“Do you need something, dear?” Anna asked.
“I’m having a little problem. I wonder if I could stay with you tonight.”
“Just a moment.” Anna muffled the phone and spoke with someone. Was Bill there? “How soon do you want to come?”
“How soon can he leave?”
“What? How soon can who leave?” Anna was put out. Chase shouldn’t have been such a smart aleck.
“Just kidding. It sounds like someone is there. How about a half an hour?” She raised her eyebrows at Mike. He nodded.
“I’ll be here. Are you in some sort of trouble again?”
“No, not with the police. I’ll tell you everything when I get there.”
They sat on the balcony another twenty minutes, mostly in easy silence, watching the street below, then Mike drove her to Nokomis Avenue.
Chase talked to Anna for over an hour before they bedded down. Over brandy nightcaps, Chase told her all about her date, then gave her the gruesome details about the horrible questioning when she thought she was going to be thrown into the clink. The more she shared her woe, the less of an edge it had.
Anna had read in the newspaper that Torvald’s funeral would be the next day. She said she wasn’t going to attend, but Chase thought she, herself, ought to do something. She wasn’t about to zip over to the visitation that night, as she’d done for Gabe Naughtly, so she decided she’d have to drag herself to the service on Tuesday.
When Chase woke up in the morning, she’d slept so soundly she couldn’t figure out where she was for half a minute. Then the powder-blue wallpaper, faintly striped, and the gauzy lace curtains on the guest room windows told her she was at Anna’s. They split a banana and each had a bit of yogurt before they left. It felt like old times.
• • •
After Anna dropped her off Tuesday morning, Chase was acutely aware that this was her second day off. It had been a few weeks since she had had two days off in a row and she was at loose ends, not knowing what to do with the hours that stretched ahead. The funeral service was at two, so there was a lot of time to kill meanwhile.
Maybe she’d work on a new recipe for some treats for Quincy. Maybe not, since he liked the ones she had already concocted. Maybe she would go for a bike ride. The cold front that had arrived the day before was still hunkering over the city, giving the chilly air a blustery feel, with its wind gusts. Maybe she wouldn’t do that either. Maybe she’d just sit around and read a book. That was a good idea. She had finished the Bookmobile Cat book, but had the new Lydia Krause mystery from Marilyn Levinson. The last one had been such a fascinating read, she’d gotten this one last time she’d been to the bookstore.
A light drizzle started in the afternoon, which reinforced Chase’s decision to stay indoors as long as she could. She fixed hot chocolate for herself and fresh Kitty Patties for Quincy. Sitting close to the glass doors to her balcony, watching soft rain fall, and hearing light drumming on her roof, she read and drowsed until it was time to get ready for the funeral.
Chase dragged herself to her bedroom to put on something suitable for mourning a man—another man—whose death wasn’t something she was sorry about. It was still dripping outside. She put on dark brown slacks and a white blouse. Should she wear dressy shoes? Because of the continuing rain, she had decided to drive, even though it wasn’t far to walk. But she knew the parking lot at the funeral home—the same one where Gabe had been—had enough dips and waves in the pavement that the dry spots would resemble an archipelago. She’d have to hop from island to island if she wore shoes she didn’t want to get wet. So she slipped into a pair of sturdy brown oxfords. They had weathered many a puddle with no ill effects. No one would look at her feet anyway.
The parlor was nearly full, but Chase found a seat in the next to last row, on the aisle. She’d completely forgotten how early one must get to a funeral to get a “good” seat. The creamy ivory walls and the heavy silk curtains in the front and along the side wall gave her a peaceful feeling. That was probably the purpose of all the décor, from the plush beige carpeting to the softly glowing brass chandeliers depending from the rather low ceiling.
An elderly woman noodled on a small electronic organ at the front of the room for ten minutes after Chase arrived, playing sad, slow songs, then launched into a piece even more dirgelike.
That must have been the signal for the procession. Everyone on the wooden pews rose. The funeral workers, two men in dark suits, wheeled Torvald’s casket down the aisle on a gurney. Barely audible under the organ music, one of the wheels squeaked, complaining about carrying such a nasty man, Chase was sure.
The casket was followed by six men, the pallbearers. Chase didn’t recognize any of them, but that didn’t surprise her. She hadn’t known Torvald, himself, until he barged in at Gabe’s and accused her of killing him.
Behind them, a woman, bent nearly double with osteoporosis and leaning on a cane, made her way forward, helped by two younger people. The bereft expression on her wrinkled face gave Chase a paroxysm of guilt. Here she was, thinking horribly bad thoughts about a man who was someone’s child, someone’s son. The woman looked as if her heart would break. The young woman and even younger man, maybe a teenager, on either side of her looked sorrowful, too, but nothing like the old, bent woman.
After shedding the animosity she’d been feeling, Chase found room in her heart for pity for this family. Iversen seemed to have been a successful businessman. Maybe he had provided well for his relatives. Maybe they would miss him. Maybe they would even have a hard time getting by without him.
The woman’s progress was so slow it took a minute or two for her to reach the row at the back where Chase stood. It would take them forever to get to the front pews that were reserved for the family. Chase turned to watch the procession. The young woman wore black, but her dress was inappropriately short and tight for the solemn occasion. A neck tattoo peeked out of her low top. The teenaged boy wore slacks and a white shirt, but looked ill at ease in them. His expression was more glum than bereaved, Chase thought. He seemed angry. Maybe he was angry that Torvald was dead.
The service was mercifully short. A Lutheran minister gave a generic message about our fleeting time on earth and about not knowing when it would end, then everyone stood and recited the Twenty-Third Psalm, which was printed on the small cards they’d been given when they’d entered.
Chase turned hers over to find Torvald’s birth and death dates. It also said he was survived by his grandmother, sister, and nephew. The sister’s name was Elinda. That was the same name she’d seen in Gabe’s book. The nephew was listed as Felix. Those must be the three who had followed the coffin. Torvald was predeceased by his parents and a brother who must have been Felix’s father.
To Chase’s dismay, the family stood at the rear to greet the attendees as they left. She had hoped to slip out and avoid them. Chase hated funerals. Could she leave without going past them?
No, the doorway was too narrow to avoid the line funneling past Torvald’s relatives. The line moved fairly quickly, at least. When Chase came to the boy, she shook his hand and said, “So sorry.” The young woman, Elinda, was next. Her young face was attractive, but she wore layers of slathered-on makeup, her eyes surrounded by thick, greasy black hollows.
“I saw your name in Gabe’s visitation book,” Chase said, taking her hand.
To her shock, Elinda’s pretty face crumpled and she suppressed a few sobs.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Chase patted the hand she held.
“I’m gonna miss him so much.” Her voice was thin through her tears.
Chase fished a tissue out of the packet in her purse and handed it to the woman, who swiped the mascara and eyeliner off her cheeks.