Heather Horrocks - Who-Dun-Him Inn 02 - Inn the Doghouse (15 page)

The room was full of flowers. Even my cousin, Manny Much, sent an expensive spray.

Zach stayed close to me during the viewing. He had seen a casket before, during his father’s funeral. This casket was closed for obvious reasons. But I knew my son was upset and I spent some extra time talking to and comforting him.

Liz stood beside the casket, along with Jeff, John, and Janice.

Shortly before the funeral was supposed to start, the funeral director announced it was time for the family only.

Usually, this would be the closing of the casket, but that step was left out of this particular funeral. Today, we would go straight to the family prayer.

Stephanie and Lonny reluctantly filed out with the others.

My mother and father moved closer to Liz, as did our siblings.

My sister, Georgia, the black sheep of the family, was there with her biker boyfriend, who was dressed up in clean jeans and a black sport jacket over a black T-shirt. She rarely came to family events and I hadn’t met this boyfriend until today. A nurse by day and party animal by night, Georgia arrived on her boyfriend’s noisy Harley. She showed up for big family events, but I rarely saw or heard from her in-between. I greeted her with a hug and she sighed deeply and\ asked how Liz was.

“Not good.”

“I can tell.”

Paul was there, although he left Jennifer at home with their children and the baby.

Grandma took Liz’s hand and patted it, saying something to her. My father took her other hand, and my mother stood to one side of my father.

I was overwhelmed with sadness for Liz’s loss and my own. What were the chances that we’d both have husbands who died premature, violent deaths?

I began crying in earnest.

Zach looked up and saw me crying, making him very concerned. “Mom? Are you okay?”

I nodded.

David, who I didn’t realize was still in the room, talked quietly with Paul for a moment. When he looked at Zach and saw how upset he was, he came straight over to us.

Kneeling down on one knee, he spoke quietly. “How are you, buddy?”

“Mom’s crying like she did when my dad died.”

“I know, but that’s okay. Sometimes you have to let the tears out before you can feel better.” David looked up at me analytically, as if I were an experiment in a laboratory. “How many tears do you suppose she has in that cute, little head of hers?”

“A lot.” Zach looked up, too, and tilted his head. “Maybe a
billion
.”

The corner of David’s lip raised slightly. “Probably. How long do you suppose it takes to let a billion tears out of your eyes like that?”

Zach’s mouth opened. “I don’t know.” But the tremor was gone from his voice.

David shrugged. “Could be
days
for a
billion
tears.”

“Wow.” Zach tugged on my hand. “Mom, it’s okay if you cry, but try not to make so much noise.”

The noise I was trying not to make was laughter, very inappropriate laughter. David managed to make me laugh, right here, just as the bishop was announcing that Gene’s brother, John, would say the family prayer.

I looked into David’s eyes and he smirked at me. He knew exactly what he’d done. He’d intended to calm Zach and make my tears stop. And he had succeeded.

I closed my eyes and bowed my head while the prayer was spoken, being incredibly aware of the man standing next to me, not touching, but close enough for me to feel his warmth.

The emotions that nearly overwhelmed me subsided; and in their place was a feeling of peace. I didn’t understand how David could affect me like this, but I was glad he did.

And it scared me at the same time.

As the prayer ended, Zach reached up and took both my hand and David’s. Looking up at David, he said, “She must not have had a billion tears, because they’re nearly gone now.”

“Maybe just a thousand tears,” David said teasingly.

“Nope,” Zach announced. “A hundred was all.”

As the family began to file out, Zach walked us toward the door, where David dropped behind us.

I caught up with Liz and took her hand. She looked very pale.

We walked to the front row and went to the middle of the aisle.

The first speaker was Gene’s brother, Jeff, who was sporting a black eye. I wondered how he’d gotten that. After he read the obituary, he said positive things about his brother. He spoke about memories of when they were growing up, his voice turning husky in places.

My brother, Paul, did a nice job of talking about the man he’d known, also without saying anything negative about him.

Lamont Williams was the final speaker. He talked about how he and Gene were cousins, but also partners and good friends. He didn’t cry, but sincere emotion glittered in his voice.

Then the bishop made a few closing remarks, offering words of comfort and hope.

I heard such shining reports of his life today. They seemed bigger than his real life, more heroic, more righteous. But there was also truth in them. Every winter he took a load of coats under the viaduct for the homeless to wear. He’d also helped many of the people at the funeral when they needed it, without broadcasting his assistance and contribution. He donated to many charities. There was very definitely a good side to the man who betrayed Liz.

As we stood to follow the casket out of the building, Liz stumbled and I put my arm around her shoulders. She wrapped her arm around my waist.

I remembered us taking opposite positions at Robert’s funeral.

I’d seen lots of pictures of Liz and me in the crib, and one of us always had a tiny arm around the other. We’d always been there for each other, and we always would. In that moment, I was very grateful for my twin.

“Thanks,” Liz murmured, and I knew she felt the same way.

As we passed through the door, Zach walked behind us, holding both David’s and Lonny’s hands.

I caught sight of DeWayne, who was alone before. He was moving in our direction, unaware he was being stalked by a predator—one with long nails and a pretty smile. Crystal moved up quickly through the crowd and caught his arm, smiling up at him.

He slowed and stopped to talk with her, only glancing once toward Liz. Then, with an almost audible sigh, he turned back to the woman hanging on his arm.

Before DeWayne could shake off Crystal, Liz stepped into the limousine, and I followed her.

The next stop was the cemetery, where I’d spent far too much time recently.

~ ~ ~

About fifty people gathered around the newly dug hole for the prayer to dedicate the grave, which was offered by our father.

Georgia and her biker stood next to Grandma, and I was next to Liz, who shakily walked forward and placed a dozen roses on top of Gene’s cherrywood casket.

Others followed her example. Zach took one flower and set it carefully on top. I followed him.

DeWayne finally shook free of the huntress and spoke a few words with Liz. I was surprised Miss Crystal couldn’t see the concern in DeWayne’s face for Liz. It seemed so obvious to me. Or maybe Crystal did, but was determined to win him anyway.

Later, when Liz, Zach, and I walked back to the limo, I noticed Crystal closing in again.

She wasn’t going to let anything stop her, apparently. Not even a funeral or a long-time love.
Watch your step, DeWayne.

We rode back to the church, where the Relief Society ladies had prepared a luncheon for the family.

After we finished eating the slices of ham, salad, and funeral potatoes, while the rest of the family visited, Liz turned to me and said, “I’m ready to go home.”

“To your place?” I asked, uncertainly.

“No.” She shook her head. “Home. To the mansion. Take me home with you.”

So I did.

~ ~ ~

Thursday, November 10

The morning after the funeral
—Why the rush?
—I rode with Liz to the Park City office of Gene’s estate attorney. It amazed me that they would schedule the reading of Gene’s will so soon after the funeral. Nine o’clock sharp the following morning? Really? Didn’t they realize a grieving widow might have a hard time getting out of bed the next day? And her sister, too?

Grieving takes a toll, guys. Duh.

Liz and I didn’t know what to expect in this complicated situation. Since filing for divorce, Gene might have changed his will; however, since the divorce wasn’t yet final, which in Utah meant Liz was still his wife, she would simply keep everything they previously owned jointly. That meant nearly everything, even if she wasn’t specifically listed as beneficiary in his will. Or something to that long-winded effect. Liz tried explaining the legal intricacies to me, but there was a good reason that she was a lawyer and I was bored by such details. Now hand me a good murder mystery—in a book, mind you, not real-life dead bodies—and I love figuring out the details of a whodunit. Which is, coincidentally, why I was so excited to create a bed-and-breakfast with a name like the Who-Dun-Him Inn and provide murder mystery weekends for my guests.

But this was a real-life whodunit, and they weren’t nearly as much fun. Downright frightening, actually, especially after the police had hinted about their suspicions of the spouse being guilty. I almost hoped that Gene had a new will in which Liz would be taken care of modestly. We didn’t need anyone looking at the dollar amount and saying she had hundreds of thousands of reasons for killing her wealthy husband.

Of course, I didn’t know Jeff well enough to know if he lied about the authorities suspecting my sister, but I knew he was willing to steal. I also wouldn’t bet on his pillar of morality holding up.

The law office of Abrams, Abrams, & Abrams was spacious and decorated lavishly enough to prove they were quite profitable. Beautiful art on the walls. Leather couches and armchairs. A copy of today’s
Wall Street Journal
on the coffee table.

Liz gave her name to the elegant receptionist, a woman with her hair pulled back in a stylish chignon and wearing a skirt suit and gray blouse. She pushed a button and announced our arrival.

A moment later, one of the attorneys, Abrams Sr., met us. I imagined his sleek suit probably cost over a thousand bucks, but what did I know? Liz introduced me and he shook my hand before clasping Liz’s hand in both of his. “I am so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Eklund. Please accept my sincere condolences.”

“Thank you,” she murmured in response, cool and refined in her own professional suit and silk blouse.

I dressed up, too. After seeing what Liz was wearing, I changed out of my jeans and purple T-shirt into black slacks and my nicest non-silk blouse. People didn’t expect a bed-and-breakfast owner to show up in a business suit, so I never bothered to purchase any.

“We’ll be meeting in the conference room,” he said. “Everyone is here, except for one party who will not be attending at this time, so we will now begin.” He led the way down the hall and held open the conference room door.

He motioned us toward two comfortable chairs closest to the door, and we sat.

Jeff sat at the other end of the long table, his black eye turning brighter colors, his brother John and sister Janice next to him.

Liz and I greeted them, and they were barely civil. They were apparently reserving their amicability until they found out who got what.

The attorney sat midway between our two camps, with an empty chair on either side of him. His secretary followed us in and handed him a legal file. He thanked her. As she went back out, he opened the folder and laid it on the gleaming table.

Pausing, he looked around the room. “Is everyone ready?”

We all nodded.

Mr. Abrams unhooked one document and pulled it from the prongs of the folder. He began to read, his baritone voice having the proper tone of importance, as well as respect for a dead man’s wishes, as he addressed the transferring of earthly possessions.

I had never attended a reading-of-the-will event before today. Although it was my first, it was still kind of what I expected. I didn’t know how much Gene’s siblings would receive, but I assumed they would get something. And they did, but far less than I thought—the relatively small amount of five thousand dollars each.

The three of them were obviously disappointed, but tried to conceal it.

Until the next item up for discussion.

Their mother would continue to be cared for by the trust set up by their father, with the new trustee of administration being Mr. Abrams, himself.

“That can’t be right,” Jeff said angrily. “I’m supposed to be the trustee now. I’m the next sibling in line.”

“Actually, that’s not the way it works.” The attorney shook his head. “The current trustee has the latitude to choose the next trustee, and your brother chose me. He felt I would be impartial. And let me assure you all that you can rely on me to handle your mother’s estate in her best interests as well as yours.”

“No.” Jeff stood. “I will contest this in court.”