“Who is that next to Paul?” I whispered to Frank.

“Jack Fremont. Her son – Paul’s father.”

The service was short but moving. Unlike some others I had been to, this one was performed by a minister who actually knew the deceased. When he spoke her full name, Althea Fremont, I realized that even though I had heard her first name before, we had called her “Mrs. Fremont” for so long that it seemed like “Mrs.” was her first name. Althea. It was pretty and old-fashioned and I liked it.

The minister was able to make the congregation recall something of the spirit of Althea Fremont and why we were so fond of her. If a memorial service can be said to be upbeat, this one was.

I knew that Frank had been asked to be a pallbearer, but he had declined. I got the impression that he wanted to grieve as privately as possible, away from the eyes of the other mourners. By the end of the service, he was visibly upset, but trying to hold himself together. Pete offered to drive us over to the cemetery, and we accepted.

Outside, the sky was a dark gray, threatening rain. As we made our way in the long procession of cars, we took our minds off what we were doing by asking Rachel about Phoenix, her flight, her plans for this visit. She was taking three weeks of vacation, she said, returning near the end of the month. Pete was going to take some time off, too, but probably not until close to Thanksgiving.

Time off. It sounded great. Especially when I realized how long this day was bound to be.

Our attention was forced back to the funeral as we pulled up at the cemetery and made our way over to the graveside.

Frank, although dry-eyed and silent, held on to me and leaned against me from time to time, grieving for her in his own, quiet way. When the graveside service was over, Pete and Rachel moved off toward the car, Pete signaling me to take our time. Soon, only Jack and Paul Fremont were standing there with us. They walked over to us. Jack had an arm around his son’s shoulders. He extended his other hand to Frank. “You meant a lot to my mother,” he choked out. “She thought the world of you, Frank.”

It was odd to see grief on this man’s hardened face. A long white scar ran from the corner of his right eye to his jawline.

“She was so happy when you came back home, Jack,” Frank answered. “I’m glad you reconciled before… this happened.”

The gray mist was becoming a light sprinkle of rain. We turned away from the graveside and walked toward the cars. It was then I noticed the black limo parked at the curb. A tinted window rolled up and the car started and drove away as we approached.

“Do you know who that was?” I asked.

“No,” said Frank, but I could see that, like me, he had taken a good look at the license plate. Once Jack and Paul had walked off, I reached into my purse and jotted the number down twice. I tore the paper in half and handed a copy to Frank.

“Thanks. I’ll have to give this to Pete.”

Just as we got into the backseat of Pete’s car, it started to really rain. I felt that numbness that I feel after funerals settle over me. We rode in silence, though Pete kept looking at Frank in the rearview mirror. Frank held my hand tightly and looked out the car window with an unseeing gaze.

As we pulled up to the curb in front of the shelter, where the mourners were gathering, Frank turned to Pete and said, “I’ll be okay, Baird.”

“I know you will, Harriman, ‘cause you’ve got so many guardian angels.”

19

“NO, OTHER THAN TELLING ME that Frank saved his hide, Pete hasn’t said a word about what happened at that warehouse.”

Rachel and I sat on a sofa at the shelter, comparing notes.

“When are you going to move out here?”

“Who said I will? It wasn’t so easy to make detective in Phoenix, and I’m not ready to come here and be a meter maid just to warm my bones next to Pete.”

“A meter maid. Sure.”

“Well, I’d be back in uniform. No doubt about it. Look what happened to Frank. Even though he had made detective in Bakersfield, he had to go back to being in uniform here. Every department is like that. Frank managed to make detective here in record time, but that’s rare – I can’t depend on the same thing happening for me.”

Frank walked up to us just then. “You’d get there just as quickly, Rachel.”

“No, Boy Wonder, I don’t think so,” she said glumly.

Frank leaned down toward my ear and whispered, “Excuse us for a moment, ancient one – police business.”

I rolled my eyes, but let him drag Rachel off toward Pete, because Sarah had just plopped down next to me. She sighed with all the weight of the world on her.

“Everybody worth a crap is gone from here now.”

“It’s stopped raining; let’s go outside and talk,” I said. “We can sit under the patio roof – in case it starts up again.”

“Okay, I could use a cigarette anyway.”

We made our way out to the backyard, and away from the crowd inside. She lit a cigarette and took three or four drags off it.

“Why are you living here, Sarah?”

“‘Cause my old man thinks that if he slaps me around hard enough, I’ll listen to him. But he hasn’t said anything worthwhile since my mom died. He fell into a bottle five years ago and hasn’t crawled out since. I just got tired of it, that’s all. What’s your sad story?”

“Someone left a heart and a lot of blood all over my front porch last night.”

Her eyes widened. “No shit?”

“No shit. I need your help, Sarah. But first – this is important – you’ve got to find somewhere else to stay. Is there anywhere else you can go?”

“Oh, I get it. You read the journal. Listen, Sammy is paranoid. Comes from reading all that hoodoo jive she’s into.”

“Please think about it.”

She took a few more drags off the cigarette, watching me through half-closed eyes. “Man, I guess if I was you, I’d be pretty freaked out, too. I got an aunt in San Diego. My mom’s sister. Maybe I’ll give her a call. What kind of help you need?”

“For starters – the initials.”

“Wasn’t that just too dumb? I mean, like we’re not going to figure it out. Gee, ‘my roommate, SL’ – who would ever guess that stood for Sarah Landry? Big secret code. That Sammy sure can be a dumb shit.”

“I don’t know the cast of characters like you do. To me, it is a code.”

She gave me a look that said I ranked right up there with Sammy in her estimation, and ground out her cigarette. She reached in her jacket and pulled out another one. I waited while she lit up and got it going.

“Well, let’s see. RM is Jacob Henderson and JC is Julie Montgomery. God knows why she decided to give them phony initials. It’s still obvious who she’s talking about. RA is Raney Adams and DM is Devon Morris.”

“Heckle and Jeckle,” I said.

“Who the hell are Heckle and Jeckle?”

“Old cartoon characters – before your time. Couple of crows with a bad attitude.”

“Oh. Yeah, Devon and Raney do look like they’re auditioning for ‘The Raven’ – you know, the poem by Edgar Allen Poe?”

“Yes, but I never would have figured you to be a fan of his.”

“Love him.” She smiled over at me and then proceeded to flawlessly recite the first two verses.

“Bravo!” I said, applauding. “I’m impressed. I can’t make it past the ‘weak and weary’ part.”

She laughed. “My favorite is ‘The Telltale Heart.’”

I winced.

“Oh, sorry, forgot about your porch. Where were we? Oh yeah, Raney and Devon. You ask me, those two are definitely twisted. Something not right in those two boys.”

“What about KS and MB?”

“Katy Stewart and Mary Brennan. They don’t live here anymore. They took off not too long after Devon and Raney showed up. I think they’re still in town somewhere, though. Someone told me Katy is turning tricks, but they say that about every girl who leaves.”