Dead Floating Lovers (25 page)

The lovely mahogany casket sat on a blue satin–draped bier at the front of the large room in Sullivan Murphy’s new funeral home. This time the place didn’t have the whorehouse look his mother had favored. Everything was sleek and new and understated, except for that bright blue drape which had to be Dolly’s choosing.

The photo of Chet I’d seen before was nicely framed and sat atop the closed casket. There weren’t many flowers. I’d forgotten all about sending them and would have to do something nice for Dolly later. Guilt settled in: for the lack of flowers, no card, and for picking on her yesterday morning when she stuck her nose in my business. At least the bear had been gone when I looked out that morning. No guilt there. Maybe, I thought, fortune was beginning to smile on me.

Everyone from Leetsville was present; the room filled to overflowing. Eugenia waved from the center of her waitresses and her two cooks. Flora Coy and Anna Scovil sat with other townswomen. In another row, Chief Barnard watched the crowd. Beside him sat Frances, and Charlie, his little boy, who, with his pink cheeks and sparkling eyes, seemed to be feeling a lot better than he had been over the last year. Gertie was there with a passel of customers, hair done up in impossible beehives. The group from The Skunk stood out for their scraggly beards and hungover red eyes. The churches were well represented, though the funeral would be from no church. I supposed people were there to support Dolly. Let her see how much she was loved in town—despite her annoying tickets.

I stood at the back of the earth-toned room with airy bisque drapes, beige carpeting, and beige wallpaper. Muted hymns came from speakers set high at corners of the room.

Detective Brent stood at the back, hands clasped over his groin—the way men stand when they are uncomfortable. He wasn’t in uniform, which seemed a blessing, but wore a blue suit, white shirt, and striped tie. When he saw me, his unibrow lowered a notch as he nodded, then looked back to the front, and Dolly.

She was a surprise. The one thing we had not discussed was wardrobe. I’d imagined she would be in a pantsuit. Maybe dark blue, with a dark blue blouse underneath. Dolly in a black dress with white dickey wasn’t what I expected. And she had legs. In nylons. And almost high heels. Her hair was pushed back behind her ears and held suspiciously still in a flip. I thought I recognized one of Gertie’s sprayed-stiff coifs. Bangs had been cut across her forehead and she had on lipstick, blush, and just a touch of eyeliner and mascara.

The effect was startling. I’d always thought that Dolly, as dear as she was—sometimes—would look like a guy in drag if she wore “lady” clothes, and makeup. Instead she was pretty. Without the guns, she was almost soft. And gracious—nodding to everyone as she solicitously found places for people to sit.

I was proud that I’d taken care dressing. My gray and white print dress, which I’d had for years, was new to everyone up here. I’d found a gray purse in my closet and gray heels to match the purse. I thought I looked rather chic and felt that at least in this I wasn’t letting Dolly down.

She smiled at me when I got through the crowd to the front and stood back, admiring her. The limit to our preening was a smile and a couple of admiring head shakes. I gave her a hug for strength.

“Chet’s family get here yet?” I asked, after Dolly greeted the guys from the fire department.

She looked worriedly up at the clock on the back wall. “Quarter to eleven. They’ve got fifteen minutes or they’re going to miss the service. Sullivan’s not going to wait, and Eugenia’s got the food ready to go. We’re on a schedule here.”

I stood beside her, greeting people as they arrived. A few leaned close and pointedly whispered they were looking forward to hearing me read from my new book. Anna Scovil cornered me on my way to a seat and murmured how the whole town was so very excited about library night and how she hoped I wouldn’t forget the cookies.

At precisely eleven, Sullivan walked in and ushered Dolly to a seat. She sat, but turned nervously every few seconds to watch the door.

Sullivan raised his hands and began with a prayer—a kind of nondenominational thing that talked only about the great beyond where Chester Wakowski had gone. He talked about Dolly, said nice things about Chet, then asked anyone who would like to come forward and say a few words to do so at that time.

Dolly was the first one out of her seat. She evidently didn’t get the protocols of a funeral. She went up to the front, got behind the narrow podium, and clutched the sides with her hands.

As she cleared her throat, preparing to give her little talk about the goodness of Chester Wakowski, two women walked in. The younger one was Elaine, Chet’s sister, dressed neatly in a soft pink dress. The older woman was extremely thin, almost emaciated. Her back was bent and she held firmly to Elaine’s arm. Her wrinkled face had light powder dabbed on in places. Her cheeks were bright circles of blush. This had to be Chet’s mother from Bloomington, Indiana.

Dolly left the podium and hurried up the main aisle. She introduced herself, and led the women to seats at the front. When the women were settled, Dolly went back to the podium and gave her little speech about what a wonderful man Chet had been and how much she’d missed him all these years. After that she invited his sister and mother to come up and say a few words. Both women declined, shaking their head vehemently. Two men from The Skunk took the microphone and rambled awhile. One brought up the toilet paper incident. He was thankfully interrupted by Tom Flaherty, town raconteur, who never missed an opportunity to tell jokes in front of an audience. He pushed Jason Real aside and regaled us with an Irish joke; then a priest, rabbi, and parson joke; and finally one long story about a ticket Dolly gave him, which he didn’t deserve. That seemed to unlock other tongues. A line of men formed at the microphone. The first one started by saying he wasn’t one to complain, but …

Sullivan finally took back the mike and was in the middle of inviting everyone to the luncheon at EATS when the back doors opened again.

An old woman with long braids entered and moved quietly to one side of the room, standing with her arms folded serenely at her waist. Another woman followed. After her, there came two Native American men with sun-darkened skin and deep-set eyes. They silently joined the women. Ten people in all walked in and stood as if at attention. At first there was a collective gasp from the gathered mourners. I looked toward Dolly. Her face was frozen.

These had to be Mary Naquma’s people, come to pay their respects to Chet Wakowski. I looked from one to the other, and understood what they were doing. At the same time, I didn’t want them to get away. If they knew what had happened out at Sandy Lake, this was our opportunity to talk to them. If they knew where Alfred Naquma was, or Lewis George, or Christine Naquma … I looked to Detective Brent who stood back in a corner. I bit at my lip, willing him to understand how badly I wanted to ask about the men, and my dog.

Brent nodded and was on his way toward the door, probably to intercept the people as they left, when the door opened a last time and both Lewis George and Alfred Naquma stepped into the big room.

An awkward silence followed the entrance of the men. The other Indians stood in place, staring straight ahead, a line of determined people. Sullivan, with a brief clearing of his throat, went back into updates on going to the cemetery and then over for the luncheon. When he had finished and signaled the pallbearers to approach the casket, Alfred Naquma, with his flowing black hair thick as sea grass, in a business suit but with a bolo tie and tall boots where one pant leg had caught, strode toward the front. He stood beside Chet, rested one hand on the coffin, the other he put into the air, demanding attention.

He spoke without aid of the microphone, looking over the crowd, nodding, and saying, “I am here today, along with some of my people, to honor your friend, Chet Wakowski.” He turned aside to cough in his large hand, then continued, “Chet Wakowski died with my sister, Mary. Maybe it isn’t ours to ever know why …”

Here he looked out over the crowd again, but seemed to center first on Dolly, and then his eyes locked with mine, pinning me in place. I felt uncomfortable and desperately wanted to get him alone, demand my dog back, and ask why I was chosen to be the focus of their anger. Though his look was hard to take, I didn’t move my eyes from his.

“My sister, Mary, cannot be buried, as she should be. We are asking the police to return her bones to us so they might be placed where she can continue her journey to heaven. This is something my people value above all else. We came here today to ask this favor, and we will now go to your law. We came, also, to show how we respect your dead, and ask that you respect ours in return. Thank you.” He gave a final, stiff nod and walked back up the aisle. He didn’t stop but went on out the door. I knew Brent was there, but I couldn’t stand on ceremony. I pushed through the crowd and got outside in time to see Brent ushering the two men to his car. They had to be heading to the Leetsville police station. Only a few blocks. I would never be allowed to sit in on the interrogation, but I could voice my concern that they had Sorrow and were keeping him to silence me, or to stop both Dolly and me.

Dolly came out of the funeral home.

“One of us should be there.” I turned to her.

She nodded. “Brent and Lucky will never let you sit in. Could screw up their case, if it comes to that.”

“Then
you’ve
got to go.”

“Me? Look at all these people. First we’re going to the cemetery, then I’ve got to be at Eugenia’s for the lunch.”

“OK. OK …” I gave myself time to think. “Look, after the cemetery I’ll go to Eugenia’s and you go to the station. See what’s happening. Just tell them what we suspect. You know, about Orly and Christine. Tell them about Sorrow and how they’ve got him and keep calling, threatening me.”

She looked hard at the waiting hearse, then at the people streaming down the steps of the funeral home. “One time in my life,” she said. “I just can’t …”

“Dolly, I’ll go over to EATS. I’ll do a song and dance or whatever it takes, until you get back.”

“Show some respect,” she spit at me.

“You know what I mean. I’ll play hostess. Just a few minutes …”

“See that Chet’s mom and sister get a good table.” There was grudging agreement.

“I will,” I promised. “Just go.”

She gave me one last reluctant look as we gathered for the casket being pushed to the porch and the waiting hearse.

There were fewer people at the cemetery than at the funeral home. The Native Americans who had come with Alfred and Lewis were gone. I had the feeling that a burial and buffet lunch weren’t what they’d come for.

As soon as the prayers and throwing of flowers down on the casket was finished, we all filed away from the freshly dug grave. I nodded to Dolly to get going. There was one last flash of rebellion before she hopped in her patrol car and sped off.

Many of the tables were occupied by the time I got over to EATS. Plates, in front of the seated mourners, were piled high and folks were calling across the room to each other. There was buzzing about the appearance of the Native Americans, the man who got up to speak—and “What was that all about?” There was a lot of conjecture and a lot of arguing back and forth.

I stopped at each table, telling everyone Dolly would be right along. “A little business came up …” They clucked or nodded and mumbled things about such a shame, poor Chet.

Eugenia had outdone herself. EATS actually looked pretty. The windows were open and the smoke had cleared. Each table held a small white vase filled with blue wildflowers. The buffet table, behind a line of people, stood against the side wall, covered with blue plastic paper and white ribbons. The hot pans of food were interspersed with bowls of salad, baskets of bread, and tubs of butter. Off to one side, next to the glass case at the front, was a smaller table lined with pies and tarts and fruit.

“Here she is now.” Flora Coy turned from the buffet to call over to Gertie, who called out to me.

“We’re all wondering what the heck was going on there, Emily? Tell you the truth, I don’t blame the man. Police have no business keeping his sister from being buried.” Gertie shook her head. “That girl really from the Odawa?”

“That’s what it looks like. Still, there are questions …” I made my way to an empty table, hoping to hold it for Dolly and her guests.

“Nice of the Indians to come anyway,” Gertie called after me, turning to talk to others around her.

“You mean ‘Native Americans,’” Anna Scovil shot over her shoulder.

Elaine Wakowski and Chet’s mother walked in right then, looking bewildered by the crowd. I waved them over, introduced myself, and invited them to join the buffet line.

When they came back with filled plates, Mildred and Elaine settled across from me and began to eat without another word.

“Dolly will be right back,” I leaned close to them though they hadn’t asked. “She had some business at her … eh … office.”

“She gave Chet a nice funeral,” Mildred Wakowski said, her wrinkled lips pulling into a tight line I thought must be a smile.

Elaine nodded in agreement and said, “Very nice.”

That seemed to be the extent of their small talk.

“Lovely casket,” I commented, smiling to show how tame I was.

“Very nice,” Mildred said.

“Dolly spent twenty-five hundred dollars on it. She wanted something Chet would have been proud of.”

“Really? Well, she got it all right. Chet would have been pleased—I suppose,” Elaine said around a mouthful of fried chicken.

I waited just a minute. This was Dolly’s business. I had no right to stick my nose in … “And this luncheon, too,” I said, unable to help myself. I looked at the filled tables and people standing near the walls with plates in their hands. “Must’ve cost her quite a bit.”

The women glanced around the restaurant. Both nodded, though they seemed less than pleased.

Mildred leaned close to me. “We don’t know a soul. I’d never have done something like this.”

She looked at her daughter, who nodded emphatically.

“Will Dolly be here soon?” Elaine dabbed at her mouth. “I’ve got a check for her. We want to pay our fair share.”

“Of course,” Mildred interrupted. “We weren’t expecting anything this elaborate. Chet’s been gone thirteen years. It’s not as if he died yesterday. I’ll bet most of these people …” She looked around the room. “I’ll just bet they didn’t even know my boy.”

“Probably not,” I said. “But they’re Dolly’s friends.”

“Oh, oh, oh—yes,” Mildred said, and blinked with each exclamation. “Still, it needn’t have been so … overdone. And to have those Indians come in. What was that about? I thought maybe we were having a powwow or something.”

I bit at my lip. Judgmental voice. Smug face. Poor Chet, I told myself. No wonder he’d escaped up north.

Elaine set her fork beside her plate and fumbled in her large, black purse. “If we have to leave before she gets back, you can give her our check.”

“I thought you were staying awhile?” I remembered Dolly’s cleaning spree.

Mildred and Elaine shook their head as one. “We’ve got to get back today. In fact, we should be on the road as soon as possible.”

“If you’ll just hand her this, with our thanks.” Elaine held the check out to me, snapped her bag shut, and pushed her plate away. “Sorry it isn’t for more, but she went way overboard.”

Her mother nodded firmly. “Much too elaborate.”

I couldn’t help looking down. Two hundred dollars. No half and half here. Dolly was going to be stuck with the greater share of everything. I palmed the check just as Dolly walked in. Later she could see what Chet’s family had done to her. Right now everyone was taking her hand and expressing regret at her loss.

When she could finally sit down with us, I leaned close to see what kind of luck she’d had with Detective Brent.

“I told him everything.” She shook her head at me and kept her voice low. “But it’s not going to matter.”

My stomach sank to somewhere down around my ankles.

“They lawyered up,” she said. “Two guys came from the tribal council. I guess Brent was hoping for a confession. We’ve got nothing on either of them. They had to let them go.”

“Crap,” I said under my breath. “I figured this would happen.”

“Yeah, well, two people are dead. Maybe more. I’m not letting either one of them get away with it.” Dolly’s little face settled into determination.

“Did Brent get anything out of them?”

“They want Mary’s bones.”

“Did Brent ask Alfred where his father, Orly, is?”

“The old man is dead.”

“And his sister, Christine? Is she dead, too? Pretty unlucky family.”

“Said he hasn’t seen her in years.”

“Where were they while we were all hunting for them?”

“Said out of town. Casino business.”

“And nobody at the casino knew about it?”

Dolly shrugged.

“Did Brent get addresses? There is still Sorrow. I’ll have to do …”

Dolly gave me a brief thumbs up then leaned in to speak to Mildred and Elaine, asking how they enjoyed the luncheon and if they thought she did Chet proud with the coffin and the service and the burial. Elaine was quick to say she’d given me a check to cover their share of the cost. Dolly smiled and said, “Thank you.” I kept my face straight and took a deep breath. I was about to blurt out the figure, but stopped myself.

“Dolly,” I tapped her arm. “I want those addresses.”

She nodded.

“Have you got them with you?”

She nodded again. “But I can’t go out there and talk to them. I’d get in trouble. Those lawyers would be all over me and Lucky.”

“Nothing’s stopping me from hunting for my dog.”

She shook her head. “Nothing stopping you at all. I just don’t want you going there alone. Your last trip didn’t end so good.”

“I’ll get Bill to go with me.”

She thought a minute, then nodded. “Then I’ll go after Christine. She’s got to be out there somewhere and somebody knows how to find her. I called Lena Smith on the way back here but she doesn’t know a thing. She did give me the name of an old woman in Peshawbestown. Could be a relative, an aunt, to the Naqumas. Wasn’t sure, but she said to go see her.”

“Anything said about the gun that killed Mary and Chet?”

“Probably long gone by now. Chet and Mary were shot up close, execution style.”

I took a deep breath. “Think the police will give the Indians their bones back?”

Dolly shook her head. “Brent says that’s all we’ve got. He’s calling the bones a part of an ongoing investigation.”

“What about DNA? They get anything out of the bone marrow?”

“Something about mitochondrial DNA. Not as good but it’ll stand up in court. Alfred Naquma offered his DNA through his attorneys. That should clear up who she is soon. But once Mary’s buried, we’ll lose any leverage we’ve got.”

Dolly handed me the paper with the addresses I wanted. I folded Elaine’s check in half and pushed it back at Dolly. Dolly glanced down at the check, then up at the two women, who had the good grace to redden and turn away. She looked back down at the check one last time, then slid it across the table to Elaine.

“I’ll take care of it myself,” Dolly said, keeping her voice low. She settled up straight in her chair. “I did what I wanted to do for him.” She shook her head a couple of times. “I take care of my family.”