Shatter the Night by Emily Littlejohn

Author:Emily Littlejohn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

Chapter Thirteen

In life, Caleb Montgomery hadn’t been a man of religion; as such, his memorial service on Saturday morning was secular, and, not surprisingly, rather subdued and in keeping with my opinion that violent death rarely lends itself to anything but serious funerals. The people attending were quiet, their conversations hushed and held in small groups not larger than three or four. Most gripped mugs of coffee or tea, the hot beverages serving to ward off the chill of both City Hall, where the reception was held, and the topic at hand.

Photographs of Caleb at various stages in his life were displayed on stands and in frames all over the lobby. I found it hard to see pictures of victims of violence in their younger days. As a boy, Caleb had a bright, wide smile that spoke of wonder and innocence, with no idea what his future held.

I’d arrived at the same time as Bull and Julia. My grandparents were a handsome couple, her with her chic bob and high cheekbones, him with his thick white hair and commanding presence. They knew everyone at the service, or at least it seemed that way. Caleb Montgomery was of their generation, after all, and he and Bull had run in many of the same circles. And, as I found myself saying more and more these days, it was a small town. It was hard to tell how much Julia was actually processing, though. As I watched her with Bull, I saw she did very little of the talking.

When I’d arrived, Edith Montgomery and her brother Tom were perched on a low sofa in the foyer, occasionally standing to receive a hug or words of condolence. After I gave them both my regards, I stepped away. A few minutes later, I watched as Tom weaved through the crowd to the elevator, his phone in his hand, a sickly expression on his face. Edith watched him go, worry in her eyes. I wondered where he was headed. In the basement, there were restrooms and an exit to the parking lot. And on the second level, another foyer, much like this one; more restrooms; a vending machine; and offices.

Curious, I went to Edith. She shook her head at my concern and explained that Tom was weaning himself off the pain medication he’d been prescribed for his surgery, and it was causing him nausea. He needed the restroom and a few minutes of fresh air. Then an elderly couple joined us and I moved away, giving the trio space and privacy.

As it was Saturday, the building was closed to the public, the service by invitation only. I found myself watching the guests, wondering if Caleb’s killer was among us. It would be insane if he were; insane, but not unusual. If the killer had done it for the sensationalism, for the attention, then he would likely be here, here or somewhere nearby.

Maybe it was the man in the corner, the guy with the red tie who’d been staring at his phone for the last twenty minutes and not talking to a single person.

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