Part 14 (1/2)

I stood beside him, looking at him and wondering what to say. He looked right back.

”So, did Perry do it and drop the knife in a garbage can inside the building?” I asked finally.

Arthur's face went through the most amazing changes. First he looked stunned, then aghast, and at last he started laughing. It was a big laugh, from the belly, and C. Turlock stuck her head in to see what was so funny. Arthur made an imperious sweeping motion with his right hand, and she hastily shut the door.

That right hand kept on traveling and grasped mine, drawing me nearer to the bed. I looked steadily into the pale blue eyes that had once turned my legs to jelly.

”I should never have left you and married Lynn,” Arthur said.

”Yes, you should,” I said briskly. ”And you ought to go back to her now, if she'll have you.”

”Can't I detach you from that shady b.a.s.t.a.r.d you married?” Arthur's voice was light, but he was serious.

All the troubles Martin and I had flashed through my mind. I shrugged. ”Not with a crowbar,” I answered.

”I don't think Perry did it,” he said, after a moment, dropping my hand.

”Why?”

”Faron Henske hand-searched the garbage cans along the way to the office where Perry placed the call to 911,” Arthur said. ”He looked down drains. He took apart a sink. Faron isn't a ball of fire, but he's a very reliable searcher. And there were cleaning people still in the community center, plus a few guests who stayed to talk or take down some of the decorations, and they say Perry didn't stop on his way to the office.”

”And the office was taken apart.”

”Yes. Of course.” Arthur leaned back against his pillow; I'd only seen him look this bad once before, when I'd nursed him through a bout of flu.

”I'm real sorry you got hurt,” I said.

”I'm real sorry I fell on you,” he answered politely. ”Took you down to the ground, Paul says. Of course, it made the fall easier on me. me.” A shadow of his hard grin was on his face. ”Did you get hurt?”

He sounded rather as if he hoped I had.

”Just some bruises and sc.r.a.pes.” I pulled back my hair to show him the b.u.mp on my forehead.

”Next time I'll try to fall on someone bigger, and land on her front and not her back,” he told me, trying for bawdy.

”Lynn's bigger than me.”

”Roe ...”

”Okay, sorry. I don't know what went on with your marriage. But I'm not the escape hatch. I'll always have good memories of you, and I don't want them to get sour.”

”Straight from the hip, Roe.”

”Had to be,” I said.

”I love you.” Suddenly he looked twenty, vulnerable and yearning.

”You love what you remember. But you were s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g Lynn on the side for the last three or four months we were together. So I'd say your love wasn't ever an exclusive item.”

”Let me have it when I'm down.”

”Only time I can get you to listen.”

The corners of his mouth twitched in a smile. ”Okay, okay. You listen now,” and he reached for my hand again. ”You take care, Roe. I know you love Bartell, but since you told me what you think about my marriage, I'll tell you what I think about yours.”

Oh, boy, I didn't want to hear this.

”That guy is out of your league, Roe. He's tough and he's ruthless. He's a lot older. He'll never think you're his equal.”

That seemed a very strange charge to level at Martin, and I looked at Arthur in some surprise. I'd been scared, perhaps, that Arthur would tell me he'd kept Martin under surveillance and that Martin had a mistress. Or that Martin was engaged in some criminal activity. Arthur would just love to catch Martin in those situations, and he'd make sure I knew, because he'd warned me from the time I met Martin that I shouldn't marry him.

If Arthur hadn't caught him, Martin wasn't doing it, I suddenly realized. I hadn't known how worried I'd been until the relief spreading through my body made me giddy with cheer.

”I don't know if he thinks I'm his equal,” I said. ”We're so different I think 'equal' would be hard to pin down. But he lets me be myself, and he's never tried to change me, and we enjoy each other very much.”

We looked at each other steadily. I thought of how wounded I'd felt at Arthur and Lynn's wedding, how betrayed. It seemed strange now, as though those emotions had been felt by some other person and only told to me.

”Good-bye, Arthur. I hope you get out of the hospital soon.”

”Bye, Roe. Thanks for visiting. I know you're curious about what happened. I'll get Paul to keep you filled in.”

I thought about being embarra.s.sed, decided to skip it.

”Thanks. See you,” I said, and walked through the door.

”Officer Turlock,” I said, inclining my head. She nodded back grudgingly. I didn't feel I'd made a friend.

A glance at my watch told me it was almost time for the funeral. I brushed my hair and powdered my nose in one of the chemically scented hospital bathrooms, and drove to Western Hill Baptist Church.

Western Hill was easily the prettiest church in Lawrenceton, a town of many churches. It sat by itself on the top of a rolling hill in, obviously, the (north) western part of town, which consisted mostly of newer suburbs. The church overlooked Lawrenceton, a calm, white-spired presence that everyone enjoyed. Western Hill was landscaped to the nth degree, with flowers, shrubs, and gra.s.s that looked clipped with a level. In its rivalry with the larger Antioch Baptist, which actually possessed an indoor swimming pool, Western gained points with its parking lot, which surrounded the church on three sides; no long slog to the car at Western.

And Western was undoubtedly the best place to have a funeral, though I was sure that hadn't crossed Bess Burns's mind when she'd joined the church years before.

The long black hea.r.s.e was parked at Western's ma.s.sive front doors, on the semicircular drive that curved across the hill in a graceful arc. This was a driveway used only for ceremonies; Western had provided back entrances and that wonderful parking lot for regular occasions. I used one of those smaller entrances, and wended my way through the day-care corridor to the sanctuary door. In the sanctuary, the ceiling was two stories high, and the walls and ceiling were dazzling white, giving the impression of light and sky. The sun streamed through the high arched windows and flung a bolt of dramatic light across Jack's dark gray coffin, topped with a large casket spray of white gladiolus, resting at the steps up to the altar.

Jack Burns was being buried on a beautiful day.

I had to walk to the back of the church, since I'd entered from the door to the west of the altar area; as I pa.s.sed, I scanned the row of pallbearers on the left front pew. I knew all of them, from Jack's fellow officers-Paul Allison, Faron Henske, Chief of Police Tom Nash Vernon, Sheriff Padgett Lanier, and (amazingly) Lynn Liggett Smith-to his son, Jack Junior. I scurried by, not particularly wanting to meet the eyes of any of the people on that pew, especially Lynn.

The church was rapidly filling up, and I ducked into the first aisle s.p.a.ce I saw, nodding to Sam and Marva Clerrick sitting in the pew behind me. I was closer to the front of the church than I liked to be, but I didn't want to sit on one of the folding chairs that had been lined up in the back. I got settled, tried to stick my purse under the pew, began to slide to my knees and just in time recalled I wasn't in a church with kneelers.

”Almost hit the ground again, didn't you?” murmured a voice in my ear.

I had a moment of sheer rage when I thought the speaker was Dryden. Was I going to be approached in every church I entered?

But Martin, perfectly appropriate in a quiet suit, sat down in the pew beside me. I took his hand and squeezed it, my heart thudding in a ridiculous way. I was so glad to see him I was in serious danger of crying, and that would have been noticed this early in the proceedings.

”You came anyway,” I whispered, knowing that was obvious but wanting to say it, nonetheless.

He looked at me sideways, and a little smile curved his lips. ”Missed you,” he said.