Pastor Hafer outdid himself. He wove the service seamlessly between Gerald's past and present families. He encouraged all the people left behind to embrace each other and make peace with the fact they might never know what caused Gerald/Gerard to live his life as he had. Once again, Sarah sang, and once again Harriet marveled how such an annoying person could have such a beautiful voice. Carlton had insisted on doing a eulogy, and Pastor Hafer managed to keep him from rambling on unduly.
Gerald's Dutch family might be able to make peace with not knowing what had happened before they met him, but Mavis wouldn't rest until she understood what had happened and neither would Harriet.
Pastor Hafer explained that family only would be attending a brief graveside ceremony in the cemetery behind the church. He encouraged the assembled mourners to gather in the Fellowship Hall for a light repast and assured them the family would join them shortly.
"Showtime,” Aunt Beth said in a quiet voice. She nodded toward Robin and DeAnn, who were already out of their pews and talking earnestly with Foggy Point Fire Protection employees. “I'll be finding Connie so we can corner Pete as soon as they get back to the Fellowship Hall."
"I'll come with you,” Harriet said. “Harry is supposed to introduce me to Nick's dad."
The crowd worked its way from the sanctuary to the fellowship hall, most of the females stopping at the bathrooms and a number of the males sneaking out to the parking lot for smoke breaks. The United Methodist Women had prepared a spread of sandwiches, salads, cookies, juice and coffee and tea, and when Harriet entered, people were clustered around the food tables.
She spotted Lauren partially concealed by a potted tree, tapping the buttons on her cell phone. Robin and DeAnn were mingling, and the rest of the Threads were lying in wait for the family, who were visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows on one side of the room.
"Have you noticed who isn't here?” Aunt Beth whispered.
Harriet looked around. Everyone they needed was either in the room or at the gravesite outside. She looked back at her aunt.
" Carlton 's here without Bebe,” Beth said. “You don't see that every day."
"I don't blame her for staying away,” Harriet said. “She didn't know Gerald, and these people are his friends, not hers."
"I suppose,” said Aunt Beth. “Young people don't seem to value funerals anyway."
Harry was still outside when a tall sandy-haired man who looked to be in his early thirties approached them.
"Are you Harriet?” he asked.
"I am."
"I'm Harry's friend Nick. He called me this morning and said you wanted to talk to my father."
"I do, but how did you know who I was?"
"I asked Senora Escorcia. She knows everything.” His cheeks pinked slightly. Harriet was once again impressed with Connie's mystique even after all these years.
An older man with short gray hair and a worn-looking blue suit joined them.
"Harriet, this is my dad, Bill,” said Nick. “Dad, this is a friend of Harry's mom who is trying to figure out what happened to his dad."
"Nice to meet you,” Harriet said.
Bill held his hand out to shake hers but dropped it with an embarrassed laugh when he realized her right arm was strapped down and she had a cup of juice in her left hand.
"Nice to meet you, too,” he said. “Nick here tells me you wanted to ask me a few questions."
"I do,” Harriet said. She looked at Nick.
"I'll just go get some punch,” he said and backed away.
"I wanted to ask you about Foggy Point Fire Protection back when Gerald worked there."
"You probably know it wasn't called that back then,” he began. She nodded, and he continued. “Those were some strange times. I'm going to tell you something and ask you not to tell anyone else. If anyone asks me about it, I'll deny it."
"Go ahead."
"Times were tense before Gerald left. Carlton 's daddy Marvin was a harsh man. He was struggling to come up with a product that would earn him the kind of money he wanted to be making. Each time one failed, he blamed whoever was working on it. He could never admit that some of his product choices were ill-advised, or even that it was only natural that some of the fibers Gerald invented just didn't do what they expected them to."
He paused and stared out the window. Harriet knew he wasn't seeing the lawn outside.
"Whenever a project failed, Marvin fired someone. Sometimes more than one someone. I had a houseful of kids, and I couldn't afford to lose my job maintaining those pressure machines. I'm not proud of what I did, but given the same circumstances, I'd do it again."
"And that was?"
"Let's just say I built in my own job security switch, deep inside the most complex and expensive machine,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “And it did the job. When Gerald left, Marvin started laying everyone off and replacing them with younger people. People who didn't know how to handle complicated machinery."
"And no one ever found it?” Harriet asked.
"If he'd hired a competent machinist they would have found it easily enough, but he fired me, I flipped the switch, and the young man he replaced me with couldn't find it. A week later, I was back. No explanation. I got a call telling me my firing had been rescinded and I should report to work."
"Do you remember what products you were making back then?"
"Gosh,” he said and rocked back on his heels. “I know we started making the fireman's turnouts just after Gerald left. I remember that because I had trouble getting the pressure right on the machine, and all we had were Gerald's notes from the prototype run."
Harriet remembered the square of black material in her pocket. She pulled it out and handed it to him.
"Does this mean anything to you?"
"Oh, my gosh,” he said. “How could I have forgotten?"
"You recognize it, then?"
"This was supposed to be our big success story,” he said, and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. “This was our attempt at body armor.” He smiled slightly at the memory.
"This was right around the time of the first Gulf War. Maybe a little before, I'm not sure. Gerald had come up with this great lightweight fabric. Many of the early body armors were heavy because you had to have so many layers of the protective fabric. This stuff could stop a bullet with one layer, and for insurance you could use three and it was still half the thickness of the competitor's offerings."
Harriet could see where this was going. “Until it got wet,” she said.
He gave her a long silent look. “Bingo. It was great as long as the soldier didn't sweat. It could take cold water. But warm rain or sweat and you might as well have been naked."
"But you said they'd had other products fail,” Harriet pressed.
"That they had. Anyway, I can't tell you what happened after that. We made a bunch of prototypes that were sent to DC for testing. Word came back about the warm water problem, and that was that. People were fired. Up to that point, it was business as usual."
"Then what?"
"They laid off everyone who had worked on the body armor. Gerald disappeared. At first we wondered if this time he had gotten the axe, but that made no sense. He was the brains behind the operation."
Bill had slowly edged them toward the table that held the coffee carafe. He poured himself a cup and asked Harriet if she wanted any. She didn't.
He moved away from the drinks table and continued his story.
"We got word that Gerald had been killed in a car accident in Malaysia. The fireman's turnouts took off, and we never looked back. Money was rolling in, we all got raises. They even hired back a few of the old crew to help manage the machinery."