“We don’t need anyone to get spooked right now.” I kept my voice down.
His voiced dropped too as he glanced around us. “Del, this is the kind of case you got to wrap up quick or people will remember at the polls. It was already a slim margin last time on account of your age.”
“I haven’t keeled over yet.”
“You might as well if this thing drags out too long.” He caught my look and jumped to defend himself. “I’m telling you that as a friend. This is a career breaker.”
The last thing I wanted to talk about right now was my career. I gave a curt nod and walked away from my friend, the suit cuffs chafing every time I moved my arms.
I hadn’t worn this suit since I bought it for my mom’s funeral a few years ago. She’d been active in the church her whole life and everyone showed up to send her off to the pearly gates—including Bud and Mona, standing right by my side. The mood had been solemn, yet satisfied, too, like people knew she’d lived the best life any of us had a right to expect. We told funny stories about her and all sat down to eat and watch my sister’s grandkids play tag around the flowers. Then that was that. Death was the end of a cycle that farm folks saw every day. They joked and ribbed each other about most everything else, but when it came to hardship or loss, they endured, without making a big fuss about it. I’d been to more funerals than I cared to count, and eaten so many ham and butter sandwiches I could practically taste the flour-dusted bun when a hearse drove down Main Street, but Hattie’s funeral was something else entirely.
Grief and rage rolled off this crowd so strong I could almost smell it. I walked up and down the aisles as people took their seats, feeling eyes on me from all sides. The suit didn’t fool anybody. They knew what was on my mind as much as I knew what was on theirs—murder.
I worked my way to the far side of the gym, scanning the crowd for my suspects. Gerald Jones from Rochester caught my eye and nodded. Although the volume in the room was building, I could still hear the two mothers who walked in front of me.
“Took him out of school and brought him down to the station.”
“I heard he was directing the school play that Hattie was in.”
“He was. I was here on Friday night, saw Hattie just a few hours before it happened. I got chills, watching her. And now the papers are talking about a curse.”
“Have you heard what happened at the rehearsal?”
“No, what—?”
The women spotted me and they both hushed and found some seats.
Farther into the room I located Tommy. He sat in the middle of the first row of bleachers that groaned under the weight of the football team. None of them were saying much; they stared at the front of the gym, their unused muscles just waiting to tense. Tommy wore a suit that was too small for him and looked like he wouldn’t have heard the halftime horn if you blew it in his ear. His folks sat directly behind him, both of them watching me. I kept walking.
I found Peter Lund high in the farthest section of bleachers. A lot of teachers and school staff sat in the same area, but they’d left a space between him and the rest of them. The closest person to Lund was Carl Jacobs, although the two didn’t act like great buddies. Carl folded and unfolded his program while Lund stared into the center of the crowd and seemed oblivious to that deliberate distance between him and the others. He wore a suit, too, and maybe his was snazzier than Tommy’s, but he looked just as out of place in it, with bloodshot eyes and at least a day’s worth of beard. I didn’t see Mary Beth anywhere.
Fear, Standler had said. Fear and remorse drew that blade down Hattie’s face, leaving her nothing left to show the world. Which one of them had the rage to kill her and then the gall to feel bad about it in the next breath?
I made my way back out of the gym and alerted the crew, letting them know I’d located both suspects. Then, taking a deep breath and smoothing a hand down my stiff suit, I slipped into the nearby classroom next to the gym, where Hattie lay among her family.
Her casket filled the front of the classroom, with lilies covering its closed lid and masking the horror inside. The preacher stood in front of it with his hands on Bud’s and Mona’s shoulders. Eyes closed and face up, he prayed.