Chapter Twenty-Three
Sam spent the rest of the day running errands, walking Arlo, and trying to lose herself in Middlemarch.
She’d been looking forward to diving back into Dorothea’s story, but she kept reading the same paragraph over and over, her mind drifting to Margaret and Gerald instead of nineteenth-century England.
She ended up leaving her reading to putter around her yard, clearing away weeds and dead-heading her rose beds.
At least gardening gave her hands something to do while her mind worked through the murders.
The next morning, she dressed for Margaret’s memorial service. She’d let Charlotte know she was going to be there, and Charlotte, apparently still worrying over attendance, had sounded very relieved.
The Sunrise Chapel was a small, nondenominational space on the edge of downtown.
It was the kind of place that hosted memorial services or weddings for people with no strong church affiliation.
Sam arrived at the same time as Olivia and walked with her from the parking lot a few minutes before ten, the October morning crisp and clear.
“I hate these things,” Olivia said quietly as they walked toward the entrance. “Especially when the person who died was fairly complicated.”
As it turned out, Charlotte’s fears about no one showing were partly justified.
The chapel could hold perhaps seventy-five people, but only about twenty had gathered.
Charlotte greeted them as they sat on a pew next to her.
“Thanks for coming,” she said, giving them a grateful look.
“It means a lot. Margaret’s niece flew in from Denver.
I don’t think she’s seen Margaret in years. ”
Sam took in the sparse gathering. The front row held a woman in her forties who had to be the niece, sitting alone. Her posture was dutiful rather than grief-stricken. She looked like someone who was attending out of obligation rather than sorrow.
Claire Mills sat three rows back, her usual composure firmly in place, though her eyes looked tired. She gave Sam a small nod of acknowledgment. Sam noticed she’d chosen a seat near the aisle, as if ready to make a quick exit if needed.
Dylan arrived next, slipping into the back row. He wore an ill-fitting sport coat that looked borrowed, and his discomfort was palpable. He kept his head down, studying the memorial program as if it contained fascinating information.
Pamela sat near the middle, calm and composed. She wore a navy dress, her gray hair in its usual neat bun. The treasurer looked like he wasn’t sure why he’d come.
There was an elderly couple there and a middle-aged woman with kind eyes.
And then there was Sofia. She sat alone on the right side, three rows from the front.
She’d either wanted to avoid sitting with her cousin or didn’t feel she had the right.
Even from the back, Sam could see the tension in her shoulders and the way she twisted a tissue in her hands.
Her dark hair fell forward, partially hiding her face.
Chief Hawkins and Detective Phillips stood near the back corner, their presence both subtle and unmistakable. Phillips’ sharp eyes tracked each person who entered, noting reactions, positioning and their behavior. When his gaze landed on Sam, there was no warmth in it, just assessment.
The service itself was painfully generic. The niece stood at the front, reading from notes in an uncertain voice.
“Margaret Brennan was a dedicated educator who touched many lives through her thirty years of teaching. She had high standards for herself and for others. She was accomplished in her field.” The niece paused, clearly struggling to find more personal details.
“She loved literature and believed in the power of education. She will be remembered.” She carefully sat down.
The vagueness of it all hung in the air. There were no warm anecdotes, funny stories, or mentions of close friends or cherished memories. Just the bare facts of a life that had been professionally successful but personally isolated.
Sam glanced around the chapel during the brief, awkward silence that followed. Claire had her eyes closed, whether in prayer or in sleep was unclear. Dylan stared at his hands. Pamela sat with perfect stillness, her expression neutral.
And Sofia’s shoulders shook with silent sobs.
The minister, who’d clearly never met Margaret, led them in a generic prayer and invited anyone who wished to share memories to come forward.
No one moved.
The silence stretched uncomfortably. Charlotte half-rose from the pew as if she might say something out of sheer social obligation, but then quickly sat back down. What could she say?
Finally, Pamela stood. The retired librarian walked to the front with quiet dignity, turning to face the small group.
“Margaret and I knew each other for some time,” she said, her voice steady.
“She was a woman of strong convictions and impressive intellect. She set high standards and expected others to meet them.” Pamela paused, seeming to choose her words carefully.
“She challenged people to be better. That wasn’t always comfortable, but it came from a place of believing in excellence. ”
It was a masterful bit of diplomacy. Her words sounded like praise while revealing nothing personal.
Sam noticed Pamela’s hands were completely steady.
No emotion showed on her face. She could have been reading a book report.
She returned to her pew, and the minister quickly moved to closing prayers, perhaps afraid of more awkward silences.
After the service, as people filed out, Sam watched the dynamics. Claire approached the niece to offer brief condolences, then moved toward the door after taking a quick, hesitant glance at Sofia, who remained seated, her face buried in her hands.
Olivia walked over to join Charlotte, while Sam headed over to where Sofia was sitting. She slid into the pew next to Sofia. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Sofia looked up, her eyes red and swollen. For a moment she seemed confused, as if trying to place Sam in the unfamiliar environment and during a stressful morning. Then she smiled. “Sorry. Hi Sam.”
“Hi there. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m not.” Sofia’s voice broke. “And I don’t even know why.
She was terrible to me. My whole life, nothing I did was ever good enough.
She criticized everything. My choices, my education, my relationships.
She looked at me as a disappointment.” Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.
“So why does it hurt so much that she’s gone? ”
“Because she was your mother,” Sam said gently. “That’s complicated no matter what the relationship was like.”
“I joined that stupid book club to try to understand her. I wanted to see her in a different setting and maybe try to see a side of her that wasn’t constantly judging me.” Sofia laughed bitterly. “And you know what? She was exactly the same. She was critical of everyone and impossible to please.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
Sofia gave her head a little shake as if trying to clear it out.
“Sorry. I’m apparently having a tough time sorting through all these emotions.
I didn’t have it in me to say anything about my mom.
I could see my cousin looking all self-righteous and condescending that I hadn’t stood up.
But I couldn’t do it. I didn’t know what to say.
Even if I had known what to say, I couldn’t have talked about my mother without falling apart. ”
“No one should be judging you right now. You just lost your mom.”
Sofia took a deep breath. “My cousin did a poor job with the eulogy. I think it was better not to say anything at all.” She paused. “It was nice of Pamela to speak. I wasn’t expecting that, especially since she and my mother didn’t seem to get along at all.”
“Didn’t they?” asked Sam. “When I spoke with Pamela, she acted like she didn’t know your mom much at all. But during her eulogy, she sounded like she understood your mother.”
Sofia gave a short laugh. “As much as anybody could understand her. But they didn’t like each other, from what I could tell. During one of the meetings, I heard Mom and Pamela arguing before book club started.”
“Did you catch what they were arguing about?”
“Not really. I figured it was because my mother was being impossible, as usual. But Pamela sounded pretty upset. She said something like ‘you can’t do this’ or ‘don’t, Margaret.’”
Sam asked, “Did your mother say anything in response?”
“No, because they both suddenly noticed I was there. I couldn’t really read Pamela’s expression. My mom just looked satisfied, like she’d won something. That’s when Charlotte came to the back room, and the meeting started.”
Sam asked, “Did they speak to each other again during the meeting?”
“Not that I saw. Pamela sat on the opposite side of the room and left right after the meeting ended.”
Sam said, “I think you should tell the police everything you remember about that book club meeting. Even details that seem small. Did you tell them anything about this?”
Sofia shook her head. “It didn’t seem important at the time. My mom was always getting under people’s skin. I didn’t remember it again until yesterday.” She stood. “Thanks for coming over. And for coming to my mom’s service.”
Sofia left, looking more composed than she had at the beginning of their conversation. Sam joined Olivia outside, where Charlotte was speaking with her.
Dylan called out to Charlotte as he exited the chapel, and Charlotte walked over to speak with him.
Sam said ruefully to Olivia, “I’m sure Dylan isn’t eager to talk to me again anytime soon after our conversation at the community center.”
“Well, he shouldn’t have been posing as something he wasn’t.” Olivia glanced behind Sam. “Claire Mills is coming in our direction. Need to speak with her?”
“She’s probably not dying to chat with me again, either.”
Olivia said, “I can take the lead. I haven’t spoken with anyone since the book club meeting. I should have been reaching out, but I’ve been dealing with my anxiety over the whole thing.”
Olivia turned and smiled at Claire, motioning her over. Claire’s lips tightened before she gave a return smile and headed in their direction. “Hi ladies,” she said in an upbeat tone.
“How is everything going?” asked Olivia. “I’ve been thinking about you. I should have texted to see how you were doing.”
“It’s been a real mess,” said Claire, blowing out a big sigh. “I can’t believe Gerald is gone.”
Sam noticed she didn’t mention Margaret’s death, despite being in the process of leaving her memorial service.
Olivia gave her a sympathetic look. “I know you two were close.”
Claire nodded. “We were writing buddies. He was such a supportive guy. Gerald’s probably the only reason I kept on writing after that whole thing with Margaret.”
“She should never have criticized your work like that,” said Olivia, frowning. “I don’t like speaking ill of the dead, but everybody knows that’s not the way you deliver a critique. Maybe she was just jealous of you and was trying to cut you down to size.”
“You’re sweet, but I don’t think that was it,” said Claire. “I did want to improve the manuscript, so I shouldn’t have been so sensitive.” She glanced at Sam. “And, of course, there was the rest of it. Margaret sabotaged my submission to a publisher.”
Olivia affected surprise, although she’d known about the sabotage from Sam. “I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah. It was hard. But I’m trying to move past it.
What’s the old expression? Get better, not bitter?
That’s what I’m working on. But I’m not going to lie; it’s been hard.
First the big mess with Margaret, which totally messed up my confidence and my self-esteem.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep on going.
Then, Gerald encouraged me to keep working on my book.
Losing him has been another huge setback.
” Claire’s voice broke a little at the end, and she shook her head.
Olivia said, “You know, I’m not saying I’m a great at giving critiques, but I’d be happy to read through your book.”
“Me too,” said Sam.
Claire’s face brightened. “You guys are the best. I don’t think I’m quite ready yet to put my work out there again, but when I am, I’ll be sure to check in with you. I really appreciate it.”
They spoke of other things for a few minutes before heading their separate ways. Claire walked to her car, looking lighter than she had at the start of the conversation.
“She’s going to be okay,” Olivia said, watching her go.
“I think so too.” Sam checked her phone. “I should probably head home. Arlo’s been alone most of the day.”
“Give him extra treats for me.” Olivia gave her a quick hug.
Sam drove home, her mind turning over everything she’d learned at the memorial service. Sofia’s revelation about the argument, Claire’s continuing sorrow over Gerald’s death.
At home, Arlo greeted her with his usual enthusiasm, doing his welcome-home dance and snuffling at her legs. Sam changed into comfortable clothes and took him for a quick walk around the neighborhood, letting the fresh air clear her head.
When they finished their walk and were heading back inside, her phone buzzed with a text from Aiden. How was the memorial service?
Sad. Sparsely attended. But informative. Are you free after school lets out?
Aiden wrote back. For you? Of course. I’ll run by after work.