Leann Sweeney - Pick Your Poison

The hearse carrying Ben’s body stayed close behind us on the interstate. I’d had no problem forking over the money for Ben’s transportation home. He deserved what little I could offer in that department.

As if reading my thoughts, Willis said, “I still don’t understand why you’re paying a fortune to bury this man, Abby.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why foot the bill for his funeral? I say let the widow pay.”

“Like I can’t afford it.” I pushed the scan button on the radio, wishing I could turn the conversation in a different direction. I sensed a lecture in my imminent future.

“If you want to run your father’s business and make a profit, you’d best learn to thoroughly evaluate each charitable impulse. You can’t pay through the nose for every employee who experiences a stroke of bad luck.”

I looked at him, incredulous. “Is that what you call being murdered? A stroke of bad luck?”

The familiar strains of “Hotel California” filled the car, and I reclined the seat, closed my eyes, and hoped the conversation was over.

But no. He kept on talking. “Did you ever consider that the police might conclude you’re trying to ease a guilty conscience by going to all this trouble today?”

“I am wrestling with my conscience, but not because I murdered anyone.”

“But you don’t have an alibi, do you?”

I glared over at him. If he wanted my attention, he had it now. “Like I told Aunt Caroline, I don’t need an alibi.”

His heavy-lidded eyes held that legal glint I always saw when we’re reviewing contracts at CompuCan. He said, “If you say you don’t need an alibi, I believe you, Abby, but that doesn’t mean the police will.”

“I didn’t have a reason to murder Ben. I don’t have a reason to murder anyone.” If he’d turned my way he would have been blinded by my stare.

“Perhaps you should concentrate your efforts on your cash flow. Bail for murder is usually high. And you should be prepared to tell the police exactly what you were doing on the afternoon in question, should they ask.”

“They already asked and I already answered. If that detective has even half a brain, he’ll realize Kate and I had nothing to do with Ben’s death. Now could we please drop this? I’m sure I’ll be called to testify before a grand jury, but I promise to let you know before I go to court. Does that make you happy?”

He nodded, pleased at this small compliance, then abruptly switched radio stations. Much to my dismay, Wynonna’s contralto filled the car.

After the service at the First Baptist Church, we drove to the cemetery. Willis and I joined those assembled for prayers at the grave site, and stood under the tent I’d arranged to shade us from the unbearable heat. Ben was being laid to rest next to his first wife.

Daddy had died in the spring, and the day we buried him had been clear and cool—nothing like this. It was hot enough to sunburn the birds.

I looked at Ruth, her head bent, her hands clutched tightly together at her waist. She was about the same age my mother would have been had she lived. Feeling a familiar ache in my gut, I whispered, “Was it this hot the day of Mom’s funeral?”

Willis leaned toward me, looking confused. “What?”

“You were there, right?”

“Well... yes. But I don’t remember what the weather was like.”

“Daddy never talked about her... service.”

“Her death was not something he wanted to remember. Never saw a man so miserable as when she finally died.”

“And what about our real parents? If they were buried out in El Paso, where the plane crashed, it was probably even hotter than this.” Kate and I were adopted after Jane and Morris Mitchell’s private plane went down in the West Texas desert, leaving their twin daughters orphaned.

“Why are you bringing all this up now?” Willis whispered, sounding irritated.

“I guess funerals make you think about details, about a past you weren’t a part of but that’s still a part of you,” I said.

Willis placed a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t think you and Kate are alone, Abby. You have Caroline and me. We’ll always be here for you.”

The preacher began reciting the Lord’s Prayer, so I shut up. But before I bowed my head, I spotted Sheriff Nemec, who’d stopped a good distance from the grave, out of Ruth’s sight. Not that she would have said anything about his showing up for Ben’s burial. She wasn’t the type for confrontations. At least by hanging back beneath a live oak, Nemec showed her a measure of respect—which surprised me. After our last encounter, I wouldn’t have pegged him as being even that sensitive.

From his passive face, bloated on one side from a chaw of tobacco, I couldn’t imagine what he was feeling. Elation? Satisfaction? Or did I detect a hint of sadness because the pursuit had ended? Whatever was going through his mind, he stood quietly, hat in his hand, until they lowered Ben’s casket into the ground. When the coffin disappeared completely, he put on the Stetson, wheeled on his booted heel, and returned to a pickup parked on the small rise beyond the tree.

I glanced back at Ruth, who had chosen off-white lace for the funeral. I wondered if that was the dress she’d been married in. In the circles Aunt Caroline and Willis traveled, people would have buzzed over a woman not choosing black, but here, with neighbors Ruth had known forever, no one would misunderstand or say anything unkind.

The small crowd dispersed, and Ruth remained still and tearless while two men shoveled spades of clumped red clay over the casket. The sickly-sweet scent of dying flowers drifted toward me on the hot breeze.

“Ready to head back to Houston?” whispered Willis, who’d been squirming next to me like a leech on a hook.

“First we’re paying our respects at Ruth’s place,” I whispered back.

“You didn’t tell me that.” He focused on his Rolex. “I have to return to town. Considering this funeral cost you a tidy sum, I only came to keep an eye on how your money was spent today. I must say, they did a fine job on the flowers... and the service benefited from those lilies you insisted on. Surprises me they could find such lovely ones, seeing as how we’re out here in—”

I elbowed him in the ribs. “Would you shut up? Ruth is still praying.”

Willis hadn’t even flinched when I hit him. It seemed his workouts were effective for more than networking with the “right people.”

“Abby, I must leave. I have a client waiting,” he said.

I pointed in the direction of the sleek black Lincoln parked on the grass about fifty yards away. “That hearse is headed back to Houston. Why not hitch a ride and I’ll drive your car back to town later tonight?”

“You can’t be serious,” he replied.

“I’ll be satisfied I’ve received the best service for my dollar with passengers in that contraption going in both directions. How’s that for a sound business decision?”

“Um... maybe the hearse could wait for you and I’ll drive back in my car now?” The sweat on his balding forehead drizzled past his temples.

“You’re not squeamish, are you, Willis? Besides, another dead person back in Houston is patiently awaiting that hearse’s return so they can experience city traffic one last time. Say, do you suppose the Six-ten Loop is actually purgatory? Miles and miles of endless, congested highways going around and around and—”

“Abby, I’m not—”

“Seriously, Willis. The hearse driver told me he has another funeral.” I smiled, deciding I hadn’t had this much fun in a long time.

He adjusted his sunglasses and cleared his throat. “If that’s what you want, I’ll happily accommodate you.” With that, he turned stiffly and handed his car keys to me. “When can I tell Kate to expect you?”