Dead Weight (18 page)

‘I couldn’t meet tomorrow anyway. Kerry’s funeral is tomorrow—’

‘What time? I want to pay my respects,’ she said.

‘It’s at eleven with a reception after at Kerry’s home.’

‘Perfect,’ Vera said. ‘I’ll meet you at the church – the funeral is in a church, right?’

‘Hold on,’ I said and turned to Ken. ‘Where will the funeral be held?’ I asked.

‘McCarty’s Funeral Home on the feeder road going into Codderville,’ he said.

I was slightly surprised Kerry’s family didn’t have a church; everyone in Black Cat Ridge seemed to belong to one of the many churches – and the one synagogue – the township boasted. Hell, even Willis and I belonged to a church. Which made me stop and think: would that become a custody issue too? Who gets the kids, the friends, the church? I shook my head to loosen the thoughts of the death of my marriage, and got back to the phone.

‘McCarty’s Funeral home,’ I told Vera.

‘Well, I like ’em better when they’re in a church and all, but McCarty’s has some nice stained-glass windows,’ Vera said. ‘I’ll meet you there about ten thirty. Should I bring Willis?’

Uh oh, I thought, he and Ken were friendly enough for Ken to come over here the night before Kerry died to talk about Kerry’s behavior. ‘It’s up to him,’ I finally told Vera, and we rang off.

ELEVEN

T
risha and her husband Tom picked me up the next morning a little after ten to drive to the funeral home. I was wearing the same little black dress I’d worn to Berta’s ‘memorial,’ but Trisha was wearing a pant suit that screamed Armani. It also screamed ‘I’m going to steam you to death’ as it was already in the nineties at ten a.m., and summer weight wool is not something we Texans can actually get our minds around.

Graham and the girls were going to pick up Ken, Jr and Keith. Graham thought it might make it a little easier to have friends around, and besides, he said, ‘they think me having a car is cool.’ And he shrugged. Sometimes that kid is my hero.

We got to the funeral home right behind Ken and Berta. Ken’s parents were also in his car and Kerry’s parents and her sister had come in a separate car. The place was already getting crowded and we had almost an hour to go. Even though Ken had suggested donations to any of Kerry’s charities be sent in lieu of flowers, the chapel was still flooded with blossoms – living plants in plentiful bloom, cut flower arrangements so big they had to stand on the floor, a spray of white roses covering half of the top of the casket, dried flower arrangements, and even some silk arrangements. It was a funeral bouquet at its finest, the smell bound to linger in my nostrils as least until next Wednesday.

Trisha and I helped Berta place the plants the way she wanted them. Strange as her relationship had been with Kerry, no one seemed to argue that she had every right to play the role she’d chosen. OK, maybe Kerry’s sister and mother might have wanted to step in and do something, but then again, they both looked a little numb.

Vera showed up at 10:30 a.m. on the dot, as promised, carrying a three-tiered cake carrier. ‘Didn’t want to leave this in the car with the heat being what it is,’ she said, handing me the carrier. ‘See if they got a refrigerator in here without a dead person in it. If so, put in the top two tiers only, not the third one – wrap that in a towel to keep it warm, but it’ll probably have to be warmed up anyway at the house.’

I did as I was told and the funeral director directed me to a young woman who took me to the employees’ lounge where there was a refrigerator. ‘Better put a sign or something on those things,’ she said, ‘or those guys down in hair and make-up will surely take off with it.’ And then she left me alone.

OK, let’s review: Kerry has been murdered by person or persons unknown, Berta, aka Rosalee Bunch, has twice been assaulted with an attempt, all feared, on her life. My husband had left me and it seemed that now, after twenty-three years of marriage, we were heading for divorce. And here I stood, in the industrially-decorated employee lounge of a funeral home, wondering whether I should risk putting Vera’s food in the refrigerator and having it eaten by the hair and make-up guys, put in the car and having it ruined by the heat, or setting it beside me in the chapel and letting all three tiers become room temperature.
That
was, indeed, my most pressing problem.

Then I had an epiphany. I did not know who killed Kerry, who’d made the numerous attempts on Berta/Rosalee’s life, or whether or not my marriage could be saved, but I did know one thing: limo drivers always had the air conditioning on high.

I made my way around to the back of the building where the hearse and several limos were waiting. An African-American man in his fifties was leaning against one of the limos and smoking an unfiltered cigarette.

‘Is that an unfiltered Camel or a joint?’ I asked.

‘Neither, ma’am, it’s a Pall-Mall, like my daddy used to smoke,’ he said, giving me a big grin.

I introduced myself and told him my problem. ‘John Cox,’ he said, extending a hand to shake. ‘I’m carrying precious cargo, the bereaved, and I don’t like for them to find any discomfort they don’t already got. So with this weather, what I’m saying is, that cake thingamabob can just ride up front with me. The a/c’s already on and it’s done cooled down a bit.’

‘Thank you, Mr Cox. You saved me from the wrath of my mother-in-law!’

He shivered. ‘Ma’am, I don’t know yours, but mine’d beat me to death and tell God I died.’

I handed off the three-tiered cake holder and hurried into the building and into the chapel. Willis was already there, sitting on the same row with Vera and the kids. Ken and his extended family were behind a screen that had separate seating for the bereaved, but I saw Berta sitting by herself close to the front of the main part of the chapel. I passed my family and went to sit next to Berta. She had a full box of tissues in her lap, and several used ones beside her. I scooted next to her and took her hand.

‘I don’t know what I’d do without you, E.J.,’ she said. ‘You’ve taken up where Kerry left off.’

Somehow, her heartfelt sentiment made my stomach queasy. Had I bitten off more than I wanted to chew with befriending Berta? Would this be a retelling of
Single White Female
? Was she going to dye her hair red and buy a minivan?

Wait, I said, soothing myself. She didn’t have bangs and a ponytail, did she? No, she did not. Which means she wasn’t single-white-femaling Kerry, so why would she do that with me? Right? Right?

Then I realized she was waiting for a reply. ‘Glad to do it,’ I said half-heartedly as I patted her hand. And the thought finally – too late for me, actually – came to me: am I patting the hand of a con artist who never had amnesia but killed Kerry for some reason, and is now taking over Kerry’s life – Ken and the twins – and was going to worm her way into becoming the volunteer queen of Black Cat Ridge? Or, now, wait a minute, Kerry had a thriving business. She’d sold more homes in Black Cat than any other realtor. You couldn’t go around any block in the township and not find at least one Kerry Killian For Sale sign. Is that what she was after? Kerry had to be loaded. She could easily have been making more money than Ken, who was an attorney with a good practice in Austin.

Or, and this made my stomach turn over a little bit, had there been a little bit more to the history between Ken and Berta than either had said? That one awkward meeting at Kerry’s home when Ken came home early and found Berta there may not have been it. It may have been the start of something. Say Berta is a conniving con artist. Kerry’s told her which three days per week Ken works, so she knows the two days a week he’s home – with Kerry either at her office or showing a house. So Berta comes back to Ken and Kerry’s home, seduces Ken, and they connive together to kill Kerry and take all her money. Ha, ha! I thought. Ken, you’ll be in for a rude awakening when this so called Berta Harris, aka Rosalee Bunch, decides to slit your throat and take off with the money—

I was making myself sick. I decided to tune in to the eulogies now in progress.

There was a long line of realtors, both from Black Cat and Codderville, all there to make sure everyone else knew Kerry could be replaced, and quickly too. Members of her volunteer groups gave heartfelt reasons why Kerry Killian would be missed: no one on earth could replace her in cheer, will, determination, and tenacity. Inside my head I gave that a righteous hallelujah and an amen.

When the for-hire preacher got up to give his rote sermon – funeral, female – I ventured back to my speculations. I knew what I’d been thinking earlier was ludicrous. Besides the fact that I knew in my heart that both Berta and Ken were truly bereaved about the loss of Kerry, I couldn’t fathom a con that would take so many months to transpire. I mean, really, the hit-and-run was in October of last year, which was when Kerry and Berta first got together. And Kerry hid Berta. The electric heater was thrown in Berta’s bath two weeks ago. Why wait nine, almost ten months, if this was a con Berta was playing? Of course, if it was a con, then the whole electric heater in the bath story was bogus.

And what was Kerry’s angle? She had to recognize Berta as Rosalee Bunch, but she didn’t tell Berta that or anything about her past life. Why not? Well, it would be awkward for one.
Oh, hey, girlfriend, by the way, you’re real name is Rosalee Bunch and the police are after you for killing your mother fifteen years ago. But other than that, how’re you feeling?

The hired preacher finished up and we waited while the family left the chapel. I got in line with Berta to leave the chapel, where there was the usual gridlock at the front where the family was lined up to have their hands shaken. The collage Ken and Berta had put together was on a table right outside the door and the receiving line gridlock was stymied by another gridlock of people admiring the pictures.

Once out and to our cars, I rode again with Trisha and Tom into Codderville where Kerry’s family had a large plot in a very old graveyard there. The trees were huge and acted as a parasol, keeping the noontime heat somewhat at bay. But it was still in the high nineties, and the service was kept blessedly short. Berta asked Tom for a ride with us back to Ken’s house, as Ken and the other family members had to take the limo back to the funeral home to get their cars. The twins, who had ridden in the limo with their dad from the funeral home to the graveside, opted to hop back in Graham’s car and go straight home.

I briefly excused myself and ran to the limo to get Vera’s three-tiered cake carrier. ‘Thanks so much, Mr Cox,’ I said.

‘You’re more than welcome, and I gotta say, that’s some nice smelling stuff you got there,’ he said, looking longingly at the carrier. If it had been anyone else’s home-made food, I would have lifted a lid and given him some of whatever it was, but it wasn’t anyone’s food. It was Vera’s. I just wasn’t woman enough to mess with Vera Pugh’s food. And I didn’t know a woman who was, frankly.

MEGAN

Funerals are sad. Really. This one especially because of, you know, Ken and Keith and all. Keith’s really cute and nicer than he used to be. I knew him in middle school and he was pretty mean, but he seems to have mellowed with age. The party – or whatever you call it – after the funeral was at Keith and Ken’s house, which I’d never been to before and it was really nice. I mean, my mom
tries
to decorate – like a throw pillow here or there – but Mrs Killian’s house was beautiful and Keith said his mom did it all herself – no decorator! Looking at it gave me a wonderful idea: I think maybe I’ll become an interior decorator. I certainly have the style and taste. And I’d look really cute carrying swatches in high heels and a cashmere scarf, my hair tousled from being in my convertible.

Mom and some other ladies were setting out tons of food and we grabbed some plates and piled them high and all headed upstairs to the twin’s suite. They actually have a
suite
, can you believe it? There was a big room with a pool table, a foosball table and couches and chairs, and doors on either side leading to a bedroom for each boy. Both bedrooms had separate baths. I would
kill
for my own bathroom! I mean it. Well, maybe not literally. I’m glad I kept that to myself, you know, because of what happened to Keith’s mom? Über bad taste.

Even as big as the living-room area was, it was crowded with all of us in there – me, the twins, Graham, Bess, and Alicia. But we all sat around on the floor eating and talking. Both Keith and Ken seemed to be doing OK, under the circumstances. And Graham was keeping them entertained with tales of his exploits – none of which I believed AT ALL.

When the phone rang, Keith leaned over me to get it, his bare arm touching my bare arm. I got all goose-fleshy. I swear to God, when he moved back with the cordless phone, he did it again. The first time might have been an accident, the second time certainly was not! Then I caught Bess looking at me. She raised one eyebrow – which I easily interpreted as,
OMG, did he really just do that?
And I shrugged my shoulders just the slightest bit – which she knew meant,
Oh, yes he did!

Graham, of course, had not stopped talking when Keith picked up the phone, so Keith had to wave his arm for quiet. To his brother, he said, ‘It’s Uncle Mark!’

Ken moved over next to Keith, sharing the phone with him. ‘Hey, Uncle Mark! Missed you at the funeral. We were getting worried about you . . .’ They both listened for a long moment, then Keith said, ‘Why didn’t you call earlier?’ Silence. Then, ‘Oh, right, no cells during the service. Hey, we’ll come get you—’ Silence. Then Keith looked at Graham and whispered, ‘Will you drive us into Codderville?’

Graham nodded. ‘No prob,’ he said.

Ken said, ‘Hey, we have a friend here who is actually licensed to drive and he’ll bring us down there to get you. Grandpa’s really pissed—’ Ken stopped then laughed. ‘
I’m
not gonna tell him that!’ Then silence, another laugh, then, ‘We’re on our way.’

Keith asked Ken, ‘What’d he say about Grandpa?’

‘Something about grandpa’s attitude and a place where the sun don’t shine,’ Ken said.