Aline loved her grandparents. Both in their late seventies, they had moved to Arizona because of her grandmother’s chronic arthritis. She had been sure that their arrival would combine both comfort and strained nerves.
The minute they were in the door, her grandmother, shoulders slouching, her arthritic fingers clutching a cane, wailed, “It should have been me. Why this beautiful child? Why? Why?”
Aline’s first thought was, Because you never go into pools! Her grandfather, strong and healthy for his age, said, “I understand she was having a party when you people were away. That’s what happens when kids are left unsupervised.”
It was more of an accusation than a consolation. “That’s what I’ve been telling Steve,” Fran chimed in.
Aline exchanged a glance with her father. She knew her grandparents had always felt her mother should have married the man she was briefly engaged to thirty years ago. He had gone on to work in Silicon Valley and was now a tech billionaire. Her father, a partner in an accounting firm, made a very good income, but it did not include a private plane, a yacht, a mansion in Connecticut or a villa in Florence.
Normally her father let their criticism roll off his back. Aline was worried about how he would react this time. A roll of his eyes was their unspoken message: “Don’t worry; they’ll be gone in three or four days.”
? ? ?
On Wednesday Aline suggested to her father that she go with him to make arrangements for a wake on Thursday and a funeral on Friday morning. She was afraid her mother would have a total breakdown if she had to choose a casket. But it was her mother who decided that Kerry would be buried in the gown she had worn to her senior prom. It was a beautiful pale blue, full-length organdy, and Kerry had looked lovely in it.
At one o’clock on Thursday afternoon, dressed in newly purchased black clothes, the family gathered solemnly in the funeral home. When Fran saw Kerry’s body in the casket, she fainted.
“Why, why?” Aline’s grandmother wailed, as Steve caught his wife before she collapsed. But Fran did manage to find enough inner strength to be on the receiving line when visitors started arriving.
As news cameras clicked from their locations across the street, the neighbors, teachers and students from the high school, and friends from long ago, arrived. By three o’clock the line looped around the block.
Aline found herself watching to see if Alan Crowley would appear. But there was no sign of him. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or angry. Remembering the way her mother felt about him, she knew it was better that he had not shown his face.
Some of Kerry’s former lacrosse team members arrived with the coach, Scott Kimball. He was an attractive man with a disciplined body and dark brown hair. Wearing high heels, Aline was eye-level with him.
He had tears in his eyes as he took Aline’s hand on the receiving line.
“I know how you feel,” he said. “My kid brother was killed by a hit-and-run driver when he was fifteen. There isn’t a day goes by that I don’t think of him.”
It was impossible to imagine daily life without Kerry.
The haunting question of who had murdered her was on everyone’s mind. Aline heard her mother tell people she was absolutely convinced it was Alan Crowley. “I was trying to keep her away from him,” Fran murmured. “With all the boys who were interested in Kerry, why she chose that one, I don’t know. He was always so jealous of her. He had a bad temper. Now look what he’s done to her.”
? ? ?
There was a hint of early September in the air on the morning of the funeral. Even though the sun was shining brightly, the breeze was cool. Following Kerry’s casket up the aisle in the processional renewed Aline’s sense of unreality and detachment. Kerry and I should be at the pool together going over what stuff she should take to college, she thought, not here. Not here.
Father Frank’s homily was comforting. As he said, “We do not understand why these tragedies occur. It is only faith that gives us the comfort we need.” Father Frank told again the story of looking at life from the wrong side of the beautiful Persian rug. To Aline it had even more meaning than when he was with them the day she found Kerry in the pool.
The question of whether Alan would dare to show up was constantly on her mind. She watched as people approached the Communion rail, but did not see him or his parents. That was a relief. The sight of him would have driven Mom crazy, she thought. But as Aline and her parents followed the casket out of the church, she did catch a glimpse of Alan. He was kneeling in the last pew in the far corner, his head buried in his hands.
17
Because of her stepfather’s job transfer, sophomore Valerie Long and her family had moved from Chicago to Saddle River. The transition was made even harder because they had moved over Christmas and she had started at the high school in January.
Tall for her age and looking younger than her sixteen years, she had green eyes, jet-black hair and pale skin. The promise of future beauty was in her face. Valerie was an only child, and her widowed mother had remarried when she was five. Her stepfather was twenty years older than her mother. They rarely saw his two grown children, who lived in California. Valerie was sure he considered her excess baggage. Her timid and retiring nature had resulted in extreme shyness.
Last winter at school Valerie had found herself outside already formed cliques and friendships. This made the adjustment even harder. It was in the spring that things began to change for her.
Fast and well coordinated, she had excelled at lacrosse freshman year at her previous school. She was hoping that if she made the team at Saddle River, that would create easy opportunities to make new friendships. As usual things did not work out the way she expected.
Coach Scott Kimball immediately recognized her talent and put her on the varsity squad. The varsity was all seniors except for two juniors and her. She would have preferred to play on the junior varsity with the sophomores and freshmen, but she didn’t want to disappoint the coach or her teammates.
It was Kerry, the team captain, who first admired Valerie’s skill on the field and also recognized how shy she was. Kerry went out of her way to chat with Valerie and tell her how good she was. She became, in essence, her big sister and the closest thing Valerie had to a confidante.
Kerry’s sudden death was a stunning blow to Valerie. She could not bring herself to go to either the wake or the funeral, but stood alone across the street watching the casket leaving the church and being lifted onto the hearse. When she walked away, she was still unable to feel the release of tears.
18
Marge’s close friend was the Crowleys’ housekeeper, Brenda. Brenda and her husband Curt, a retired plumber, lived in Westwood, New Jersey, a few miles from Saddle River. Curt Niemeier had often worked on construction projects with Jack Chapman. Like Jack and Marge, the Niemeiers had lived in a small Saddle River ranch house before the price of real estate had gone up dramatically. They had sold and bought a house in nearby Westwood and a small place at the Jersey Shore.
While Curt was enjoying retirement, Brenda found herself restless. In the early years of their marriage she had been a housekeeper to bring in extra money. She realized she had enjoyed the work and was good at it. “Some people go to a gym. I get my exercise by cleaning.” She decided to look for that kind of work to fill her days. The result was she worked three days a week as a combination housekeeper and cook.