The Lonely Dead by April Henry

Author:April Henry
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Henry Holt and Co. (BYR)

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 1, 1:47 P.M.

THE ULTIMATE PRICE

When I walk into the school auditorium the next afternoon for the funeral, Tori’s closed casket has been moved to the left of the stage. An empty podium now stands in the middle. Behind it, Tori’s parents and a man with a white collar sit on folding chairs. On the back of the stage, photos flash on a white screen, accompanied by recorded classical music. To the right, our school’s choir, dressed in wine-colored robes, waits on risers. Below the stage are three huge floral displays made only of white flowers.

Tori’s stretched out on top of her casket, lying on her side. Her head’s propped up on one hand. Her top leg rests in front of the bottom one, exaggerating the curve of her hip. She looks like she belongs in some old movie, like she’s a sexy lounge singer on top of a grand piano, one who’s about to start crooning in a smoky voice.

I can tell by her face that she knows exactly how she looks and that she’s chosen her position on purpose. Even if there’s only one person in her audience.

She gives me a little waggle of the fingers.

I don’t want to, but I smile. I can’t help it. Tori’s always been over the top, and being dead hasn’t changed that at all.

But then in the rows of seats between us I spot Aspen elbowing Petra and pointing at me. They’re both looking at me like I’m a sick freak. I turn my head.

The auditorium is already near capacity. Squeezing past a microphone set up in the aisle, I take one of the last seats. Strangers are on either side. On my left is an old man, and on the right is a young mom with a sleeping baby strapped to her chest. I look for Luke and find him in the front row. Detective Geiger and Detective Lauderdale, Charlie’s uncle, are scanning the crowd, eyes alert and faces tired. Charlie himself is sitting toward the front but turned so that he can also survey the crowd. When he sees me, he nods. Later this afternoon, after the funeral, he’s agreed to compare notes.

On the screen, an infant Tori, dressed in a white dress and a headband bow, lies on her back in a crib. Next a ten-year-old Tori, in helmet and jodhpurs, rides a black horse with four white stockings. That’s followed by a preteen Tori in a ballet recital, wearing a costume made mostly of feathers.

“Why did my mom have to use that picture?” Tori rolls her eyes. “I look ridiculous.” She sits up. Her bare legs dangle off the edge of the casket. “So what have you learned?”

Under my coat, I’m wearing a black dress topped by a black-and-gray infinity scarf. I chose it because when I dip my chin it covers the lower part of my face. Pressing my hands together as if praying, I drop my head. In a whisper softer than a sigh, I say, “Nothing so far.

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