Don't Look Down by Suzanne Enoch

Author:Suzanne Enoch [Enoch, Suzanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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Chapter Twelve

Tuesday, 2:21 p.m.

Samantha hated funerals. She'd attended only three in her life—one for Stoney's mom, another for an old colleague of her dad's who'd retired to a country without extradition, and the third for her dad, himself—though that had been a tiny service just outside the prison where he'd been doing time, and she'd watched from a nearby hill through binoculars while a few Feds and the prison padre stood around and a quartet of fellow prisoners dug the hole and dumped the casket in.

This one was unlike any of those, but at the same time it was exactly the same. A good two hundred mourners stood under white tent canopies or sat in white wood chairs, accompanied by several thousand dollars' worth of mourning bouquets and wreaths, and attired in several million dollars' worth of suits and dresses and jewelry. But just like the others, it was too quiet, and for someone like her, who counted on knowing what to say and to whom to speak, there weren't any words to use.

"You okay?" Rick whispered, his arm close around her shoulders.

For once she didn't mind the confining contact. In fact, she welcomed it, and snuggled closer into the circle of his arm and chest. "Yes. I mean, I barely knew him."

"You knew him better than some of his friends, I'd wager," he returned in the same low tone, nodding toward the loose group of mostly older gentlemen who sat at one end of the grave site. From what Aubrey had told her, they were probably Kunz's poker buddies.

The police were keeping the press a respectful distance away, but in the murmuring quiet she could still hear the click of shutters. Again this time she didn't mind. Though she recognized a great many of the fellow mourners, a few were unknown. And odds were that at least a few of those would have their faces and names in the local papers tomorrow. At this moment they were all suspects, and she wanted to know everything about them.

"Laurie's looked better," Rick commented, as the central group of mourners disembarked from their limousines and made their way to the site through the scattering of tasteful gravestones and mausoleums.

"Black's not her color," Sam agreed, watching the brother and sister approach arm in arm.

"That's a tad catty, don't you think?"

"Her nose isn't even red. How do you mean she's looked better?"

He shrugged against her. "I don't really know. I guess it's just a thing you say at funerals."

Sam twisted her head to look up at him. "I'm serious. Does she look like someone who's lost a parent, when they were apparently close enough that they lived in the same house? Yesterday was the first time I've seen her."

"I don't know, Samantha," he whispered back. "And it's a big house. Sharing it with a family member doesn't necessarily mean they were close."

"Speaking from experience, are we?"

"Shh. We can delve into my private closet another time. But I told you, Charles doted on both his children.

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