Nodding, he began unbuttoning his shirt. “He’s as worried as anyone.”
“You don’t think he knows where she is?”
“Nope. Or if he does, he should get an Academy Award.”
“What about Jamison?” she asked, thinking about how Lily didn’t trust the ADA.
“He’s still in Charlotte with Naomi’s sister and the kids.” The shirt came off, exposing the muscles in his shoulders and a little scar where he’d been grazed by a bullet years before.
Nikki asked, “How’s he holding up?”
“About as well as you’d expect. Brave front for the girls.” Pierce tossed his shirt onto a nearby chair, stood, and unzipped his slacks.
“You think it’s an act?”
“He’s destroyed, Nikki.” Pierce kicked the pants toward the chair, then rolled into bed. “It’s a nightmare.”
“And you?” she asked.
He turned off the lamp. “I’m okay.”
“But—?” she asked, as he wrapped his arms around her.
“But it’s hell.”
Then he kissed her. Warm, eager lips finding hers in the half light, the scent and feel of his skin surrounding her. “No more talking,” he said, as he lifted his head.
“You got it, Detective.” She pulled his head back to hers, her blood heating, her body responding.
And for the next few moments, the world, with all its sordid, painful problems, melted away.
The next day Nikki suffered through Mavis Greenlee’s funeral.
Sitting on a hard pew and listening to Reverend Stark sing the deceased woman’s praises was torturous, and observing Archer Greenlee fighting tears in the first row of the church was even worse. Thankfully, he’d had the good sense to leave Annabelle at home, probably keeping her under wraps until the reading of the will, or the solving of his wife’s murder, or both.
Nikki sat at the end of a pew, with a view of the closed mahogany casket. Two immense sprays of lilies and white roses flanked the casket, while a large headshot of Mavis in her forties smiled on the congregation. Near the pulpit, a Christian flag stood proudly next to the Stars and Stripes while an enormous, intricately carved crucifix was suspended over the altar.
Prayers were offered, hymns sung, and Oliver Crawford spoke of the finer qualities of his sister, while Blanche dabbed at her eyes over the loss of her only daughter, the woman who had so obviously neglected her. Two of the elders delivered Bible quotes, Otis Childers reciting a quote from John 3:16 and Duke Wheelan providing a reference to the Ten Commandments. A solo artist sang “Amazing Grace,” before Reverend Stark offered a eulogy of divine proportions, reminding everyone of Mavis’s devotion to God and her fellow man.
At that remark, Charlene, seated beside Nikki, gave a quiet snort into her handkerchief. Dressed in black and white, a broad-brimmed hat angled over her newly coiffed hair, Charlene sat dry-eyed, her face pinched as if she were in physical pain.
Both of Mavis’s ex-husbands showed. Radley Bowers, the golf pro, attended with his wife, Kelsey, and their kids, while Leonard Armstrong was flying solo and forever pulling at his too-tight collar as sweat collected on his bald pate.
Even Norm Metzger paid his respects, which surprised Nikki. After all the years of working with him at the newspaper, she’d never known Metzger to be the tiniest bit religious or pious, but there he sat in the pew with a couple of the other elders of the church: Duke Wheelan and Otis Childers. Both men lived in proximity to JeanneLaRoux and were neighbors of Billy Huber. Both disliked Billy intensely and, as far as Nikki could determine, were only linked to Mavis Greenlee through the church. Duke Wheelan was dressed in black, as was Frannie, who sat next to him, though not touching. Daria Childers, in a deep purple dress that showed a little cleavage, was squeezed into the pew next to her husband.
As for Norm, at the far end of the pew, he was alone and kept staring down at the funeral program they were all given upon entrance. She wondered about him. Was he Norm, the lazy man skating to retirement that she’d always thought? Could he be one of those Saturday-night sinners who became, overnight, Sunday-morning saints?
She realized that, for all the years she’d worked with him, she knew little about the man.
Lily, as promised, refused to be a hypocrite and did not attend. She kept the girls at home. Kyle looked like he’d rather be anywhere other than the hot church, wedged into a crowd of people he didn’t know. He fidgeted, but stayed sitting in the pew. Pierce quietly observed the congregation from the back of the nave, in case he was called away. He’d confided to Nikki just before the service that a man out walking his dog might have seen Naomi Kittle’s car, and deputies were currently checking the area.
After a final prayer, the mourners filed out, past Blanche, Oliver, and Westin Stark, who shook hands and accepted sympathy near the front doors. From the vestibule, the crowd moved into the fellowship hall, where the Birds of Paradise had set up tables for refreshments.
But she saw no one who appeared to be a serial killer in the throng of mourners, but then what had she expected? Someone wearing an evil leer or a sign that read: Watch out! I’m a murderer?
Well, she’d hoped for some kind of clue in the rows of mourners. However, no one looked the least bit suspicious or out of place.
She met Pierce inside and saw him checking his phone.
