Chapter Three – The Mortuary
Miami –Tuesday Evening
Four Days After the Explosion
Lithgow Funeral Home was an elegant building with white marble columns facing a circular driveway bounded by well-manicured box hedges. It resembled the front entrance of the Academy Awards, with wealthy mourners arriving in their chauffeur-driven gas guzzlers. Everyone who was anyone simply must be seen at the viewing of the late Harry Pace, and they must be seen at their best. The jewelry had come out of the safe deposit boxes for this one. The glittering ladies and their silk-penguin escorts craved cameras, and the local media did not disappoint.
Inside a crowded reception room lined with flowers, sterling candelabra flanked a closed casket. An exquisite oil painting of Harry Pace rested on an easel at one end of the casket. A few of the attendees amused themselves speculating as to how many inches, or ounces, of Harry were actually inside the casket that cost as much as a Space Shuttle.
Silvie Pace, beautiful (of course) in black, graciously shook the hands of whatever “mourners” stopped by her chair to pay respects.
Dan Stern sat attentively on Silvie’s right. He was a little older, a lot taller and darker, and a little less beautiful than Sylvie. But Dan always cut a fine figure in his expensive suits and hand-made Ostrich-skin boots.
Together they were what passed for royalty, on glorious display.
Leslye Larrimore, looking strained, caught Dan’s eye from somewhere in the crowd. He gave her a “come hither” gesture. After a few moments of careful maneuvering, Les arrived at Dan’s chair. He rose to whisper to her.
“Stay with Silvie a minute, will you?” said Dan. “I’ve gotta go outside for a smoke.”
“Nasty habit,” Leslye told him before taking her seat in the chair he had vacated.
“Yeah, so’s Valium,” was his snarky reply.
Leslye sent him an overly sweet smile, and Dan headed for the nearest exit.
Walt McGurk’s red pickup with yellow doors rolled into the funeral home parking lot just as Dan emerged with an unlit cigarette in his mouth. Dan must have recognized the truck, because Walt stepped out of the driver’s side door to find his path blocked by Dan Stern, casually lighting a cigarette.
“Thought you had quit,” Walt said. “Smart folks have.”
Dan scowled at Walt’s black western shirt, black jeans, black Stetson hat, and black boots. “You’ve got no business here, Dogpatch,” said Dan. “Why don’t you save Silvie and the rest of us some embarrassment and just mosey on back to the ranch.” He blew a smoke ring directly into Walt’s face.
Walt dismissed Dan with a look and walked past him toward the funeral home entrance.
Dan tossed his freshly lit cigarette to the ground and followed. At the door, Dan grabbed Walt’s shoulder and pulled him aside. “What are you trying to do!?”
“Just tryin’ to pay my respects,” said Walt.
“Respect! You and Harry fought like alley cats. Neither one of you ever showed any ‘respect’ to the other one.”
“I didn’t come to see Harry. I came to see Silvie.”
Walt shook off Dan’s grip and entered the building. Once inside, he worked his way through the throng toward Silvie’s chair. The high-society, glammed-to-the-max crowd scorned his horse-ranch attire with looks and whispered comments. Walt ignored them and presented himself before Silvie’s chair. He removed his hat, took her hand, and pulled her up to walk with him to the closed casket.
They gave no greetings to one another, but stood side by side in silence beside the easel displaying Harry’s portrait. Silvie unconsciously leaned against him. When she sniffled, he folded her against him in a brotherly hug.
Gently, Walt told her, “Whatever’s in that box, it ain’t Harry. Y’hear me? Harry ain’t here. You need to remember that.”
“I know,” replied Silvie between weepy hiccups. “The preacher said the same thing. I guess Daddy’s with Mama now. In heaven.”
Walt smiled to himself. “Well, I don’t know if I’d give Harry quite that much credit.”
Across the room, Dan Stern joined Les Larrimore in watching Walt comfort Silvie over the casket. Leslye whispered, “I thought you said she hated him.”
Dan shrugged. “That’s what she says. Avoids him and his place like the plague.”
“Well, Danny boy, you better be sure she’s had her shots. That plague looks contagious to me,” said Leslye.
Dan’s expression turned anxious. He moved toward Silvie and Walt. Coming to Silvie’s side a moment later, Dan gently extricated her from Walt’s arms and tenderly ushered her away. “Come sit down, sweetheart,” Dan told her. “You look a little woozy.”
Dan lovingly helped Silvie into the chair she had recently vacated. Leslye sat in the adjacent seat. Dan said to Silvie, “Les will get you something to drink.” He glanced at the lady lawyer meaningfully. “Right, Les?” he said.
Leslye stood but found herself staring into the shirtfront of Walt McGurk, who had followed Silvie and Dan. “I’ll be right back; you just rest, dear,” Leslye told Silvie. Looking up at Walt towering over them, she said, “Good night, Mister McGurk. Thank you for coming.” She stepped around him and left in search of a beverage.
Walt scanned the room. Silvie was surrounded by elegant strangers and watchdogged by Dan Stern. Walt shoved his Stetson onto his head and ambled toward the exit.
Halfway there he stopped, decided he was not leaving, and marched briskly back to Silvie’s chair. He elbowed his way to her and, when Dan refused to yield a place to sit, Walt squatted on the floor in front of her. This put Walt on Silvie’s eye level, and he pinned her with his eyes like a lepidopterist skewers a butterfly.
“Silvie, you know half of my ranch is yours now. Harry’s half,” Walt said.
“I guess so.”
“Well, if you’re in a bind, I’ll buy you out fair and square. Cash on the barrelhead.”
Dan said, “Really, McGurk! I don’t think this is the time”
“I’m talkin’ to Silvie,” Walt said, cutting Dan short.
Silvie didn’t feel like discussing business at all, and certainly not while Walt and Dan were going at each other in front of the jet set. “Can’t we discuss this later?” Silvie said to Walt. “I mean, it’s not like I need the money.”
Walt’s mouth moved as if he would argue with her, but he realized the room had gone silent. The “mourners” all seemed to be staring at him. He stood abruptly, withered the room with a look, and strode for the door.
Leslye arrived with a cup of water for Silvie. Dan gave Les his chair, and he left to follow Walt, saying to the ladies, “I’ll just make sure he finds his way out.”
Les urged Silvie to drink, but Silvie merely held the cup and watched the door through which Walt and Dan had gone. Leslye patted Silvie’s shoulder and said, “It’s all right, darling. Don’t let Harry’s pet jailbird upset you.”
“Harry’s what?”
“Jailbird,” said Les. “Everybody knows Harry got him out of jail and set him up in that horse-breeding business.” Bitterness tainted her voice as she continued, “One of your mother’s charity cases, I expect. Harry never learned to tell her no.”
Silvie looked at Les in absolute confusion.
“Honey, they say McGurk killed a man,” Les told her. “After all these years, I can’t believe you never knew. I thought Harry would’ve told you all about it.”
Stunned, Silvie gulped the water from the cup like an android. Without looking at Leslye, Silvie handed her the empty cup. “I guess Harry and I never really talked much,” Silvie said.
Out in the parking lot, Walt was reaching to open the door of his truck when Dan Stern wedged himself between Walt and his goal. “Who do you think you are?” Dan sneered from six inches away.
“Harry’s partner, Slick Face. Who do you think you are?” Walt responded.
“Les and I were Harry’s partners, Dogpatch. Real partners, in multi-million-dollar joi
nt ventures, not some two-bit horse farm in Podunk Holler. You’re not a business partner, you’re a joke.”
Without raising his voice, Walt responded, “You’re a brass-plated thief.”
Dan took a good Ivy League swing at Walt, but Walt sidestepped it and landed a solid back-alley uppercut to Dan’s jaw. Dan went down on one knee and stayed there, wiping blood from a split lip.
Standing over Dan with his fists poised for more, Walt said, “Harry never had to worry about finding my hands in his pockets. Tell me, did Harry kill himself when he learned you two had stole him broke, or did you blow him away because he caught you at it?”
“It was a gas leak,” Dan insisted, favoring his swollen, bleeding lip. “An accident. Happens every day. You can ask the police, the Marine Patrol, the coroner, anybody.” A new gleam entered Dan’s eyes, and he smiled wickedly. “But you won’t. You don’t think I murdered Harry. This,” he gestured at the two of them, “is all a smoke screen to hide how you tried to get Harry’s half of the ranch from Silvie before Harry’s body was even in the grave. Y’know, if I were going to be suspicious of anybody, Dogpatch, I’d be suspicious of you. We both know you’re capable of murder, don’t we?”
Walt moved as if he wanted to kick Dan’s perfectly capped teeth down his throat, but he decided against it. He swung into his truck instead.
As the truck roared out of the lot, Dan stood and wiped his face with his Hermes handkerchief. Then he dusted the knees of his trousers and re-entered the funeral home.
End of Sample
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