The Dollmaker (Forgotten Files Book 2)

They passed a thick hedge of shrubs and entered a vestibule carpeted in rich, soothing green. Organ music drifted from the main parlor already filled with several hundred people. At the front of the room was a polished cherry casket outfitted with shiny brass filigree and handles.

Sharp had made a donation to the online crowdfunding account for the funeral. Judging by the flowers and the other frills, many others had done the same. Beside the casket was an enlarged version of Terrance Dillon’s senior high school picture, likely shot over the summer in anticipation that he would graduate next spring. Under a blue cap and gown, he grinned.

Tessa grew still as she stared at the photo. “He looks even younger in the picture than he did in my office.”

“Yeah.”

The organist began to play “Amazing Grace,” and the audience stood to sing. Sharp and Tessa couldn’t find a seat and ended up standing against the parlor’s back wall. There were few hymnals left, but a woman sitting in front of Tessa handed over hers. Tessa nudged the book toward Sharp, and he accepted his half. She sang as he watched the group.

Tessa’s voice was clear and bright; he had to focus hard on his job and not stare at her. He’d forgotten how angelic her voice sounded. She’d been shy about singing and often only sang when she thought she was alone.

The memorial ran longer than most. There were several people to eulogize the boy. His coach. An uncle. His pastor, kids from the high school, teachers, and friends. All spoke of a highly motivated and fun-loving kid who dreamed of college and his future. The one noticeable absence was Jimmy Dillon, who’d been denied permission to leave jail under guard to attend.

The last song ended and Tessa took the book, closing it softly and tucking it in a pew.

“Let’s go outside. I want to watch them leave,” he said.

Without thinking, he took her hand and guided her through the growing crowd of people. Her fingers wrapped around his, and he struggled to breathe. The more he touched her, the more he missed her. He found an alcove off to the left, just inside the main doors. They stood there and watched.

“Everyone looks so upset,” Tessa said. “I know death is emotional. But I’ve grown used to dealing with the clinical side of it.”

“This side is definitely messier.”

A young girl hurried past them, her hands crushing tissues and trembling as tears streamed down her cheeks. The girl vanished into the ladies’ room.

“I think I need to duck into the ladies’ room. She looks upset.”

“Good idea.”

Tessa followed through the restroom door. As Sharp stood by the wall, he flexed his fingers. Almost pleading for something to happen. More mourners streamed out. Several young men about Terrance’s age huddled in a group by the door. He recognized Ronnie and Garcia.

Sharp walked over to them. “Hey, fellas,” he said. “Agent Sharp with the Virginia State Police.”

“What are you doing here?” Ronnie said. “Doesn’t make sense cops would be here.”

“I want to find out who killed Terrance,” he said simply. “Talk to the people who knew him.”

“Ain’t no one going to find out,” Garcia said. “He was knifed in an alley. Shit happens.”

Ronnie curled his fingers into fists. Light-colored eyes flamed with anger. “Fuck the shit happens, Garcia. Terrance was the real deal. He was a solid guy.”

“I’ve only heard good things about the kid,” Sharp said.

The young men looked from side to side as if they were embarrassed to be seen with Sharp.

“When’s the last time you saw Terrance?” He often asked the same question twice. The truth was easy enough to recall, whereas lies weren’t as easy to track.

“Friday night at the last game. He was all excited about seeing his girl,” Ronnie said.

“You said before he didn’t have a girlfriend,” Sharp said.

“Nice going,” Garcia said.

“Why does it matter now?” Ronnie countered. He looked at Sharp.

“We promised Terrance we wouldn’t tell,” Garcia said.

Ronnie shook his head. “We weren’t supposed to tell when Terrance was alive. Now he’s dead.” He looked at Sharp. “Terrance got back together with his girlfriend, Stephanie. He didn’t want his grandmother to know because she was so worried about him getting the scholarship.”

Garcia shook his head. “Then the dumb bastard got himself killed. Ain’t no reason for a guy to be in an alley in the city unless he’s selling drugs.”

“He was eighteen, Garcia,” Sharp said. “When I was eighteen, I did a few stupid things. I’m lucky to be alive.”

The boys didn’t speak.

“Where’s Stephanie?” Sharp asked.

“She just ran into the bathroom crying,” Ronnie said.

“Thanks.”

“You really want to find this killer?” Ronnie asked.

“More than anything,” Sharp said.

Both boys nodded. As they filed out of the funeral home, he caught sight of Tessa, who stood with a young girl by the ladies’ room. Her gaze locked on his, and she motioned for him to come over.

He weaved through the crowds. The girl beside Tessa was petite, not more than seventeen. She had sandy-brown hair skimming her shoulders. Pale skin made the flush in her cheeks all the brighter.

“Agent, this is Stephanie White. She and Terrance were dating.”

The girl looked up at Sharp but didn’t make eye contact with him. Tessa wrapped her arm around the girl’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I know he looks like he could bite, but he won’t.”

Sharp eased back a bit and did his best to smile.

Tessa shot him a look as if to point out he still didn’t look approachable.

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for your loss, Stephanie. I really am.”

“He was a good guy.” Stephanie twisted a tissue in her hands until it was a tight spiral around her index finger.

“That’s what everyone is saying.” A sigh shuddered through him. “Stephanie, I’m here to get any kind of lead on the guy who stabbed Terrance, but I can’t do it without your help.”

She glanced up, her watery gaze so full of loss.

“I think Terrance made a delivery on Sunday night,” Stephanie said. “He recognized someone he wasn’t supposed to, and it got him killed.”

Tessa tightened her hold on the girl and whispered in her ear. The tissue in her hands tore in half.

“He texted me. At first I didn’t recognize the number. But he said it was Terrance.”

“What did he say?”

“That his ride had arrived.”

“What time was this?”

“Near midnight on Sunday night.” She shook her head. “I texted him right back, but he didn’t respond. I told him to leave. That whatever Jimmy had gotten him into was bad.”

“You knew his father was in town?”

“Terrance told me Jimmy started writing him, but he made me swear not to tell his grandmother. Mrs. Jones hates Jimmy.”

“What was his last text to you?”

“‘White van here. Got to go.’”

White van. Like the vehicle cruising around Diane’s town house.

“We never found any phone. Do you still have the text?”

“Yes.” She dug the phone out of her purse and showed him the number.