Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
HER
I take a drag of my cigarette and slowly exhale, the smoke curling around me like a blanket. Inhaling another puff, I feel a sudden emptiness as I watch the fiery embers at my fingertips, wishing it could burn away all my problems.
I stub out the cigarette on the concrete stoop just as Nancy exits her car. She comes toward me, an ashtray in her hand. “Honey, you know smoking will solve nothing,” she chastises gently.
“I know,” I say, my voice soft and defeated.
She makes herself comfortable beside me, offering the ashtray. I drop the butt inside as she pats my knee in a comforting gesture. “Grief is a heavy burden to bear. I’ve experienced my share of it over my lifetime. Friends, family, my husband …” She trails off, lost in the past.
I glance at her, pondering how she coped with everything. When death follows you like a shadow, how do you find solace? The silence between us stretches on, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. A heavy weight presses on my chest like sadness is seeping through my skin.
“But one thing I’ve learned is that time never stands still. And usually what seems unbearable today will be manageable tomorrow.” She turns to me and smiles warmly. “If you just keep putting one foot in front of the other, eventually you’ll get through this. I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but it’s true.”
I nod, managing a small smile. “Thanks, Nancy.”
She stands up, extending her hand to me, and I take it. Thankfully, my hand is uninjured; I only suffered a few scrapes on my arm from the broken mirror. She helps me up off the stoop. “After I’m done here, would you like to have tea with me and chat, Ms. Underwood?”
“It’s Mia,” I correct. “And I’d love that, thanks. But I’ll have to take a rain check. As you can see”—I nod down at my all-black attire—“I’m heading off to my friend’s funeral.”
“Oh Mia,” she says, squeezing my hand. “I said this before, but I’m so sorry.”
I swallow hard and try to keep my emotions in check. “It’s alright. I just wish … I wish I could have done something more for her in this life.”
“I’m sure you did your best, honey.” As a car pulls up to the curb, she notices my gaze being drawn towards it. “Looks like your ride is here.” She hugs me. “We can have tea anytime you like. And if you need someone to talk to, you have my number.”
I take a deep breath before reluctantly pulling away from her. “I’ll keep it in mind. ”
“You take care of yourself now, okay?” she says, giving me a wave before collecting the ashtray and disappearing into the apartment building.
Blake rolls down his window and sticks his head out. “Ready to go?”
I circle the car and slide into the passenger seat, seeing his tailored black suit and tie. “You already changed?” I ask, shutting the door.
“Yeah, I came to work prepared,” he answers as I buckle my seatbelt. “The boss let me off early. I’m his best employee, after all.” I’m unable to muster a smile at his joke, and he looks at me, his expression going somber. “It’s going to be alright, Mia.”
“Let’s just get this over with, okay?”
I caress the necklace I wear, the one Jen made especially for me, stroking the crystal pendant as we drive into the late morning fog that covers Fallbank.
When the funeral home doors swing open, a wave of floral fragrance and cloying perfume assaults my senses. As I step inside, my chest tightens, my eyes darting around the room to take in the solemn expressions of those in attendance. Soft music plays in the background, and people murmur to each other in hushed tones.
The minister who will lead the service greets us, his hair gray and his face weathered. “We’re glad you could make it,” he says, shaking Blake’s hand before moving on to mine. “What is your relationship to the deceased, may I ask?”
“I was Jen’s friend,” I reply, glancing at Blake.
Blake nods. “She was a good friend to us both,” he adds quietly.
The minister looks at us sympathetically. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” he says, offering a warm smile. He motions us forward, the fabric of his robes rustling as he points toward the chapel room.
We make our way down the hall in silence, my footsteps echoing on the marble floor. As we’re about to enter the chapel, Blake grasps my hand. I glance at him, grateful for his presence. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves, and enter the chapel.
Tapestries, candles, and photos of Jen adorn the room, each a testament to her life. My gaze lands on the closed casket at the front, draped with lilies and daisies. Choking back a sob, I move forward, my feet heavy as we take our seats near the back row.
Jen’s family is at the front, near the casket. Her younger half-brother sits by their mother, Mara. Tears streak his face, his eyes rimmed red from sobbing probably all week. Poor Teddy , I think. They didn’t share a father, but they were close. His big sis meant the world to him. Their grandma isn’t present; she’s likely too ill to attend.
My gaze sweeps over the crowd, scanning each person for any signs of familiarity. I notice Nick and Zoey in separate pews, and I’m relieved that they set aside their feud to attend. I don’t recognize anyone else, but I can feel the sadness and grief lingering in the room as if it’s a tangible thing that hangs in the air like an oppressive cloud.
The music tapers off, and the service begins. For the next hour, I listen as people speak about Jen’s kindness, generosity, talent. How her bright light was extinguished too soon. I don’t have a speech prepared, so I don’t go up front. But to my surprise, Zoey makes her way to the podium. Blake and I exchange glances as she picks up the microphone.
“I didn’t know Jen as well as some of you here,” she starts, her voice scratchy. She clears her throat and digs into her pocket, popping a lozenge into her mouth before resuming her speech. “We’ve had some heated disagreements, in and out of work. But she’s … was a smart gal with a big heart. She’d give the shirt off her back to someone in need. I understand why so many of us here today miss her dearly. I know I will, too.” She clears her throat again, her voice quavering. “I just wish that I was less of a crappy friend, that I would have apologized before …”
She bursts into tears, giving the mic back to the minister before returning to her seat. I can’t help but feel sympathy for her; it’s incredibly difficult to stand up in front of a room full of grieving loved ones and admit your mistakes. But I know all too well the pain of leaving words unsaid.
The service ends after a touching closing statement from the minister and a moment of silent reflection in honor of Jen’s life and memory. Everyone stands, some making their way to the door while others queue up in a single-file line near her casket. I join them, Blake’s presence beside me helping me to not break.
Once I’m next in line, I step up to the casket—but someone muscles their way in front of me, blocking my path. I frown, opening my mouth to tell them off. But my indignation evaporates in an instant when I realize who it is.
“One funeral after another,” the man says, adjusting his tie. “People seem to die a lot around you, Miss Madison … Or is it Miss Underwood now?”
I blink slowly, my hands falling at my sides in fists at the mention of my previous fake name. “Detective Bryant,” I say smoothly, doing my best to keep my tone even. “What brings you out here to Pennsylvania?”
His eyes narrow. “You know why I’m here, Miss Underwood, so let’s cut the pleasantries. Why don’t you tell me what happened to Jen and why you were there that night? You can start from the beginning—I think it would be best if we got this whole thing sorted out before it gets any messier.”
People around me stare, some of them accusatory scowls, and I feel my patience growing thinner by the second. My nostrils flare, my knuckles going white from how hard I’m clenching them. “I came here to pay my respects to my friend,” I fume. “How dare you?—”
Blake steps forward, his posture rigid and voice tight. “Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”
Bryant casts a glance between us before nodding. “Of course,” he says, stepping away from the casket. He gestures for us to follow, and he strides down the aisle, leaving me to sort out my temper before I punch him in the fucking face for crashing Jen’s funeral.
The detective leads us to a secluded spot near the corner outside of the chapel. A few people walk by, shooting us curious glances, but we’re mostly left alone. Way to make this awkward, detective .
“Why are you here?” I demand, crossing my arms before Bryant can launch into a tirade of questioning.
He holds his hands up in a placating gesture. “I understand that you’re upset, but I need to ask you two some questions regarding Jennifer Breck’s death. So please, just hear me out before you throw punches.”
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, trying to maintain my composure. I glance at Blake, who remains silent and eerily still. “Fine,” I relent. “Ask your questions. I’m not obligated to answer them without legal representation, though.”
Bryant’s brow creases. “What can you tell me about the circumstances of Jennifer’s death? Do you know of anyone who may have had a motive for ending her life? Or know anything about who could have done it?”
I shake my head. “No.” Yet again another lie . “Detective, don’t you think this is in poor taste? Talking about my friend’s murder at her own goddamn funer?—”
Blake interjects. “If we have any additional information, we’ll be contacting the Sturgis P.D.” He drapes a protective arm around me. “In the meantime, we’ll be on our way.”
As Blake turns around and starts leading me away, Bryant blurts out, “They believe the murders are all linked. And I think you two know much more than you’re letting on.”
Blake stiffens, his fingers digging into my shoulder for the briefest moment before he ushers me away from the detective. He’s wound tight with tension as we walk toward the exit. I chew on my lip, fearing that Bryant’s putting the pieces together.
And I’m directly in the crosshairs.
Before we can leave, Nick catches up to me, tapping me on the shoulder. “Hey, Mia.”
I pause, observing his bloodshot eyes and puffy face. He shifts uncomfortably, tugging at his collar like his suit is strangling him. “Hey, Nick,” I say, drawing him into a hug. “I’d ask how you’re doing, but …”
He chuckles, his voice crackly. “It’s okay. I know how it is.” He pulls away and glances at Blake with a nod of respect before focusing back on me. “You staying for the reception and burial?”
“No, I don’t think so,” I reply, shaking my head. “I feel like shit. To be honest, I’ve felt like garbage since that night.”
“Yeah. Same.” He returns my hug. “I just wanted to say thank you for coming today. I know Jen would appreciate it.”
I can only nod as my throat tightens, unable to find the right words. Nick gives me a salute of departure before walking away, melding into a sea of black suits.
“We’d better get going if we want to escape Sherlock Holmes over there,” Blake says, nodding his head toward Bryant, who is still hovering in the corner.
Hastily, we make our way out of the funeral home. Outside, I inhale deeply, grateful for the cool breeze that replaces the stifling air inside.
“Thank you so much for coming with me today,” I tell Blake as we traverse the parking lot.
“Anytime,” he says, smiling—but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
I’m taken aback, but I say nothing as he unlocks his car and gets inside. I follow suit, suddenly feeling suffocated again.
The car ride back home is silent, filled with a tension that I don’t understand. I stare out the window, watching trees and buildings pass by us in a blur, feeling Blake’s eyes on me from time to time. But he never speaks.
Finally, we pull up to the apartment building. I unbuckle my seat belt and open the door. Blake follows behind me, his steps heavy and determined as he makes his way toward the entrance. I turn around to face him before going in, expecting a goodbye. Instead, he just stands there, looking at me with an intensity that takes my breath away.
“Blake,” I whisper, my heart pounding in my chest. “Are you okay?”
He takes a deep breath before finally speaking. “I don’t want to see you cry again,” he says. He steps forward and wraps his arms around me tightly, as if trying to keep me from breaking apart. “I can’t stand it when you do that. It hurts too much for me to bear.”
Tears form in my eyes, and I rest my head against his chest as he holds me tightly. He pulls away slowly, pushing a strand of hair out of my face before speaking again. “I won’t let you cry alone. Not anymore.” He takes a step back, giving me one last look before turning and walking away, leaving me standing here in confusion.
What the hell was that all about?