“Mia adores you,” I said. “I know you would do anything for her.”
I paused and after a moment Simon said, “I get the feeling there’s something you want to say to me?”
I shifted sideways a little, moving Hercules, who made a disgruntled face at me. My mother would have said, “In for a penny, in for a pound,” an expression she’d picked up from the English wardrobe mistress while doing a production of My Fair Lady.
“Yes,” I said. “Why did you lie to me—and to Mia—about being in your office the night your father died?”
“I didn’t kill my father.”
“I know that,” I said.
“Then why does it matter where I was?” His blunt manner teetered on the edge of rudeness on occasion, which meant if he liked you, you knew it, and if he didn’t, he didn’t care.
I gritted my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut for a moment. When I opened them again Hercules was sitting up, watching me curiously. “All I ask is that people be straight with me, Simon. If there’s something you don’t want to tell me, ever, that’s okay, but don’t lie to me.”
“You said you know I didn’t kill my father.”
“That’s because I know you would never do anything to hurt Mia. And I know how much her grandfather’s death has hurt her.”
Simon was silent for so long I thought he’d hung up. Finally he spoke. “You know about my father’s brother being in town.”
“Yes.” Hercules nudged my hand with his head. Translation: “Scratch behind my ear.”
“I’m sure Detective Gordon has told you that my father and I disagreed about that.”
“I knew that you and your father had words.”
Simon laughed but the sound had no humor. “That’s one way to put it.” Then his voice softened. “My father left me a voice mail message saying he wanted to talk to me about Victor. I didn’t want to have the same stupid argument because, you’re right, it wasn’t good for Mia. That’s why I left the office, in case my father decided to show up. I just drove around because I needed to figure out what to do. Sitting and thinking doesn’t work for me. I need to move, so I just drove around for a while. I can’t prove it. I did see a deer by the side of the road and a drone flying over a field. I lied to you and to Mia on the phone because I was trying to keep her out of this thing with my father as much as I could.” He sighed. “I didn’t do a very good job of it. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth.” I could hear traffic noise and I wondered where he was.
“I understand what you were going through,” I said. “I’ll meet you at Gunnerson’s about nine thirty.” Gunnerson’s Funeral Home was where Leo Janes’s funeral was taking place.
“That’s fine,” he said. “And, Kathleen, I appreciate everything you’ve done, for Mia and for me.”
He ended the call before I could reply.
I set my phone down on the bed. Hercules was watching me and as odd as it would probably sound to most people if I’d tried to explain it, I knew he’d been listening to my side of the conversation. He glanced over at the phone and meowed, inquiringly, it seemed to me.
Being able to walk through walls or disappear weren’t the only skills my cats had. They seemed to have an uncanny ability to, well, solve crime. They were like two small, furry Sherlock Holmeses. Sometimes I thought explaining that to Marcus was going to be harder than explaining the whole walk-through-walls/vanishing-act thing.
I started to stroke Herc’s fur again. “No,” I said. “I don’t think he told me everything, either.”
• • •
Simon and Mia were just getting out of Simon’s car when I arrived at the funeral home the next morning. Mia was pale but composed in a dark blue dress, her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. She came around the car and hugged me.
Simon was wearing a dark suit with a crisp white shirt and conservative striped tie. He was close to six feet tall, long and lean with a direct gaze. Simon generally kept his sandy hair buzzed close to his head but recently he’d let it grow out a little. The first time we’d met I thought that he didn’t look anywhere near old enough to be the father of a seventeen-now-eighteen-year-old, and I still felt the same way.
“Good morning,” he said. I hesitated and then hugged him as well.
A dark green SUV pulled up then. I recognized Denise, Simon’s assistant, as the driver. Victor Janes was in the passenger seat. Denise smiled at me as she got out of the vehicle and came to give Mia a hug.
Simon offered his hand to Victor. They shook hands and then Victor touched Mia’s shoulder for a brief moment.
“Victor, this is our friend Kathleen Paulson,” Simon said.
The older man nodded at me. “We met at the library. Thank you for coming, Kathleen.”
“I’m sorry about your brother,” I said.
There was an awkward silence before Denise touched Simon’s arm. “We should probably go inside,” she said. “People will be arriving soon.”
We headed across the parking lot. Simon was ahead of me, his back ramrod straight in his dark suit, and I had a sense of just what this civility with his uncle was costing him.
Daniel Gunnerson Senior was waiting for us inside. Gunnerson Senior was a short, squat man with thick, white hair combed back from his face and sparkling blue eyes. He reminded me of actor Malcolm McDowell, with whom my mother had once done a production of The Taming of the Shrew. Both men had the same impish grin, although there was no sign of it today on Daniel Gunnerson’s face. This morning his blue eyes were serious. He was wearing a conservative charcoal suit and a gray striped tie. He shook Simon’s hand. “Would you like to see the chapel?” he asked in a low voice.
“I would, thank you,” Simon said. He glanced at me and I gave a slight nod to let him know I’d take care of Mia.
Denise and Simon followed Daniel. Simon took a few steps and then stopped and turned to his uncle. “Victor, would you like to come with us?” he asked.
I saw the older man swallow hard. “Thank you. I would,” he said. He gave Mia a smile that was just really a slight movement of his lips and went with Simon and his assistant.
Mia watched them go. “Did you know that funerals predate modern man? The Neanderthals probably followed some sort of ritual for their dead thousands of years ago.” She shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep last night and I ended up Googling funerals.”
“I did know that,” I said.
Mia smiled. “I forgot that you know pretty much everything.”
I smiled back at her. “Not everything.”
Mia looked in the direction of the chapel again and suddenly she looked profoundly sad. “I want to tell you something but you’re going to think I’m a bad person.”
I put my arm around her shoulders. “There’s nothing you could tell me that would make me think you’re a bad person. You could tell me that you glued the covers of every book in the library together and I still wouldn’t think you’re a bad person.”
“There’s no way you wouldn’t be mad,” Mia said.
I smiled. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t be mad, I said I wouldn’t think you’re a bad person.”
She laid her head on my shoulder. “I wish it was him,” she said in a small voice.
I realized she meant she wished Victor were dead instead of her grandfather. “That just makes you human.”
“Mary’s right,” Mia said. “You don’t know how to be mean.”
I grinned and shook my head. “I promise you that I do.”
She raised her head so she could look at me. “What was the last mean thing you did?”
“Yesterday I threw a can of creamed corn at a squirrel that was chewing on one of my Adirondack chairs in the backyard.”
“No.” Her eyes widened.
“Yes.”
I’d also yelled and stomped my feet on the back steps, but the squirrel had simply looked at me like I was a toddler having a tantrum and then gone back to chewing on the arm of the chair.