The First Victim (12 page)

Funeral homes were supposed to be cold, or at least on the cool side. At least that’s what Emily had always believed, but at the moment she was so warm, she was seriously considering taking off the black cardigan she’d borrowed from Ginny to wear to the funeral. Of course that task might prove impossible since it seemed like the room was packed with more people than the subway at rush hour.

She’d been standing on this line for over thirty minutes, and still hadn’t paid her respects. It looked like half the town, and most of the county’s law enforcement, stood between her and Bailey. He probably wouldn’t even have noticed if she hadn’t shown up, and after their foolish kiss, he might not be pleased that she was here at all. She’d seriously considered packing Laurie into the car, and leaving Lakeside Acres in the dead of night. Who could blame her? The FBI had all but said she might have a serial killer stalking her. It only made sense to get the hell out, but she’d stayed. After all, she’d promised Bay she’d be here.

At least she was now close enough to see glimpses of him. Standing in the front of the room, flanked by oversized flower arrangements that contrasted with his charcoal suit, he was dutifully shaking hands and accepting kisses on the cheek. Even though she was too far away to see his face clearly, she could tell from his hunched shoulders that he was tired.

Sniffling, she desperately wished she’d thought to bring tissues. Not that she expected to shed a tear for Freddy O’Neil, but the damn flowers were killing her. Lilies. She hated lilies. Cloyingly sweet, their musky aroma always reminded her of death. Not to mention they always gave her a wicked sinus headache.

She would have gone to sit beside Mark Castle but he had claimed chairs near the blooms, no doubt so that he could admire Ginny’s handiwork. She owned the only florist shop for three towns, and the arrangements, as much as they stunk, were hers. Besides the odor, Emily wasn’t too keen to sit alongside Sam Castle. She knew he was here somewhere; she’d caught him staring at her earlier.

She glanced around the crowded room wondering whether anyone besides the family was mourning the passing of Freddy O’Neil. The O’Neil family temper was practically legend in Lakeside Acres. Freddy had been known to be an explosive bully, using his position of power to serve his own sense of right and wrong, rather than the laws of justice. More than once when he was just a boy, Bailey had slept in the Wright family’s hammock rather than risk his father’s wrath at home.

“He’s not really dead you know,” a woman beside her said conversationally. “He’s faking it.”

Emily slid a sidelong glance in her direction. A sixty-something peroxide blonde with an old-fashion beehive hairdo smiled at her. Zany Zelda. The waitress hadn’t changed much over the years. Some said she’d always been a bit bonkers. Some said she’d inhaled way too much aerosol hairspray. Everyone took everything she said with a grain—or in most cases, a pound—of salt. Apparently she was still fond of spinning wild tales.

“I just saw him hiding in the bushes at the back of the parking lot, talking to one of his deputies. So I know he’s not dead.”

Emily edged away from the crazy woman. The last thing she needed today was to get stuck in a conversation with someone who regularly spotted Elvis burnt into a piece of toast.

Once she successfully slipped through the crowd, putting enough distance between herself and Zelda, she looked back in Bailey’s direction.

He glanced over the crowd, searching. The romantic part of her hoped it was she he was looking for, while the more pragmatic half automatically dismissed the thought. Still, she stood a little taller, trying to catch his eye.

Just then the funeral director, a short, sweaty man whom she’d taken an instant dislike to at her mother’s funeral, got everyone’s attention. “Can you all please find a seat? If everyone could sit down, we’d like to get started.”

Instead of sitting on one of the hard folding chairs, she got as far away from the flowers as possible, by leaning against the wall at the back of the room. She hoped that by standing so close to the door, she might get some fresh air. This was stupid. She should just leave. Bailey didn’t want her here. No one would care if she left.

“Hell of a turnout.”

The words whispered in her ear sent her heart leaping into her throat. She jerked away from the source of the sound, crashing into the woman standing beside her.

“S-sorry.” She turned to see who had been talking to her.

Evan Swann regarded her with grave interest. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

The mourners in the immediate vicinity shot him a dirty look. Now wasn’t the time to be talking.

Bailey O’Neil stood at the front of the room and cleared his throat. “I’d like to thank everyone for coming out to pay their respects.” He scanned the gathered crowd, and Emily wondered who in particular he was looking for. “My father wasn’t a religious man, and he’d made it clear he didn’t want a church service, so this is going to be it.”

“But not before I say my piece,” the nasty crone who was Bailey’s paternal grandmother interrupted. When Emily had been a child, she’d always thought that the old woman sounded just like Margaret Hamilton, the Wicked Witch from
The Wizard of Oz.
Hearing Mrs. O again after all these years convinced her she’d been right.

The old, frail woman threw herself at the closed navy-blue coffin that housed her son’s remains. “You idiot!”

A collective taken-aback gasp from the crowd couldn’t drown out her next words.

“I wish you’d died long ago. That terrible temper of yours kept my baby boy from me all these years and I hope you burn in hell!”

The mourners gasped and murmured their shock and disapproval.

Emily tried to remember the name of Bailey’s uncle, but couldn’t. She wondered if he was here, at the funeral of his brother. If memory served, the two men had been bitter enemies, living in the same town but going to ridiculous lengths to avoid one another.

Bending over and murmuring quietly, Bailey moved to take his grandmother’s arm to lead her away, but she was having none of it.

“Don’t you dare try to tell me what to do. You’re just as bad as he was. All righteous, making a show of doing the right thing by that sister of yours. You chickened out. Gave up the chance to make something of yourself, just so that you could tend to a vegetable. Tell me, boy, how does your garden grow?”

“Enough!” Bailey’s shout was so loud that Emily flinched.

But Bailey’s grandmother wasn’t done. She met Bailey’s shout with a screech that scratched at the eardrums of everyone present. “Damn girl was a whore. Deserved what she got.”

Having had enough, her grandson faced the room, calling out, “Thank you all so much for coming.”

“Hypocrites!” Mrs. O shrieked. “None of you could stand him!”

Hands fisted at his sides, Bailey headed for the doorway that Emily stood beside. He was moving so fast that she barely registered what he was doing. Coming toward her, his strides long and fast, his jaw clenched into a mask of granite, he looked as though he would run over anyone who got in his way. Barreling straight ahead, Bailey was making a beeline for the exit.

Suddenly his eyes swiveled in Emily’s direction. His gaze, a heartbreaking mixture of pain and rage, hit her like a sucker punch. Wordlessly, he grabbed her hand as he passed her, dragging her along behind him. She had to practically run to keep up with him.

Straight-arming the door, he sent it crashing back against its hinges, not even slowing. Once they were outside, he released her, but he didn’t stop walking.

“Bay?”

Ignoring her, he patted down his pockets, searching. He pulled out his car keys.

“Bay, let me drive you.” The idea of him getting behind the wheel in the state he was in terrified her. She couldn’t stand it if, on top of everything else, he ended up in an accident. “I’ll take you anywhere you want.”

Running ahead of him, she jumped in front of the driver’s door of the pickup truck he was reaching for. “Please, Bay. Please.”

“Hospital?” His voice wavered, signaling his faltering resolve.

“Sure, whatever you want.” She held out her hand, palm up.

He hesitated for only a second before dropping the keys into it. Emily jumped into the driver’s seat before he could change his mind. Sliding the seat all the way forward as Bailey climbed into the seat beside her. Slumping down, he covered his eyes with his right hand. For a moment she considered reminding him to wear his seat belt, but then decided it was probably best not to. Instead, she resolved to just drive with extreme caution.

Warily she slid the pickup into gear and eased out of the parking spot. They spent most of the ride to the hospital in silence. Emily wasn’t even sure why they were headed there, but if that’s what Bailey wanted, that’s where she would take him. Hell she’d drive him to the North Pole if it would erase the agony she’d glimpsed in his eyes.

Unable to take the silence any longer, she finally spoke. “What was she talking about?”

“My dad and his brother Oliver always hated one another. You probably don’t remember, but they had a big blow-up back while we were still in high school. I didn’t see or hear any of it, but my mom told me that they actually came to blows. They scared her. All I know was that right after, Uncle Oliver packed up his stuff and Billy, and took off. My grandmother ragged on my dad mercilessly after that for driving away her favorite son, which was rich considering she was constantly harping on him when he was around.”

“Who’s Billy?”

“My cousin. Oliver’s son. Younger than us. I think he was eight or nine the last time I saw him.”

“I’m sorry. That had to have been rough on you.”

“Not really. It wasn’t as though I ever knew them. Hell, we lived in the same town, and I’d have been hard-pressed to recognize my own uncle.”

“Oh.” Emily didn’t know what else to say. What had made her think she had the market cornered when it came to family dysfunction?

As she pulled into the hospital grounds Bailey said, “Long-Term Care’s around the back.” His voice was raspy, the toll of the last couple of days stretching it thin.

That’s why they were here, to visit Shauna. Poor Bailey. What Mrs. O had done was unforgivable. Why had she said such horrible things about his father and sister? How could she have been so horrible to her own grandson? As she replayed the old crone’s wicked words, Emily became incensed all over again. Filled with a rage she was powerless to do anything about, she squeezed the steering wheel of the truck.

Emily eased into a parking spot, but didn’t release the wheel.

She offered him a weak smile, not knowing what to say to comfort him.

“Come visit Shauna with me, Em?”

“Of course.” As she slipped out of the driver’s seat, she wondered where the hell that
of course
had come from. She had no business visiting Bay’s comatose sister. She could barely remember her. Shauna was three and a half years older than her brother, which might as well have been three and a half decades when they were kids. She’d never been part of their circle. Too old to play with them, she’d had her own group of friends. Pretty much all Emily remembered about Shauna was that she’d been jealous of the sister Bailey had adored. Shuffling her feet as she walked around the truck, she cast about for an excuse to get out of going into that room with him, but the second Bailey grabbed her hand, she was a goner.

He squeezed her fingers. She didn’t know if it was because he was trying to connect with her, or if he needed an anchor to hold on to. Either way, she couldn’t desert him. Hand in hand, they walked into the Long-Term Care wing of the hospital. This area had a different hush lurking in the halls than the other section. The nurses at their station all looked as though they were on a perpetual coffee break as they watched a bank of medical monitors.

They smiled and waved at Bailey, making it clear he was a regular visitor, and they all studied her with undisguised curiosity, some with outright jealousy. Bailey seemed oblivious to all the attention as he led her to a room at the end of the hall. Breezing in, he said, “Hey, sis. Guess who I brought?”

Releasing Emily’s hand, he strode past the first bed in the room. As she followed him to the bed by the window, Emily spared a quick glance at the wizened old woman lying there. Emily wondered if the woman had been elderly when she’d ended up here, or, if like Bailey’s sister, she’d had her whole life ahead of her.

Emily’s breath caught as she saw the raw pain in Bailey’s expression as he smoothed his beloved sister’s cheek. Pressing a kiss to Shauna’s forehead, he paused for brief heartbreaking moment, like the prince waiting to see if Snow White would awaken. They looked so much alike, the same hair color, and strong jaw. She tried to remember if they’d had the same green eyes, but she couldn’t.

She’d never spent much time with Bailey’s big sister. For one thing, Shauna had always hung out with a circle of friends who were older. For another, she’d been the O’Neil family’s wild child, always pushing boundaries and getting in trouble. Emily had always been just a little bit afraid of her volatile personality.

“I brought Emily Wright,” Bailey told his sister. Picking up a comb from the bedside table, he began to brush her hair. He did it with practiced strokes as though it were a kindness he’d performed hundreds of times before. “I wish you could have seen Gram in action today. She totally wrecked Dad’s funeral, which, I guess, considering she wrecked his life, wasn’t much of a surprise.”

As Bailey talked to his sister with familiar ease as though they were discussing their day over the dinner table, Emily looked around the room. As hospital rooms went, this was one of the nicest. It still had that funky, antiseptic smell, and the noise of beeping and whirring monitors, but it also had an almost hominess to it. Shauna’s section was littered with framed photographs, stuffed animals and a couple of houseplants. Emily peered at the pictures. They were snapshots of an earlier time. The siblings as little kids making silly faces. All dressed up for Easter with their mom. A twelve-or thirteen-year-old Shauna beaming as she hoisted a softball trophy. A quick scan of the area revealed no images of their father.