Present Day
Howard’s funeral service was set for ten days after his death at the Church of Bethesda-by-the-Sea on Palm Beach. It was the same church Kat and Howard had been married in, which I knew only because Kat had pointed it out to me a few years earlier, when we were driving by on our way out to lunch.
“That’s where the shit show began,” she’d joked. “For better or worse. Emphasis on the latter.”
I still hadn’t heard from Kat.
Instead I’d learned about the location and time of the service from Howard’s obituary in the Palm Beach Post. I wasn’t even sure if I should attend. Todd had argued against my going.
“I think you should stay the hell away from the whole thing,” he said in a lowered voice the night before the funeral.
Todd and I were sitting on the couch, watching a movie with the kids. I’d made hot chocolate and popped a big bowl of popcorn. Liam and Bridget were lounging on beanbag chairs in front of the television, the popcorn between them. I glanced down at my children, hoping they hadn’t overheard their father. They appeared to be too absorbed in the movie, which was one of the seemingly endless superhero films Hollywood churned out. I had stopped paying attention within the first five minutes and was instead brooding on whether I should attend the funeral. Todd was apparently reading my mind.
“Something weird is going on,” Todd continued. “And I don’t like you being dragged into it.”
“I’m not being dragged anywhere,” I murmured back.
“You know what I’m talking about. Being questioned by you-know-who.”
This coded speech was for the benefit of the children, who didn’t know about my meeting with the police.
“Are you talking about Voldemort?” Liam asked, not taking his eyes off the television screen.
“What?” Todd asked.
“You know, he-who-must-not-be-named. That’s what they call Voldemort in the Harry Potter books,” Liam said.
“Oh. No, I was talking about something else,” Todd quickly replied.
“What?” Liam pressed.
I widened my eyes at Todd, trying to communicate silently that this clearly wasn’t something we should be talking about in front of our children, even obliquely. People always underestimated how much attention kids were paying to what was being said. In my experience, they missed very little.
But Todd wasn’t ready to give up the argument.
“Watch the movie,” he urged our son. Liam lapsed into silence. Todd seemed to assume that meant Liam was following the directive. He leaned closer to me and said softly, “If Kat wanted you there, you would have heard from her by now.”
“Maybe,” I said, also speaking sotto voce. “I agree, it’s odd I haven’t heard from her. But it is possible that she’s just been swallowed up by everything that’s happened. Grief can make people act strangely.”
Todd snorted. “I don’t know that I buy Kat in the role of grief-stricken widow. She’s too selfish, for one thing.”
“You think she’s selfish?” I asked, surprised. “She’s one of the most generous people I know.”
I didn’t mention her loan to us. I didn’t have to. The fact that we still hadn’t paid Kat back weighed heavily on both of us.
“Not with money,” Todd conceded. “But emotionally, absolutely. She always has to get her way, or watch the hell out.”
I sipped at my hot chocolate, considering this. Usually when Todd made a disparaging comment about Kat, I became defensive. But in light of all that had happened in the days since Howard’s death, I was suddenly more open to alternate theories on what sort of a person my best friend really was.
Todd was right. Kat could be selfish. Not when it came to things like writing us a twenty-thousand-dollar check, obviously. She was always quick to pick up the lunch check and had insisted on treating me when we went to Key Biscayne for the weekend.
And yet I had seen her become coldly furious when the car dealership wouldn’t fit her in the same morning she called to make an appointment. And then there was the time she’d berated a sales clerk at Neiman Marcus when the young woman struggled to ring up the pair of shoes Kat was purchasing.
Kat had watched, growing increasingly impatient, as the girl looked blankly at the computer, clearly not sure how to operate it.
“What exactly is the problem?” Kat had asked, tapping her titanium Amercan Express Black Card against the counter.
“I think she’s new,” I’d whispered to Kat.
“Why should that be my problem? Good God. I thought Neiman Marcus was supposed to be known for customer service,” Kat had snapped. She turned to the clerk, who looked close to tears. “If you don’t know how to ring this up, can you please call someone over here who does?”
But the worst example I could remember was when Kat’s housekeeper, Marguerite, brought her three-year-old granddaughter with her to work one day. Neither Kat nor Howard was supposed to be home, so I’m sure Marguerite didn’t think it would be an issue. Kat, however, had closed K-Gallery that day and returned home earlier than expected. When she walked into her kitchen and found the little girl sitting at the table, coloring on scrap paper, she had confronted Marguerite. The older woman had explained that her pregnant daughter-in-law had gone into labor and Marguerite’s son had taken his wife to the hospital. There wasn’t anyone else available to watch the little girl.
Kat listened to this explanation, then coolly told her housekeeper of eighteen years that she needed either to leave or to call her son immediately and have him pick his daughter up.
I hadn’t been there when it happened, but Kat had casually recounted this to me a few days later when I met her for lunch.
“But why?” I’d asked. “Did she get crayon marks on your table or something?”
“No. But why should I have to deal with a noisy, sticky toddler running around? It’s my house. Marguerite works for me,” Kat had replied. “I never brought Amanda to the gallery when she was little. It’s unprofessional.”
This wasn’t a fair comparison. Kat owned her business, and Amanda had a full-time nanny when she was little.
I offered the obvious explanation. “It sounds like they had an emergency.”
“How was it an emergency? The woman had presumably been pregnant for nine months. It’s not like they didn’t know what was coming. They had plenty of time to arrange for alternative childcare.”
I had opened my mouth to point out setting up a babysitter ahead of time might not have been possible. Or maybe they had made other arrangements that had fallen through. Or, just possibly, the young couple hadn’t been able to afford to pay for childcare. But Kat clearly didn’t care.
“So, what happened?” I’d asked instead.
“What do you mean? She called her son and he came and picked up the kid.”
“He left his wife when she was in labor? Did he miss the baby being born?”
“I have no idea.” Kat shrugged, losing interest in the discussion. “I think I’m going to get the Cobb salad. What are you having?”
Yes, Kat could be generous...but really, only when she wanted to be. Or when it didn’t cost her anything she wasn’t already able or willing to give up.
“Why don’t you like Kat, Dad?” This time it was Bridget piping up, and she turned back to look at us, her face concerned.
“I like her just fine,” Todd said, not sounding even the least bit convincing. Bridget obviously had the same opinion.
“Did she do something bad?” Bridget asked. “Was she mean to Mom?”
“If you’re not going to watch the movie, why don’t we turn it off?” I suggested. The kids, predictably, howled in protest and immediately affected deep interest in the movie. I glanced over at my husband and mouthed, Later.
* * *
In the end, I did go to the funeral. Todd wasn’t happy about my decision, but he insisted on accompanying me. This both surprised and touched me. I hadn’t told Todd this, but the truth was, I didn’t want to go by myself. And after my meeting with John Donnelly, I wasn’t entirely sure how welcome I would be.
Traffic was heavy on our way over to the island, and the service was just starting when Todd and I arrived. We hurriedly sat ourselves toward the back of the church just as the rector began with a call to worship. I obediently bowed my head while he prayed. Afterward the rector went on to describe Howard as a loving husband and father, a force for good in the community, complete with a list of charities he’d contributed to. He made Howard sound like a much nicer, better person than he had been, which I suppose was standard fare for a funeral. As he spoke, it was hard not to stare at the coffin positioned at the front of the congregation and think of the body within.
I gazed around the sanctuary, which was quite pretty. The church had been built in a Gothic style, complete with arches along the nave and beautiful stained glass windows. At first I didn’t see anyone I recognized, but then, when I glanced back over one shoulder, I saw Detective Demer. He was looking right back at me so that for a moment our gazes were locked. My stomach gave a nervous lurch. But then he nodded pleasantly, and I responded with a thin-lipped smile before turning away.
Kat was sitting in the front row, so I could see her only from behind. She was wearing what looked like a white suit jacket, and her dark bobbed hair gleamed. She sat between her daughter, Amanda, and her father, and occasionally she lifted a tissue to her face, presumably to dab away tears.
The reverend finished and announced that Howard’s daughter, Amanda Grant, was going to recite a poem. Amanda stood and made her way to the pulpit. She was a tall, slender young woman with a pale, serious face and straight dark hair that fell halfway down her back. Her dress was a severely cut black shift, and its simplicity suited her. I had met Amanda a few times over the years, and she’d always struck me as one of the most composed young women I had ever encountered. She was driven and studious, and certainly not one to giggle or zone out trancelike while staring down at her phone.
When Amanda took her place behind the microphone, she cleared her throat and looked out at the congregation. I was struck, as I’m sure everyone was, by the grief etched on her face.
“Howard Grant was not my biological father, but he was my father in all the ways that matter. He married my mother when I was a baby but did not adopt me officially until I was twelve. He said he wanted to wait until I was old enough to decide on my own that I wanted him to be my father legally. Since he was, and always had been, my father in my heart, this was an easy decision for me to make. I remember the day he adopted me. We went to the courthouse and stood before the judge, and I officially became Amanda Grant. I was so proud.”
Amanda faltered and looked down for a moment, collecting herself. She took a few deep breaths before continuing.
“My father wasn’t always an easy man. I’m sure most of you are aware of that. But that tough, brash businessman you all knew was not who he was with me. He was just my dad. He helped me with my math homework and never missed one of my volleyball games. He supported my dream of becoming a doctor and cheered me on whenever I became discouraged. He was always there when I needed him. Always. I loved him very much,” Amanda said. “I’m now going to read a poem called ‘Song: When I Am Dead,’ written by Christina Rossetti.”
She unfolded a piece of paper and smoothed it out on the pulpit, then began to read in a clear and steady voice:
“When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.
“I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.”
The congregation was absolutely silent as she recited the poem. I was sure they were all struck by the beauty of the words along with Amanda’s extraordinary self-possession.
For my part, I was simply stunned. I realized I had never seen Amanda and Howard together. Amanda was rarely home from school. The few times I had met her had been in passing. I’d have stopped by Kat’s house or K-Gallery just as Amanda was leaving. Howard wasn’t present on any of those occasions.
But one thing was suddenly very clear—Kat had deceived me about the nature of Howard and Amanda’s relationship. She had repeatedly told me that they were not close, that Amanda would not have minded if she and Howard had divorced. According to Kat, Amanda had even on occasion asked her why she continued to stay married to such an unpleasant man. But now, sitting here, watching this composed young woman speak about Howard, it was clear there was nothing false about Amanda’s grief. Her beloved father had died and her heart was broken.
Amanda returned to her seat, and after that, the service dragged. Howard was eulogized first by his business partner, then by Kat’s brother, Josh. It seemed obvious to me that neither had liked him very much, as both speakers overcompensated by wildly praising his life and character. The reverend offered another prayer. Kat had foregone the modern tradition of playing a montage of photos of Howard accompanied by a sappy ballad, so we were spared that.
But I would have had a hard time concentrating no matter how short the service was. I was too distracted by one alarming thought:
If Kat had lied about the nature of Howard’s relationship with Amanda, what else had she lied to me about?