During the short interment service I stood at the edge of the crowd with Connie, keeping well back, while my heels sank into the soft, grassy earth. I counted my blessings: I still had a living daughter to worry about. And if I should die, at least it would be the right way around. No parent should every have to go through the anguish of burying a child.
Afterward we followed a long train of mourners as they turned right out of the parking lot and strolled in silent groups up Church Street toward the Dunbars’, where the family, the bulletin had announced, would be receiving condolences.
At the Dunbar house rectangular tables covered with white damask tablecloths were placed on the front porch at either side of the door. On one sat a punch bowl surrounded by dozens of crystal cups, neatly stacked. On the other, someone had arranged glass tumblers and a selection of sodas in two-liter bottles around a huge bowl of ice. I was about to ask Connie how on earth the Dunbars had managed the time to put all this together when I noticed the familiar purple of a van from Washington, D.C.’s premier caterer in the driveway. I had amended my question to How can they afford…? when it was answered for me. The sister.
“Welcome.” Elizabeth Dunbar, prominent attorney, held out a well-manicured hand. “Thank you for coming. My parents appreciate it so.” Connie introduced me as her sister-in-law, and Liz favored me with half a smile, but her eyes were already looking ahead to the next guest.
I checked out the sodas and the punch (fruit base, no additives) and found myself hoping they’d have some adult beverages inside. In the living room I snagged a glass of white wine from the tray of a passing waiter and checked out the crowd over the rims of my Foster Grants. I didn’t see anybody I knew. Except for Connie, of course, who had wandered away and was busily chatting with Reverend Lattimore. I figured that somebody I’d recognize would walk through the front door eventually, so I leaned against the fireplace and watched it, sipping slowly on what turned out to be a crisp dry chablis.
Liz wasn’t at all as I expected. A handsome woman, she stood straight and solid as a pillar, a role model for the good-posture people. Her hair was neatly cut in a stylish wedge and of a color so seriously black that I thought it must be dyed. She wore a long-sleeved black dress that stopped at mid-calf, partially covering sturdy legs firmly planted in proper black Ferragamo shoes. Diamond studs glittered in her ears, and a matching necklace was fastened around her neck. I calculated a total of two carats, one at her neck and a half on each ear.
Liz shook hands. She smiled. I got the feeling she didn’t know many of the guests either.
Eventually I wandered into the dining room looking for Connie and got involved in a conversation with Mindy, a former cheerleader. Mindy breathlessly explained, emphasizing every third word, how privileged and lucky she had been when they invited her to try out for Katie’s vacant spot on the Wildcats’ cheerleading squad. Relentlessly cheerful in spite of the occasion, I expected her to pull out the pom-poms at any minute. As Mindy launched into a dissertation on the joys of the 1990 winning basketball season-clearly a defining moment in her life-it was with some relief that I spotted Angie and Ellie occupying chairs in the corner, small plates of food balanced on their chubby knees. I excused myself and joined them.
Angie showed me her plate. “Have a mushroom cap? I’m not very hungry.” She looked almost as tired as I felt.
Ordinarily I love mushroom caps, but today, in spite of the elaborate spread, nothing looked good. “Neither am I.”
“So, how long are you planning to stay in Pearson’s Corner?” Ellie asked.
“A week or two, I should think. While I’m looking for a new job, I’m helping Connie with her bookkeeping.”
“What kind of work do you do?” Angie wanted to know.
“My experience is as a librarian and legal records specialist, but at this point I’d probably take anything, short of flipping burgers at McDonald’s.”
“Flipping burgers isn’t so bad.” This must have reminded Angie of something because her eyes filled with tears. “Excuse me,” she said, handed her plate to her mother, and bolted through the crowd toward the powder room I had noticed earlier, built into a triangle under the stairs leading to the second floor.
“I’m sorry,” I said to Ellie. “I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”
“Oh, it’s nothing you said, dear. She goes off like that at the drop of a hat. She’ll get over it. Excuse me for a moment while I find a place to put these plates down, will you?”
Ellie wound through the crowd grazing around the dining room table, a plate held high in each hand. She disappeared into the kitchen. Feeling abandoned for the second time, I decided to check out the food. I was picking halfheartedly at what was left of the fruit plate when someone tapped me on the shoulder.
“Well, hello!”
I must have jumped a mile. “Oh, hi, Hal.” I brushed droplets of wine from the front of my dress, thinking thank goodness I’d chosen the chablis. “You startled me!”
“Sorry.” He offered me his napkin, a small cloth square more suitable for a doll’s tea party than for a grown-up do.
“Thanks. No damage done.” I nibbled on a chunk of cheese and pineapple skewered together on a toothpick. “I suppose you know nearly everybody here.”
“Just about.” He pointed with a carrot stick to a bulky man in a dark polyester suit. “That’s the high school principal over there. Most of the rest are teachers and former students. You can probably figure out which is which.”
“Actually it’s one of the students I’m looking for. I’d thought I’d like to meet Katie’s old boyfriend.”
“I saw Chip earlier out back, talking to Mr. Dunbar.”
“Thanks, Hal. Catch you later.” I dropped my used toothpick into a silver bowl that I hoped had been put there for that purpose and headed toward the living room.
A familiar figure appeared in the dining room door, then made a beeline for the stuffed ham. Dr. Chase, whom I had first seen at the crime scene, acknowledged me as I passed with a slight nod and a quizzical expression that indicated that he was trying to remember where he knew me from.
I wandered in what I hoped was a nonchalant and casual way toward the back of the house, passing from the living room through a comfortable family room that had apparently been converted from a screened porch. It was decorated in Early American style. A six-lamp chandelier like a stagecoach wheel cast a bit of modest light over furniture which looked to have been bought in a matched set, circa 1975, from the Ethan Allen showroom. Framed certificates and diplomas covered the paneled walls. I studied them curiously. Liz’s high school diploma and her college degree from Brown hung on the wall over a table lamp, and occupying a place of honor in an elegant black frame was her Harvard Law School degree. Harvard! Even if Emily had wanted to, how could we afford to send her to Harvard Law or anyplace else if Paul lost his job? I crossed to the opposite wall, where framed and laminated magazine and newspaper articles followed the meteoric rise of Liz’s career.
I was finding Liz’s presence in this room overwhelming and beginning to wonder what role poor Katie had played in the family when I turned and saw it. On a polished table to the left of the door, someone had arranged dozens of photographs of Katie, lovingly displayed in a variety of frames, their corners draped with swatches of sheer black silk. There was Katie as an infant in a hospital nursery, squinting, one tiny fist jammed into her left cheek. Katie dressed for Halloween as Shirley Temple, an enormous pink ribbon fastened to a halo of golden curls, an oversize lollipop to her lips. Katie as a cheerleader, balancing in top position on the Wildcat pyramid, pom-poms aloft. Katie in a slim electric blue dress and Chip in a charcoal gray suit standing under an arch of haystalks and pumpkins, a picture that I figured must have been taken at the homecoming dance only hours before she disappeared.