“They got Bishop Sawyer,” Phoebe murmured. “Very impressive.” Perhaps, but from the flow of platitudes, Sunny quickly surmised that the churchman had probably never even met Gardner.
Next came Dr. Henry Reese, introduced as Gardner’s best friend. He was a bit more personal, telling some funny stories. But Reese mainly dwelt on the boyhood he and Gardner had shared. “Perhaps that’s what I think of when it comes to Gardner because to me he never aged. That might sound like a strange admission for a doctor who runs an old-age home, where all too often we bid farewell to an aged resident.” He looked over at the urn. “But with Gardner, somehow I never expected that to happen.”
The final speaker, representing the family, was Alfred Scatterwell, who came up to the lectern in a sober black suit . . . and with a glass in his hand. Apparently, he’d been fortifying himself at the bar.
“This could be interesting,” Chappie murmured.
Sunny silently agreed. That’s the problem with social lubricants—they can get very slippery.
Alfred looked over the assembled mourners, a sardonic smile on his face. “I suppose a good number of you came this evening to see if the old place had fallen down. Well, you can easily spot that we had to paint in here. Does that make this a whited sepulcher, Bishop?”
He turned to Dr. Reese. “And thank you, Hank, for the wonderful memories you shared. Personally, I wish you’d have talked about the road trip you and Uncle Gardner took after Yale. He always said it made a man of you.” Alfred smiled as he spoke, but Dr. Reese stiffened.
Alfred turned back to his audience. “And now it falls to me to say a few words about my uncle. Gardner Scatterwell was well traveled and well liked by all his acquaintances. As for his family, we knew him all too well. You’ve all heard stories. I, of all people, shouldn’t have to go into them. Instead, I’ll go back to something that Hank said, about how it seemed that Uncle Gardner never aged. Perhaps that’s because we saw him so rarely. He was always going, and now he’s gone.”
Alfred turned to the urn and raised his glass. “And so, we’ll drink your liquor and use your house, and I think you’d probably like that.” He shrugged. “And if you don’t, it’s too late now.”
He stepped away from the lectern as the crowd burst into muttering, and then he came back, gesturing toward the bar. “Feel free to accept some Scatterwell hospitality. After all, it’s what Uncle would have done.”
“Hmmmmm, quite an interesting performance,” Chappie said as the crowd began murmuring again.
Mike turned to the back of the room. “I notice it’s not stopping some people.”
Sunny glanced over her shoulder. The bar now had people lining up to wet their whistles.
“What did you expect, after what Gardner did with Alfred’s fiancée?” Phoebe sniffed.
“They found them right upstairs, in the guest bedroom,” Tavvie said. “She had to leave town.” She gave a low laugh. “And, of course, so did Gardner.”
They rose from their seats, and stood in a small group with Mike, Helena, Will, and Luke. “Do you want to go?” Sunny asked.
“It’s a terrible thing to admit”—Helena at least had the grace to look embarrassed—“but I’d like to hear some more stories.”
So they circulated through the crowd, getting an earful of Scatterwell scandals, all of them starring Gardner.
And then they found themselves facing Alfred.
“What are you doing here?” he asked loudly with a slight slur to his voice. The conversations around them grew quiet as people turned.
Mike wasn’t about to take that comment lying down. “I knew your uncle before you were born.”
“Oh, yes, the townie boy playing in that half-assed band,” Alfred said. “Did practicing in Piney Brook get you a better class of groupie?”
He peered at Helena. “Now, back in the day, Uncle might have been interested in you.” He rounded on Sunny and Will. “And the gallant investigators. Have you found out the obvious yet? Besides being dead, my uncle is gone.” He laughed. “In a puff of smoke.”
And you’re stinking drunk, Sunny thought. Not that you’ll regret anything when you’re sober.
Alfred then looked Luke up and down with such scorn that the guitarist’s face, already flushed from the heat, went a bright red. “And what are you doing in my uncle’s house?”
But in spite of the heat, the shaggy hair, the mismatched clothes, Luke had a certain dignity as he said, “Gardner was my friend.”
But Alfred wouldn’t have any of that. He gestured with his drink, sloshing some on the carpet. “My uncle could be pleasant, genial, what you might call friendly. Why wouldn’t he be? You were giving him what he wanted for free. But most of the people in this family—in this room—knew how he could get if he wanted something you didn’t want to give. And I’ll tell you this. He was no friend, no uncle . . . not much of a human being.”
15
For a second, Sunny thought that Luke Daconto was going to grab Alfred Scatterwell and break his storklike, potbellied body over his knee. Instead, Luke turned on his heel and strode off.
Without missing a beat, Mike followed him. He hadn’t gone two steps before Helena caught up with him, taking his arm.
Shrugging, Will offered his elbow to Sunny. “Might as well make this unanimous.”
By the time they got outside, Luke was gone. The only sign of him was the fading sound of a car engine.
“Maybe it’s just as well.” Helena Martinson peered into the distance, but the car was long gone now. “What could we say to him after suffering through a performance like that?” She shook her head. “Telling him his friendship was just a figment of his imagination.”
“Even if it was true,” Sunny said. “Walking around in that crowd, we heard enough stories to Gardner’s discredit. By the time Alfred started mouthing off, Luke had to be developing some doubts about his friend’s sincerity.”
“Alfred was close enough to the truth with me,” Mike admitted. “I was the townie kid getting into Piney Brook. It was pretty amazing. I’d never seen a house like this.” His face got grim. “But it’s not as though I was sponging off Gardner. We were making music, we had some good times together. I found out stuff I didn’t like about him, but the guy is dead now. I guess it’s true what they say, the good times are buried with people.”
“‘The evil that men do lives after them / The good is oft interred with their bones,’” Mrs. Martinson quoted. “Shakespeare.”
Sunny nodded. “Julius Caesar.”
“Much as I hate to admit it, Alfred told the truth about me, too.” Helena’s lips twitched. “Gardner was interested in me, and showed it in the most disgusting way.”
“What was it with that guy!” Mike burst out.
“He was good-looking, had a little charm, and a lot of money.” Helena did not make them sound like assets, but Will shrugged.
“With a start like that, I guess he figured he’d take every chance he could—the law of averages says he’d score often enough.”
“It seems to have worked with Alfred’s fiancée,” Sunny had to admit.
“Maybe she was lucky,” Helena said. “Looks like Alfred turned out to be a nasty drunk.”
That shocked a laugh out of them all.
“Nasty or not, he had us pegged. We’ve got maybe two days left before the deadline, and our investigation has got nothing.” Will turned to Sunny. “We have to map out what we want to do tomorrow.”
Sunny noticed a whispered conversation between Helena and Mike. “Sunny,” Mrs. Martinson said in her most guileless voice, “would you mind dropping me and your father off at my place for a while? You and Will are welcome, too,” she hurried on. “We could all have some coffee cake.”