25
“Ooh,” Nita said. “This fancy hat, it is so big and heavy. I don’t know if I can balance it.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Liz told her, adjusting the big-brimmed bonnet. “Stand straighter. Don’t look down. But we’ll put it on with hatpins—into your hair, not your head, so don’t worry.”
Claire knew she had meant that as a joke, but it came out flat and no one laughed. Liz had asked them to come to her house Thursday morning for a dress rehearsal, so they were trying on the costumes for the Saturday convention at Grand Hotel. Claire sensed Liz was desperate to keep busy before facing her mother’s funeral service and burial tomorrow. She hoped no one would criticize the young woman for attending the convention the very next day to promote her business. Keeping busy was one way to cope. People mourned in different ways.
Claire had brought Lexi too, and Liz had quickly hemmed up a gown for her. The hats were all too big for a child, so she would just have ribbons in her hair, but she was ecstatic to be included and had a basket to carry the postcard handouts—and no corset for her. She was across the room, preening in front of a mirror. Of course, they had already visited Scout out in the stables. Claire had been looking for ways to keep Lexi’s alter ego, nasty Lily, away and this seemed to be helping.
The adults were all going to wear fancy corsets outside of their dresses, so they were really models for Liz’s creations too. But, without saying why, Claire had insisted her corset not be laced too tight. Of course, she wouldn’t be showing for a long time, but she was starting to feel queasy in the mornings, just as she had when she was pregnant with Lexi.
“So when is your grandfather coming home?” Claire asked quietly as Liz fussed over pinning up her hair. She needed it a certain way to balance her hat laden with silk flowers and butterflies.
“Sunday. I take it the sheriff got nowhere trying to question him about what happened. How I wish I could risk taking him to the funeral service tomorrow, but I have no idea what he’d do and say. Maybe invite everyone to a saloon, maybe try to rope the pastor or raise a posse.”
“You’re holding up well.”
“Not really. Since Granddad is so unpredictable—well, you saw that in the cliffside chat you had with him before you—you found her. It’s scary to have him back, even with his new live-in companion Dad hired. Listen, I’m sorry if he hit Cody. It had to be him since he went riding out either ahead of or after Mother, and Cody obviously stood in his way of that.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know what really happened?” Claire whispered as Gina laced Nita into a lace corset across the room, and they kept giggling.
“You mean, what happened that sprang him from his Gene Autry prison upstairs?” Liz countered with her own question. Claire was reminded again that her forensic psych training had stressed that asking a question was one way to avoid answering one.
Liz seemed really jumpy now, trying to fill the private moments between them with talk. “Granddad seemed happy there, except for wanting to get ‘Back in the Saddle Again’ on one of our horses. I may try to sell them in the spring, so if you want to buy Scout, let me know. I must admit Granddad got furious with Mother and me when we wouldn’t let him go out and ride anymore—that on top of Mother and me having words about my leaving. I suppose—you said Cody hasn’t got that piece of memory back from when he was hit.”
Claire also noted Liz kept changing subjects with each sentence. Was it because she’d admitted her grandfather was angry at Julia and that might implicate him in her death, or because she’d blurted out that she and her mother had argued?
“No, and he might never recall,” Claire said. “But short-term memory loss does return sometimes, especially if something or someone gives it a little boost.”
“Are you thinking we should try to ask Granddad what happened? Look, I don’t need a lawsuit from Cody on top of everything else, if Granddad did hit him. That cigar smoke you mentioned tends to cling, so that doesn’t mean that leech Vern Kirkpatrick was here recently. Is that what you were thinking?”
“Believe me, Cody would not sue. As for Kirkpatrick, I don’t know, but I’m sure the sheriff will check on his whereabouts on that day. I just thought you might want more answers, and maybe what happened might be good for your grandfather’s new companion to know, so he can be watchful.”
Liz narrowed her eyes, swollen and red from crying. “Are you a shrink?”
“Not exactly. Just someone who cares—really.”
“A lawyer?”
Claire shook her head. She supposed she’d gone too far here, hoping to re-create what led up to Julia’s death so she could probe if there was foul play involved and by whom. Nick would lower the boom on her head in place of this big hat.
“I plead guilty to neither of those careers,” she assured Liz. After all, Claire thought, a psychologist was not a psychiatrist and she’d leave the lawyering up to Nick.
When Gina sucked in a huge breath as Nita tried to lace her up, Liz rushed over to help. She told them, “Just think of all the ways women used to suffer for fashion’s sake, and we run around today in next to nothing. So little structure in what we wear, even in our lives, but my corsets bring a bit of structure back, a good compromise of old and new...because are we any happier?”
She gave a little hiccup and stopped talking. They all stood like statues, dressed and laced and balancing big hats, just staring at Liz. Even Lexi quit looking at her dress in the mirror.
“So free and happy unless things go all wrong...” Liz choked out and collapsed onto the window seat.
Silence hung heavy in the air. Nita was wide-eyed, and Gina narrowed her eyes, then stepped forward to feel Liz’s forehead and take her pulse.
“I’m all right,” Liz said. “As all right as I can be. I just don’t think she killed herself and I can’t believe someone would hurt her—that she’d let someone shove her. I really don’t, so, Jenna, it’s okay if we question my granddad on Sunday when he gets back.”
Claire sat on the window seat next to her and took her other hand. Lexi came over and leaned against her mother’s shoulder. Nita hovered behind Lexi as they made a protective wall around Liz. Whatever women wore, Claire thought, the styles of female friendship hadn’t really changed.
* * *
The next snowmobile class, which would include some hands-on riding, was held behind Andy’s store, where twelve people had gathered. Claire was shocked to see Wade Buxton. Could it be that he was in WITSEC too and their friend “Pat Robart” had also arranged for him to take these classes? Rob had not responded when Jace had brought up Wade’s name, but she was certain she’d seen him react. She supposed it was some WITSEC rule not to fraternize with other witnesses. If a pursuer found one, he’d find them all.
“That young man over there in the black jacket—” she whispered to Nick as the group moved closer around the demo snowmobile “—no, don’t look yet and don’t stare—is Wade Buxton.”
“The one who looks like he stepped off a GQ cover?” Nick whispered. “If he’s here, not a coincidence.”
“Pat could have arranged it for him too. Or else, if he’s just new to the area, he needs to learn snowmobiling.”
When Wade caught Claire’s eyes, he smiled and waved at her. She nodded back and looked away. He obviously remembered her from their brief meeting at Liz’s shop. But if he was in WITSEC protection, wouldn’t he be more careful? Julia had not liked or trusted him. Was that just because he was hitting on Liz, or did Julia know what sort of man he really was? At the Draught House, Rob had mentioned that only about 6 percent of people in the WITSEC program didn’t have criminal backgrounds. This guy could be doubly dangerous. To Liz. To them. He’d argued with Julia, so could he have decided she had to go, or in the passion of the moment in an argument or anger on the cliffside stairs, had he struck out at her?
“I give him credit for recognizing a pretty face,” Nick muttered. “He keeps watching you out of the corner of his eye. Look out if he’s on the make after Liz told him to forget it. Avoid him at all costs.”
Everyone quieted as Andy went over the dashboard instruments and explained about how the shock absorbers worked when the skis hit bumps. Claire’s mind wandered. She felt like that right now, shocked to see Wade here. For sure, she took Nick’s warning about Wade to heart. But if there was any chance he had hurt Julia, she’d like to keep an eye on him too.
“This front bumper is good crash protection,” Andy was explaining. “Remember, you’re sitting on an engine that’s similar to a medium-to-large motorcycle, so safety, safety, safety!”
Glancing through her lashes, she saw Wade watching her again. She decided right then not to drive the snowmobile herself even in the daylight unless she absolutely had to. And, despite her curiosity, to steer clear of Wade Buxton too.
* * *
Julia’s early-afternoon funeral service on Friday was held at the old Mission Church. The sign in front said it was on the Register of Historic Places and was the oldest standing church in Michigan. It was a sturdy-looking colonial with steep stairs leading up to the front entry and, above it, a square tower and octagonal belfry. Looking up at that as they waited outside in the crowd for the horse-drawn hearse to arrive with the coffin, Claire reminded herself that she wanted to go up on their roof to look at the widow’s walk. She’d taken to wearing earplugs to mute the wail of the wind that sounded so human at times.
When the Victorian-era wood-and-glass hearse arrived, six men stepped forward to carry the polished oak coffin up the stairs. Claire saw that Sheriff Archer and Officer McCallum were here, both in civilian dress and serving as pallbearers. Liz and her father followed close behind, and then the rest of them filed in, but not before Claire noted that Liz refused to take her father’s proffered arm. Claire saw neither Wade Buxton nor Vern Kirkpatrick in the crowd of locals, thank heavens. She knew cases where some murderers were drawn to attend funerals or burials of their victims.
Their contingent filed into a dark wood pew about three-fourths of the way back in the small church that was soon packed. Julia and her family obviously meant a lot to this community. Heck and Gina sat together at the outer end of their pew, then Bronco next to Nita. Lexi had plopped herself down between Claire and Jace. Nick sat on the aisle on Claire’s other side.
Claire quit looking around and stared straight ahead. She saw that Michael Collister, just as he had wiped his hands repeatedly with a dish towel, wiped under his eyes with a twisted white handkerchief while Liz sat stoically, staring straight ahead at the coffin. An unusually wide space loomed between them. Wouldn’t you think they needed each other right now? It seemed Liz was trying to ignore him.
She also wondered if Michael’s reactions were indicative of too much mourning for an ex-wife. Of course, he felt bad for Liz and had once loved Julia, evidently still had feelings for her. She’d sensed that the one tense time she’d seen them together. Maybe he blamed himself for their divorce. But he seemed to be exhibiting more grief and guilt than even all that deserved—or he could be distressed by his daughter’s icy attitude? Claire made a mental note to delve into that with Liz.
Jace had his arm across the back of the pew behind Lexi, but his fingers brushed Claire’s shoulder. He kept shifting positions. He was especially nervous lately, as if her own ex was holding something back. He might also feel guilty, just regretting he’d tried to move in on Julia.
Claire was glad the coffin was closed. She wanted to remember Julia as she was in the brief time she had known her. Capable, caring, bright Julia but, like everyone, hiding frustrations and fears. How touched Claire was that Julia had let her glimpse all that, and how she wished she could have helped her.
“Dearly beloved,” the silver-haired minister began, “we are gathered here today to bid farewell to this mother, friend and cherished citizen of our island. Though many off-islanders know this church as a place for special weddings, today we call it hallowed ground and honor an entire life lived well, despite a tragic ending. But Julia Grace Logan Collister now has a new and wonderful beginning in her heavenly home, where no doubt, she will find something purposeful to do, just as she did in her days among all of us.”
A few sighs and sniffles. Someone behind them began coughing, and someone else blew a nose too hard. Lexi was trying to see over the people in the rows ahead, so Claire pulled her onto her lap, despite the frown Jace shot her.
Claire soon saw that the family and the minister had decided on a theme of “Christ as the rock” since Julia had loved the Arch Rock site and died near there. A woman played the organ while they sang “Rock of ages, cleft for me, let me hide myself in Thee...”
Again, Claire agonized, was someone hiding in plain sight who had killed Julia, or was it truly a sudden stumble that sent her to her death on the rocks below?
The minister read from two Psalms, verses he said that Julia’s daughter, Liz, had chosen. “The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer” and “For in the time of trouble... He shall set me high upon a rock.”
Hugging Lexi, Claire listened intently while the minister spoke about Julia’s life, mentioning she’d once served her country by working for the FBI, but, of course, there was not even a hint of her WITSEC duties. Claire did learn that Julia still was on the off-season security staff for Grand Hotel, when she’d got the impression that Julia had only done that when she’d first returned to the island after her divorce.
So if Julia had faced some sort of terrible trouble she could not find a way to get through, Claire didn’t learn about it here. Enemies? Evidently no one who was an islander. Still, someone could have forced trouble on her—and maybe death.
Everyone stood while the casket was carried out to the hearse, and then they followed, row by row, starting with the front pews. Outside, the wind was bitter cold, but it was not snowing. A row of carriages and several wagons were lined up to take people to the Protestant Cemetery for the burial if they wanted to go. Nick and Claire climbed in the fourth one, while the others headed back to Widow’s Watch.
There was little talking in the wagon, though one woman welcomed them to the island and another said she’d heard he—Jack Randal—was writing a book. “A history of Mackinac?” she whispered as if they were still in church. “A lot of history here!”
“That’s pretty well covered,” Nick told her. “Actually, I’m writing a murder mystery set on an island.”
Claire sat up straighter. He hadn’t discussed that with her.
“Set here?” the woman asked.
“Not here, but I thought the winter solitude would be just what I needed to get it written. The victim, however, is a man who was beloved by the islanders but he was living a double life which came—well, came back to haunt him.”
“Oh, my,” she said and moved farther away from them when everyone climbed out at the cemetery.
“Oh, my, indeed,” Claire said. “What a story—really.”
To Claire, he spoke quietly. “I’m hoping it will be an excuse to keep me close to anything the sheriff turns up about Julia. He said case closed but that he was keeping it open in his mind. Not that I’m going to consult with him, but I plan to pick his brain.”
“The plot thickens.”
“Sweetheart, look,” he said, tugging her off the path a ways where they were bringing up the rear of the mourners. “I can see the wheels turning in your mind. You’re not letting this go, are you?”
“No. It haunts me. It’s like fear of the Castros still haunts Gina. Like not flying hurts Jace. Like Clayton Ames obsesses you.”
“Okay, I’m with you, then, but we have to be very careful. You’re getting close to Liz, but watch your step and keep clear of Wade and Vern Kirkpatrick, at least if I’m not there. I’ll try to get Heck to check both of them out more. I’ll befriend the sheriff. It’s a start.”
“I’m going to talk to Julia’s father on Sunday, see what he might come up with—”
“I believe you failed to mention that, so don’t lecture me about dropping a surprise.”
“I was going to tell you later. I’m also going to take Bronco with me to see if being back there can jog his memory.”
“Then I’m going too to ride shotgun, pard’ner.”
They held hands as they walked quickly through the tombstones to catch up with the others now standing under a canvas awning above the open grave. Some headstones were old, worn ones with praying hands and long-past death dates; some new ones of polished marble had the person’s picture etched or mounted on them.
Nick said, “The last time we were in a cemetery...”
“I know. I about lost it when I saw the statue of that Cuban saint holding the dead child. It still gets to me.”
He squeezed her hand. At least she and Nick were working together again, no secrets, except their identities here.
As they stopped at the edge of the group of mourners, Claire turned her head to survey the sweep of gravestones clear to the iron fence and jolted.
“What?” Nick whispered.
She turned toward him and nodded toward the iron gate. Almost hidden by the parked wagons, she’d seen Wade Buxton, leaning there against the bulky, short stone wall.
“Wade Buxton, watching from afar,” she whispered.
“Where?”
When she looked again, Wade was gone.