patricia began to feel more at ease herself. At first she’d felt a bit like an outcast in this crowd of seeming strangers, but eventually many of the faces sparked her memories of when she’d last lived here; she was greeted cordially time and time again, even by some whom she didn’t remember until names were mentioned. The entirety of the affair was rich with sentimental talk, like, “Dwayne surely will be missed,” ‟What a tragic passing,” “We’ll really miss him,” and on and on—things Patricia knew were being said only for Judy to overhear. In the parlor, some older local men spoke more along the lines of the truth: “Judy’s so much better off without that lyin’, cheatin’ prick,” and “Good riddance to the bastard.” Patricia’s city-born cynicism forced a smile.
She kept her own drinking on the light side—she wasn’t in the mood, and she didn’t want to make a bad impression by getting too tipsy in front of the others.
I’m here for my sister, so I don’t need to be getting pie-eyed.
But every so often—she couldn’t help it—she cast a glance toward Ernie.
Not this again . . .
He had his suit jacket and tie off now, the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up over toned, tanned forearms. He’d unbuttoned the shirt a few notches, and she could see his pectorals flexing when he lifted a tray of sandwiches.
Her eyes raked down his body, and suddenly she was imagining him naked, on top of her . . .
I have to stop this! This is crazy!
“You must be Patricia, Judy’s sister from Washington.”
The sudden voice hawked down on her; she flinched as a child might when caught doing something naughty. A very well dressed blond man stood beside her, hard blue eyes, a flirting smile. She’d been so caught off guard musing about Ernie, she was nearly annoyed.
“Yes, I’m Patricia,” she said when she recovered. “And you are?”
“Gordon Felps,” the man replied. His hand felt cool, strong. His complexion seemed blanched, which only intensified the blue eyes. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you from your sister. My only regret is the circumstance I’ve finally gotten to meet you under.”
Felps, Felps.
Patricia struggled. Then she remembered. “Oh, you’re the construction magnate.”
The man chuckled. “I wouldn’t call myself a magnate by any means, but I am a builder, yes.”
“The luxury condos that are going on up on the river side of the Point.” Her lawyer’s instincts instantly engaged. “And you’d like to continue building on this side of the Point. My sister mentioned that you’d already made an offer for her property, so you’ll need to know that I’m Judy’s acting legal counsel for all personal and business matters.” A cordial smile as she handed him her business card. “Please feel free to contact me in the future for any inquiries regarding my sister.”
Felps wasn’t fazed by her polite show of force; if anything he was impressed. He pocketed the card. “I will, thank you—not that I suspect it will be necessary, not at this point. Judy’s made her desires clear to me. She doesn’t want to sell the family land, and I respect that. Actually I’ve made several offers, but anything more than five million wouldn’t be practical from my standpoint.”
Five million? I thought she said one million. . . .
“I fully understand her loyalty to Everd Stanherd and his people. She doesn’t want to put them out; regrettably, if I took over the property, I’d have no choice. I’d build an entire community where they’re living now.”
“The Squatters have always been sort of a surrogate family—they worked for my mother and father when they started the crabbing business in the fifties.” But in the back of Patricia’s mind, she kept thinking,
Five million? Wow . . .
“Of course. I’ll have to keep my project on the river side, but I’m sure it will still stimulate the town’s growth.” He looked around the reception. “Anyway, it’s uncouth of me even to be discussing it at such a time—sorry.”
“Oh, I’m so glad you two could meet.” Judy emerged from the crowd and squeezed between Patricia and Felps, draping an arm around each of their shoulders. “Mr. Felps is the man I was telling you about, the construction man.”
“Yes. We were just having a chat,” Patricia said.
Judy was obviously in her cups, stooping over a little. But at least the tears had dried. She hugged Patricia harder. “Oh, and it was Gordon who supplied all the liquor for Dwayne’s reception. Wasn’t that kind of him?”
“Yes, it was.” But then Patricia thought,
Probably hoping you’d get drunk and sign a bad purchase agreement.
“It was nothing, Judy,” Felps said. “For the short time I’ve been here, you and Dwayne have been good friends, and my heart goes out to you now in this sad time. I hope it goes without saying, but if you need anything—anything at all—just ask.”
“Thank you, Gordon.” Another tear now; then she looked glitter-eyed to Patricia. “He’s such a sweet man.”
He may be a con man, but I don’t know how sweet he is,
Patricia thought. She was just being protective, of course. Felps was probably a fine person and a legitimate businessman, but since lawyers tended to despise businessmen, and vice versa, she supposed her guarded reaction was normal.
Felps stood his ground in spite of the sudden discomfort. Judy was close to drunk now, and she was a
sloppy
drunk. Was she clutching Felps so hard on purpose? Was she deliberately pressing her left breast against him, or was she just unaware of it in her inebriation? The stooped pose lowered the vee of her black dress, showing a depth of cleavage.
Could my sister possibly have a crush on this guy?
came Patricia’s off-key thought. Judy’s bosom was almost as formidable as Patricia’s. She watched Felps’s eyes, hoping to catch them straying to the cleavage . . . but it never happened.
Then Patricia berated herself.
My head has been in the gutter since the minute I came back here. I’d better straighten up.
“I’ve got to visit the ladies’ room, but you two keep chatting,” Judy slurred next. She gave Patricia a kiss on the cheek, then a squeezy hug to Felps, and she was gone.
“I’d better get going myself,” Felps said, glancing at his watch. “Early day tomorrow. But it was very nice meeting you.”
“You, too.”
Interesting,
she thought after he’d left
. He could be the greatest guy in the world, but . . . I don’t think I like him.
It was just more attorney cynicism, but what did it matter? When she looked back into the dining room to see if Ernie was still there, all she caught a glimpse of was his back as he disappeared into the kitchen.
Was she suddenly obsessed with him? Had returning here sparked some until-recently-dormant middle-aged biological clock?
We weren’t even high school sweethearts,
she reminded herself
. He wanted to be but I didn’t.
Was some fossil of regret inching out of her soul?
Ridiculous,
she dismissed the thought. Even in her darkest and most personal hours, she knew she’d found total happiness—as well as sexual satisfaction—with Byron. When she’d called him on her cell phone just before the services, simply hearing his voice had sparked a few sexual wires. Her nipples had hardened even as she related her very dull goings-on thus far.
I don’t know what this Ernie thing is, but it’s stupid and nonsensical, so I’m going to put it out of my mind
, she determined.
“Howdy, Patricia. My condolences, a’ course. Sorry it took me so long to welcome ya back to town.”