Chapter 10
A funeral should never be a media circus.
There should be a rule about that somewhere.
But Eugenia Haversmith Cahill’s funeral ceremony and internment were nothing less than a three-ring circus for the press, Cissy thought angrily as she stood at her grandmother’s grave. A stiff breeze blew in from the ocean, causing the ribbons on the standing floral sprays to snap and the roof of the small tent near the grave site to flutter, but the weather hadn’t deterred the police or reporters from showing up.
Bastards! Cissy thought.
Grief-riddled, she watched as her grandmother’s casket was lowered into the earth. She made a mental note that when she died, she wanted the ceremony to be quick and simple, as Rory’s had been. Just a few family members, the preacher saying a couple of short verses, a prayer, a hymn, and that was it. Rory Amhurst had been interred without a lot of fuss.
But this was different.
The century-old church where Eugenia had been a member for fifty years had been filled to capacity, voices of bereaved members lifted in song and prayer. A long-winded pastor had read from the Bible, prayed, reflected on Eugenia’s celebrated life, and her sudden, violent death when “God had called her home.” Cissy had felt tears gather in the corners of her eyes during the ceremony and wished she were alone. Completely alone. Not standing in a sea of friends, relatives, neighbors, and strangers under the soaring ceiling of the very church in which her grandmother and grandfather had been married half a century earlier.
During the church service, Jack had been by her side, which she supposed was comforting, though it seemed such a lie, a fraudulent display of a marriage that was being ripped apart. He was with her now too, standing under a portable awning beneath a cold winter rain as Gran’s casket settled into the wet dirt next to the burial plot of her husband, Samuel J. Cahill. Eugenia’s name, birth date, and the words Loving Mother had already been etched into the marble—only her date of death still needed filling in.
Oh, Gran, Cissy thought miserably, guilty for every bad thought she’d held against her grandmother as a child, teenager, and adult. For all the times she’d wished her grandmother had butted out of her life. For her favoritism, at least early on, of her grandson. For her strict rules and discipline.
As wind chased the rain into the city, Cissy was seated. Jack, again, was on one side of her; her uncle Nick and his wife, along with her estranged brother, on the other. Jack’s family and Eugenia’s friends were scattered around the grave site, all half-hidden by umbrellas. At a distance were the police and the camera crew from one of the stations in town that had made the drive up to the cemetery overlooking the city and bay. The cops were clearly expecting Marla to show up. Several plainclothes detectives were mixed in with the crowd, and the media waited discreetly at the periphery. They wanted Marla: her mother, the notorious murderess and prison escapee.
Cissy swallowed hard. She couldn’t wait for the ceremony to be over. She still had to get through the gathering at her house, where friends and family were invited to stop by and have something to eat or drink. Cissy had decided to host it at her house rather than at the big house on the hill. There was something too macabre about returning to the place where her grandmother had died and throwing a party, albeit a quiet one. She imagined Sara mentally calculating the value of the real estate, or one of her greedy relatives asking about the disposition of Gran’s jewelry or furniture. No, it was better to return to her own house, where Tanya was watching Beej and Cissy could take some time, if she needed it, in the solace and solitude of her own bedroom.
The preacher asked them to stand, then led them in a final prayer. Jack grabbed Cissy’s hand as images of her grandmother slid through her mind: Gran hosting charity events, Gran knitting while the television blared, Gran teaching her bridge and suffering through impossibly long board games, Gran buying Cissy her first horse, a palomino gelding they kept at the ranch, Gran delighted when Cissy’s brother, James, was born.
Now, through her tears, Cissy glanced over at James. The kid was close to going to junior high. He was all arms and legs and geeky hair, still a boy, but already over five feet tall. Trying not to squirm in his seat, James looked uncomfortable and awkward in a dark suit, crisp white shirt, and tie, all probably purchased for the funeral. He slid a glance her way, and she managed to give him a smile. One side of his mouth lifted. Then, as if realizing how grim and serious the situation was, James turned his gaze back to the coffin.
When the last “amen” was whispered, Jack squeezed her hand, then released it. Cissy stepped forward and, in the drizzling rain, tossed a white rose onto her grandmother’s coffin, said a silent good-bye, and turned toward the waiting limo. She wasn’t going to stick around and watch the dirt being flung over the casket.
Her vision was a blur as she made a beeline for the waiting limo. She smiled or nodded at familiar faces, but she didn’t stop to talk. There was time for that at the house. For now, she just wanted to get home, where her son was already waiting. She’d asked Rachelle of Joltz to cater the event, and Tanya was watching Beej, as Cissy had decided eighteen months was too young to attend a funeral. Nor had he been with her for the tiny ceremony for her uncle.
God, what a week. In the backseat of the limo, she kicked off her shoes and didn’t argue about Jack joining her. For today she’d decided to call a truce and just try to get through the slated events.
“It was a nice service,” Jack said as the driver pulled the black limousine away from the curb.
Cissy gave him a look as she unsnapped her small purse, found a small bottle of Ibuprofen, and popped a couple dry. “No platitudes, okay? I’m going to hear plenty the rest of the day.”
He didn’t argue, just glanced out the window. Cissy followed his gaze and saw a man seated on a backhoe, ready to fill in the grave with the big, rumbling machine after the guests had dispersed.
It all bothered her. The kind words, sympathetic cards, gorgeous bouquets—but it all boiled down to a dirt mover shoveling wet earth over a fancy coffin. She shuddered a little at the thought and reminded herself that it wasn’t Gran’s or Rory’s body that was the important thing. Surely their souls were in “a better place,” as the preacher had intoned.
She certainly hoped so.
Leaning her head back against the seat, she closed her eyes and prayed for strength to get through the next few hours. It had taken the police nearly a week to release the bodies, and then she’d worked with Deborah on the obituaries and funeral arrangements, also squeezing in time to meet with the lawyers, insurance agent, and accountant. The week had flown by in a series of appointments where she’d seen little of her son and more than she’d wanted to of Jack.
He’d made himself available, and she’d let him, almost falling into the trap of thinking they could work things out. Almost. They’d eaten takeout, talked over the funeral arrangements, and discussed everything in the world but their impending divorce. He’d watched Beej when she’d had meetings and Tanya wasn’t available, had even taken his son out for a walk while she’d finished the damned story on the mayoral candidate. He’d also been there while the new furnace was installed and the old one removed. All the while, he’d helped her screen calls from sympathizers, well-wishers, or the merely curious. Together they’d watched the news, snapping it off whenever Marla’s face was flashed on the screen or her name was mentioned.
Cissy hadn’t asked the police what, if anything, they’d learned about the murders; she’d just been too busy and exhausted. But every night she double-checked each window and door latch, deadbolt, and safety lock in the house, sometimes three times, before she went to bed.
She wasn’t being paranoid, she tried to convince herself. She was just being doubly careful.
Opening her eyes, she shot Jack a glance, and he sent her just the hint of a smile, not that cocksure, irreverent grin she had grown to love and hate, but a gentle curve of the lips that meant he planned to stand by her throughout the afternoon.
Her silly heart ka-phlumphed painfully, and she had to fight another burn of unshed tears. Why did she let the man get to her? She looked away, through the fogging windows to the city streets where traffic rolled through puddles on the pavement and the skyscrapers looked as if they could pierce the underbellies of the somber clouds hanging low in the heavens.
She felt cold and disembodied, as if all this hoopla and tragedy were happening to someone else.
But it’s not, Cissy. This is your life.
Using her finger, she traced a small heart on the foggy window, then, surprised at herself, quickly erased it as the big car slid to a stop in front of her house.
“Brace yourself,” Jack said. “It’s showtime.”
“That it is,” she said and slid out of the limo, allowing Jack to tip the driver as she squared her shoulders and strode into the house she and Jack had purchased only a few years earlier.
Many of the guests who had elected not to visit the grave site were already milling around, and for the first time Cissy second-guessed her decision to make her home the gathering area. The rooms were already crowded, and the people who’d gone to the short service at the cemetery hadn’t yet arrived. It was going to be tight in here. Eugenia’s house on Mt. Sutro could have handled the mourners easily.
Still, maybe this cramped space, where everyone would be stuffed in elbow-to-elbow, might force people to leave earlier, which would be just fine.
Planting a smile on her face that felt as false as it was, Cissy inched through a sea of “I’m so sorry about your grandmother” and “If there’s anything I can do, please call” and “Eugenia, what a force she was. I remember a time…”
By the time she’d wended her way from the living room to the dining area, she felt as if she’d just been squeezed through Bloomingdale’s department store on the last weekend before Christmas.
Diedre and Rachelle were working in the kitchen, pulling out trays of hors d’oeuvres from the refrigerator, microwave, and oven before sliding them onto silver trays. While Beej was down for a nap, Tanya was hauling the new trays into the dining room and returning with empties while Rosa and Paloma mingled with the guests, offering wine, napkins, or food. Cookies, cakes, and pies were lined up on one counter. The goodies had been brought by the legions of women who heard there was a death in the family and instantly donned aprons and grabbed spatulas to whip up something for guests and company. The array was dazzling, everything from decorated chocolates bought at boutique candy stores to homemade apple pies and rich, towering cakes.
“Don’t you know that you’ll gain five pounds by just looking at those,” a soft voice said to her.
Cissy turned to find Gwen, her personal trainer, shrugging out of a knee-length black cardigan sweater. Gwen had been instrumental in helping Cissy lose the extra weight she’d gained during pregnancy. Her hair was dark, layered, and shaggy; her toned body visible in a clingy black dress; her expression sober. “I haven’t seen you in the gym in a while, but you look great. On second thought, maybe you should indulge in a piece of pie. You seem to have lost weight.”
“A little. But I’m not hungry. Maybe later.”
“So how’re you doing?” Gwen’s dark eyes were sympathetic.
“I’m surviving.”
“It’ll get better,” Gwen said, then patted her on the shoulder. “Go and talk to your other guests. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“Thanks.”
Gwen gave her a quick I’m-here-for-you hug, then, after grabbing a shrimp canape, she spotted Jack, who was standing near the table of pictures and awards that showcased Gran’s life. She headed straight in his direction. While candles flickered at the shrine Cissy and Deborah Kropft had created so hastily this past week, Gwen struck up a conversation with Jack, her expression changing from serious to almost buoyant.
Did Jack even know Gwen? Cissy wondered. Cissy, on her own, had joined the gym where Gwen worked. But, from the way Gwen was talking animatedly to him, it sure seemed like they were acquainted.
Don’t go there, Cissy warned herself. You’re divorcing him, remember? What do you care who he knows? Besides, it’s Gran’s funeral gathering. Pull yourself together.
Still, she couldn’t help being aware of Jack and Gwen as she spoke to several women from Gran’s bridge group, all bright-eyed women over seventy who were genuinely sad to have lost a good friend and “ruthless” contract player.
Cissy moved through the crush of people who were either pouring themselves cups of coffee and tea from urns in the dining area or picking up glasses of wine set on a table in the nook. Deborah, who had arrived from the cemetery, had taken charge, making certain that the food and drinks were never lacking, grabbing coats that she handed to Lars as people entered. Windows steamed, glasses clinked, the smell of candles burning and coffee brewing filled the rooms, and the buzz of conversation was like white noise echoing in Cissy’s head.
“Is Beej still sleeping?” she asked Tanya as the nanny passed her with an empty tray.
Tanya nodded, wisps of hair falling from the knot at the base of her skull. She looked flustered and a little frantic, and for once Cissy didn’t blame her. “I checked on him a little bit ago. He just fell asleep when the first guests arrived. He was tired. He should be down for another hour or so.”
“Good. And Coco?”
Tanya’s expression changed to irritation. “In her kennel in your office.” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the din as more guests were arriving and the noise level escalated. Each time the door opened, the candles flickered, but the cool air was a relief as the temperature in the house was climbing with the combined body heat and newly operational furnace.
Tanya began arranging a platter of tiny puff pastries filled with mushrooms while Diedre placed skewers of oriental chicken around a bowl of peanut sauce on yet another tray. All the while Rachelle stacked bite-sized tea sandwiches on the mirrored shelves of a three-tiered server.
Saying “Hello” and “Nice to see you again” and “Thanks for coming,” Cissy found her way to the foot of the stairs, catching a glimpse of Jack as he gathered coats and umbrellas and purses. Carrying two leather jackets and a scarf, he followed her upstairs, adding the coats to the growing pile of outerwear on her bed.
“See anything you like?” he asked. “I bet we could make a fortune on eBay.”
“I thought Lars was handling the coats.”
“He couldn’t keep up. Eugenia had a lot of friends.”
“More than I even realized. A better idea would have been to hold this in the church hall,” she said, “but it was booked for a wedding reception, and I didn’t want to go up to Gran’s place.” She hadn’t been back to the big house where her grandmother had died since the day after her death.
“We’ll muddle through,” Jack assured her. His gaze found hers, and it was so sincere, so caring, she almost believed him, believed there was a chance for them.
He’s a player, Cissy. Just like his father. Identical to his brother. You know that. Don’t be fooled again.
“I saw you talking to Gwen.”
“Gwen Crandall? The trainer.”
“My trainer.”
“Yeah, your trainer.”
“How do you know her?”
He gazed at her hard, as if he couldn’t believe they were having this conversation, especially at this point in time. “I met her when I scouted several gyms for an article on exercise clubs in and around the city. Her club was featured. Don’t you remember? We were comparing ‘all-guys’ boxing gyms to those women’s circuit training franchises and to hotel athletic facilities and private clubs.” He stopped, then said, “I hope you’re not asking for the reasons I think you are.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“Uh-huh. I know a number of beautiful women.”
“Well…” She turned away, feeling slightly foolish. “We won’t be married much longer.”
“Oh hell!” He suddenly grabbed her. Just yanked her into his arms and kissed her so hard she couldn’t breathe. She gasped and tried to push him away.
“Let go of me!”
“You really want me to?”
“Yes!”
She could feel the tears she’d fought all day well in her eyes, and she angrily dashed them away. Jack had the audacity to kiss her cheek and fold her into his arms. “Oh, Cissy,” he sighed, his breath ruffling her hair. “Why do you try to be so damned tough? Why won’t you let anyone get close, anyone love you?” She let out a little sob and hated herself for it. “Why don’t you think you deserve it?”
Her fingers were curled over the lapels of his jacket, as if she were clinging onto him for dear life. Horrified, she released her grip. She looked up at him and shook her head. “You’ve got it all wrong, Jack. I know I deserve love. And I want it. From a husband who is faithful to me. That’s the kind of love I want. The forever kind. I know we got married on the fly, in a rinky-dink ceremony at a chapel that made you wonder if the ceremony was even legal, but I meant those words I said. I meant every word of those vows, and I thought—hoped—you did too.”
“I did. I do.”
“Well, you have a helluva way of showing it!” she said, pulling away from him. The day was enough of an emotional roller coaster as it was; she didn’t need to go through any more heart-wrenching scenes with her estranged husband.
“Cissy.”
“No, Jack,” she said emphatically. “Not now. Not today.”
“Then for God’s sake, let’s declare a truce. Just for today. You don’t accuse me of screwing everything that moves, and I won’t try to convince you otherwise. What do you say?”
Cissy drew a breath. “Oh…I don’t care.”
“Oh, you do, Cissy. You care plenty. You just don’t want to.”
“Don’t try to psychoanalyze me.”
“Then don’t try to find ways to hate me.”
“I’m not trying to—”
“You’ve been building a case against me for over a month, and, just for the record, I did not sleep with Larissa. I came damned close, yeah, I admit it. But I didn’t, and you know why?” he demanded. “Because I’m in love with you.”
After that he strode away, leaving her trembling, fighting tears and wishing that she dared, even for a moment, to believe him.
Why not, Ciss? Why not give him another chance?
Trying to get a grip on herself, she walked to her baby’s room, half-expecting Jack to return. But he didn’t, and she felt disappointed as well as relieved.
Why won’t you let anyone get close, anyone love you?
His words echoed through her brain. Is that what he really thought?
She stepped close to the wooden crib and found her son sleeping peacefully, his eyes closed to show off impossibly long eyelashes resting upon his rosy little cheeks.
Just looking at him, some of her sadness dissipated. She curled her fingers over the top railing and smiled down at her son. Whispering a soft “I love you,” she finally walked out of the room, partially closing the door behind her. She was almost at the staircase when she heard something and turned, looking down the long corridor with the doors, all ajar, opening from it.
Her heart stuttered.
Had she imagined the sound?
You’re just distraught. Expecting the worst.
She retraced her footsteps to check on Beej, whom she knew was fine; she’d been in his room seconds earlier. Of course he was still sleeping, his room as she’d left it.
How odd.
Unconvinced, she walked farther along the corridor and pushed open the door to the guest room. It was empty, the bed untouched. Across the hall was the exercise room and her little office, and inside, as Tanya had said, she found Coco inside the crate, a bowl of water next to her scruffy white body. The little dog thumped her tail and looked up expectantly through the mesh of the kennel’s door. “You’ll be fine,” Cissy said and decided the terrier had been the source of the noise.
She turned into the bathroom and glanced at the mirror over the sink, cringing at the sight of her reflection. Red eyes, streaked mascara, flat and stringy rain-soaked hair. As quickly as possible, she executed a speedy makeup repair. With a wet cloth, she swiped away any trace of running mascara and tilted her head back as she added Visine to her eyes. Once some of the veins had disappeared in the whites of her eyes, she brushed on some waterproof mascara, then ran a tube of pink lip gloss over her lips and dusted her pale cheeks with a thin layer of blush. Finally, she rubbed a dab of hair gel through her bedraggled tresses. The result was somewhere between a 1980’s grunge rocker and someone who just woke up from a restless sleep, but it would have to do.
The truth of the matter was everyone expected her to look like hell today. She only had to get through another couple of hours.
In the hallway she nearly ran into Lars carrying up a stack of what she hoped was faux fur coats. She sidestepped him then headed downstairs. Halfway down she spied Jack, grinning, holding a glass of wine and talking with a woman who stood with her back to the staircase. Instantly Cissy’s neck muscles tightened. She would recognize that wavy auburn hair anywhere as belonging to Larissa White.
She felt the blood drain from her face as she walked down the remaining steps.
What in the world was Larissa doing here?
“Talk about brass balls,” a voice said as Cissy reached the main floor. Turning, she spied her sister-in-law, Jannelle, sipping wine at the foot of the stairs. Jannelle too was observing the interaction between Jack and Larissa. “You might want to piss on your husband, you know, like a dog, to mark your territory.”
“Last time I saw you, you made a crack about my pending divorce, so there’ll be no territory marking,” Cissy reminded her coolly. If anyone could give lessons in being an A-one bitch, it was her sister-in-law.
Jannelle lifted an eyebrow. “Touché. Guess I’d better extract my foot from my mouth and find another glass of wine.”
“Do that,” Cissy said, irritated. But since this was her house, and Jack was still her husband, she snagged a glass of wine for herself and walked up to Jack and Larissa, bold as brass.
Larissa took one look at Cissy, and the smile fell from her face. “I’m so sorry,” she said while Cissy’s guts churned. “You know I worked with your grandmother a lot at Cahill House, and she…she was such a great lady.”
Cissy nodded.
“I just wanted to pay my respects.”
“Really?”
Larissa looked uncertain at Cissy’s cool tone. “Well, I’ll see you later,” she said to both of them, casting a last glance toward Jack.
Cissy took a long gulp of her Chardonnay, her teetotaling grandmother’s drink of choice on the rare occasions when Gran actually broke down and had a sip of something alcoholic.
“I didn’t know she was coming,” Jack said.
“Odd, don’t you think?”
“She did know Eugenia.”
“That’s not what it was about, Jack, and we both know it. Paying her respects.” She snorted. “Larissa could have done that at the church. She came here to make a statement.”
“About what?”
“You,” she said and took another sip. “She’s staking her claim.”
“That’s nonsense,” he said, but watched as Larissa hurried upstairs to retrieve her coat.
“Don’t think so.” Cissy spied Dr. and Mrs. Yang heading her way and took advantage of the chance to break off the conversation that was quickly escalating into an argument.
Not here. Not now. Not in front of all these people.
Any heated discussion with Jack would just have to wait, but she was thankful to see Larissa stuff her arms into the sleeves of a long leather coat, wrap a scarf around her neck and walk to the front door.
Jack didn’t seem to notice, not even when she paused to look over her shoulder as she searched for him. Instead, her gaze met Cissy’s, and she didn’t even bother to smile, wave, or say good-bye, just opened the door and stepped outside.
“Good riddance,” Cissy said under her breath, not realizing that Sara had walked up to her.
“I can’t believe she had the nerve to show up here. What was that all about?” Sara sipped from her drink and glanced toward the door. “I went through this twice, you know. Both my exes couldn’t keep their hands off other women. But then none of those women had the guts to show up at my house.” She tossed another look at the closed door. “A good thing too. If any one of them had, I would have killed her.”