A Scrying Shame (10 page)

“That’s why I had you drive.” Arie rubbed her head again. “I’ve been getting migraines.”

“Well, you could always use the casket. It’s the shiniest black lacquer I’ve ever seen.”

Arie stared at it. Marissa had finally gotten her flowers. Roses and orchids lined both sides of the wall behind the casket.
So wrong.

The line moved forward about six inches. Arie sighed. At this rate, they’d still be in this line at breakfast time.

“By the way,” Chandra said. “Do you smell chili? It’s making me hungry.”

Arie groaned. “I made Grumpa a pot while I was getting ready. I don’t seriously smell like chili, do I?”

Chandra’s only answer was a pitying look.

Arie sniffed, but couldn’t smell anything. Maybe Chandra was kidding? But then how did she know...? To distract herself, Arie scanned the crowd. She thought she caught sight of June’s coiffed ‘do, but the woman was so short Arie couldn’t be sure.

Kelli stood near the casket, receiving condolences. A stylish woman in her late twenties stood next to her, her hand on the sleeve of a tall blond man. The fiancé, perhaps? What was his name? People ebbed and flowed around the trio in a mournful social dance.

Chandra poked Arie. “I know her.”

“Kelli? She’s Marissa’s younger sister.”

“No,” Chandra said. “The other one. I went to school with her. We had a couple of classes together. Her name is . . . shoot, I can’t remember. It’s one of those unusual frou-frou names that nobody knows how to spell.”

“Like Chandra? Or Arie?”

“Fair enough. Do you see anyone else you know? It looks like half of Oconomowoc showed up for this. The rich half, anyway.”

Chandra was right, a fact that did nothing to settle Arie’s nerves. It was the type of crowd that, money or no money, her mother would have blended in with. For one thing, Evelyn would have pulled the perfect saddened-but-not-a-member-of-the-immediate-family dress from her closet with matching I’m-so-sorry shoes and an I-feel-your-pain scarf that she would tie in one of those fancy, complicated knots.

Following step-by-step instructions off of YouTube, Arie had practiced for forty-five minutes with the one scarf she owned. The same one she’d worn to her job interview, in fact. The process had been made more difficult by not being able to use a mirror. She’d ended up tangling her hair into the knot so tightly she’d needed to cut it out. As for her dress . . .

The navy blue was subdued enough, but during the months following her trip to the Other Side, Arie had struggled with depression. Like many, she ate her emotions. Actually, emotions were probably calorie free; it was the cookies and potato chips that had bolstered her curves. Her dress squeezed her midsection like a python. Worse, the plunging neckline let the “girls” come out to play like a couple of wiggling puppies trying to escape a sack. Even the scarf didn’t help. She gave the neckline a tug, but it only turned the wiggle into a decided jiggle. Giving up, Arie straightened and came eye to eye with a pair of sapphire-blue orbs that bored into her skull like a drill.

“Detective O’Shea.” Arie gasped. The gasp did nothing to help the jiggle issue.

If the twinkle in his eyes was any indication, O’Shea didn’t seem to mind. “Arie? I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I . . . uh . . . I thought I should pay my respects.”

O’Shea turned serious. He glanced at the casket then back at Arie, a question dimming the twinkle. “Did you know Marissa Mason?”

Arie swallowed. “No. Of course not. I . . .”

O’Shea waited.

“I guess I’ve never known anyone who was murdered before.” A situation made especially weird, since Arie hadn’t been “introduced” to the victim until after her murder.

Best not to mention that.

A darker shadow crossed O’Shea’s face. “So you’re here out of curiosity? That’s funny. I didn’t have you pegged for that kind of thing.”

“What kind of thing?”

“A death groupie. But I guess that explains your job.” He started to turn away, but Arie grabbed his arm. His eyebrows shot up, and he looked pointedly at the hand gripping his wrist. Arie didn’t think it was possible to blush any harder than she already was, but she managed.

“That’s
not
why I do my job.”

O’Shea’s eyebrows stayed raised, but his eyes lifted to hers.

“I . . . I do what I do because somebody needs to take care of them.” She let go of his wrist.

He continued staring into her eyes, but a warmth crept back into his. “So do I,” O’Shea said. “Maybe we could talk about that some time? Over coffee, maybe. Or, I don’t know, chili?”

He turned and walked back into the crowd, leaving Arie shaken and confused and more than a little as if she’d just read the sexy bits in a romance novel. Also humiliated.
Chili?
Arie sniffed her arm. She still couldn’t smell anything.

“Holy cats,” Chandra said. “Who was that?”

“That’s the detective on Marissa’s case. I met him this morning.”

“And you didn’t think to mention that? He’s got to be the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. Those eyes . . .”

“I didn’t mention him because he probably thinks I’m an idiot.”

“That didn’t stop his eyes from drinking you in like you were a strawberry smoothie. And I don’t think he was thinking ‘idiot’ when he was staring down your cleavage and asking you out.” Chandra glanced down at herself and sighed. “You really have the advantage there.”

“Oh, no,” Arie said. Shock drove any leftover tingly feelings away.

“No, really. I could probably get by with a couple of Band-Aids—”

“What’s Brant doing here?”

“Brant?” Chandra stopped her self-evaluation and followed Arie’s gaze. “Your brother?”

Both girls stared across the large room at a man in a gray suit standing against the wall by himself. Objectively speaking, it should have been possible to call him handsome. Blond, tousled hair, light blue eyes, broad shoulders, and a strong jaw line: he had all the individual parts of a Nordic god. Except he wasn’t. Despite the genetic favors bestowed upon him, Brant Stiles lacked an indefinable quality that would have made him stand out in any crowd. Arie, with her unremarkable—to her—dark brown hair and eyes, had always resented Brant’s inability to work the advantages he’d been given. But then, he’d been given so many.

When he caught Arie staring, he grimaced. She left her place in line and, with Chandra trailing behind, crossed the room to her sibling.

“Brant, what are you doing here? Did you know—”

The realization hit her. She slapped a hand over her mouth.

“Arie—”

“Was this
your
Marissa?”

“What do you mean, ‘his Marissa’?” Chandra’s eyes darted between brother and sister.

Brant clenched his jaw and looked away. “Go home, Arie. I don’t need you here.”

“I’m not here because of—”

“Dammit,” Brant said. “Now he’s looking right at us.”

“Who is?”

Arie grabbed Brant’s jacket sleeve, but he pulled out of her grasp and walked away, leaving his sister to stare at his back.

“Well, that’s rude,” Chandra said.

“You don’t understand.”

“Maybe not. How did your brother know Marissa?”

“I’ll explain later,” Arie said.

“You might have to do some explaining to Detective Gorgeous while you’re at it. He’s been watching us the whole time you and Brant were talking. Think he’s jealous?”

“He’s trying to find a murderer, Chandra. Is that who Brant thought was looking at us?”

“I think so. He’s headed this way.”

“Oh, hell.” Arie grabbed her friend’s hand and pulled her to the door. “Time to go.”

Arie wanted to go to Whelan’s, their favorite coffeehouse. Ice cream topped with caramel, pecans, and hot fudge would go a long way toward settling her nerves, but Chandra insisted they go back to Grumpa’s house.

“You have to quit avoiding things,” Chandra said. “It’s your home now.”

“I know, but—”

“You have to let your grandfather know this is your home, too. You have to go in there and claim it.”

“I don’t have to pee on the carpet, do I?”

Chandra ignored her. “After all, if you weren’t there, he might have to go in a home or something. He could be at least a little bit grateful.”

“Grumpa doesn’t do grateful.”

This was apparent as soon as they walked into the kitchen. Grumpa stood near the sink, scrubbing at a spot on the countertop. He hadn’t bothered brushing his hair, and wisps stood like patches of dandelion fluff around the dome of his head.

“You’re trying to poison me, aren’t you?”

Arie tempered her reply. “Hi. Nice to see you, too.”

“Hello, Mr. Wilston,” Chandra chimed in.

“Who’s that?” Grumpa glared at Chandra.

“You know her name,” Arie said patiently. “You’ve known her since she was twelve.”

“Whatever.” He turned and wrung out the dishrag in the sink.

Arie stifled a sigh. “Did you eat some of the chili I made?”

“I’m surprised I didn’t have to call in the paramedics. It’s obvious you’re trying to kill me. In fact, I probably should’ve saved some for evidence.”

“Saved some? You mean you ate the whole pot? Grumpa, that was supposed to be for both of us, and there should’ve been enough left over for lunch tomorrow.”

“Well, there wasn’t. And I had to make the cornbread by myself. You can’t eat chili without cornbread.”

Arie opened the refrigerator. “Did you at least leave me some cornbread?”

“Of course not. What good is cornbread without chili?” Grumpa stomped off into the living room.

Arie leaned her head against the refrigerator door. The cool surface felt good on her forehead. She heard rustling behind her and turned.

Chandra had pulled a loaf of bread from the breadbox and was digging through a cupboard. She pulled out a nearly empty jar of peanut butter.

“I don’t suppose Ol’ What’s-His-Name has any grape jelly in there?”

Although Chandra had decided that peeing on the carpet was the way to go, Arie led the way to her bedroom. She plopped on her bed while Chandra perched on the dresser.

“This feels like high school,” Chandra said.

“Tell me about it.”

Arie reached into her purse and pulled out Marissa’s wedding program. She passed it to Chandra. “Is the woman from the funeral in Marissa’s wedding party? She seemed pretty in with the immediate family.”

Chandra squealed. “She sure is. Riann Foster. In fact, she owes me for her B-plus in Eastern Religions.”

Arie quirked an eyebrow at her friend.

“She flunked the midterm and barely passed the final. Her only hope was the final essay, and believe me, this girl couldn’t pull together a ten-page paper on her own. She was one of those perpetual students, always changing her major. And she was a major party girl if the rumors were true. I gave her a little help.”

“You mean you cheated.”

Chandra shrugged. “Yeah, but let’s face it, it was Eastern Religions. I also had her in Astrology, but she managed to get by in that class.” Chandra frowned. “Or else she found someone else to help her.”

“How about any of the other names? The fiancé, Chad Atwater?”

Chandra studied the names but shook her head. “Looks like one of the groomsmen might be a brother or cousin. Same last name as the groom. But I don’t know any of these others. Just Riann, and really, I barely knew her.”

“I’ll try to Google them later.”

A long pause ensued. Chandra finally broke it. “All right, maybe you’d better tell me about Brant now.”

“I can’t even imagine where to start.” Arie scrabbled through her purse to find her bottle of ibuprofen. She would need that plus caffeine to take the edge off the pounding headache that had finally erupted. She simply had to figure out a way to stop the visions.

“I take it Brant knew Marissa,” Chandra prompted.

Arie nodded wearily. “They were engaged.”

“Engaged? Are you kidding me? How come I never heard about this?”

“It was the only secret we ever really shared. And it was a while ago. Two years, maybe. I ran into them at the movies and made Brant introduce us. If he could’ve gotten away with just ignoring me, he would have. She seemed really sweet, though.”

“I still can’t believe you never told me.”

“Anyway, they broke up about three months later.”

“How come he wanted to keep her a secret?”

Arie shook her head, which only made her headache worse. “I don’t know. He acted . . . embarrassed, which was crazy. I mean, like you said, she was one of those golden girls. You know, one of those Barbie dolls with a sparkly smile and perfect skin. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize her from the book photo. Back then, though, the only thing that surprised me was how Brant ever got her to go out with him in the first place.”

“I don’t suppose you know why they broke up.”

“Nope. I didn’t see him for a couple months, not ’til Thanksgiving. He covered it up, but I could tell he was really sad. When I asked him if he was going to tell Mom and Dad about his engagement, he said there wasn’t anything to tell them. He wouldn’t talk to me about it.”

“Okay, well, here’s the big question: If it was so over, why was he at her funeral?”

“Maybe it was over for her,” Arie said. “But not for him. Besides, that’s
not
the big question.”

Chandra quirked her eyebrows in a question.

“The two really big questions are why was Brant so upset about O’Shea watching him, and why is O’Shea watching him in the first place?”

After Chandra left, Arie pulled out Marissa’s book and studied the author photo on the back. After a few minutes, the page’s edges shimmered, and Arie felt another wave of nausea roll over her. She tore her eyes from the photo and dropped the book. It fell open to the dedication page. Arie leaned over and picked it up.

To B—

Whose love and encouragement brought a sweet light into my darkest days.

All my love,

M—

Arie skittered around the corner of the van and almost careened into Grady.

“Whoa, dude. You’re late,” he said. “Not going to be a habit, is it?”

“No, definitely not. I—”