Page 46 of Macaron Massacre
“That would be wonderful. Your first cookie is on me.” I tick my head toward the sanctuary. “I guess we’ll see you inside.”
Everett and I step into the foyer when Nell bursts through the wall that divides the church and the entry.
“Oh dear”—she swoops in close as I pick up Everett’s hand—“please prepare yourselves for what you’re about to see. I’m quite upset Miranda isn’t warning people at the door.”
“What do you mean what we’re about to see?” I ask as Everett and I walk right through her and peer past the double opened doors.
As soon as my eyes catch a glimpse of it, I suck in a quick breath, and a wave of weakness rides right through me.
Everett groans. “Who the hell is in charge of this circus?”
“Not my mother. Gloria said she’d make sure he got the send-off he deserved. But, dear God, this is terrifying.”
Typically, at the funerals I’ve attended—and as of late that number has crept up dramatically—I’ve grown accustomed to finding the deceased in either an open or a closed casket. But as fate and Rich’s bitter ex-wife would have it, there’s nary a casket in sight. Instead, there seems to be a throne of some kind sitting in the place where the casket should be, and Rich’s body is sitting in it, his head slightly sloped to the side. He’s dressed in a bright green suit, has dark sunglasses on, and, if I’m not mistaken, there seems to be a boom box positioned in his lap.
“Geez,” Everett whispers. “They propped him up.”
“They really do hate him.”
“It’s her last chance at humiliating him, and she’s doing a bang-up job. Do you think he’ll haunt her?”
“Nope. I doubt he’s coming back under any circumstances.”
“His ex and his daughters are in the front row. And look to the left”—he points quickly—“Mayor Nash and Scott Dushane.”
“Gross. Neither of them knew him. They’re just trying to score points with their constituents.”
“It’s a close race. Probably a good move on Mayor Nash’s part. He’s still the killer in the eyes of the public. This might sway those with hardened hearts.”
“Lovely. But, yet again, Judge Baxter, I believe you are correct.” I’m about to lead us over to a pew when a familiar face comes upon us.
“Dawn,” I whisper her name so low, I’m not even sure she heard it. “I’m so glad you came. I’m sure this will give you closure.”
The dolled-up redhead averts her gaze as she looks to Griffin, standing staunchly by her side in a wrinkled dark suit.
Dawn leans in. “I saw a picture of him on social media and had to come and see this circus for myself. I figured I couldn’t make it any worse.”
They speed inside and stride right to the front, taking a seat next to her sisters, and it takes less than a few seconds for them all to break out into a giant, long overdue group hug.
“So weird,” I whisper to Everett. “But I’m glad they’re on their way to mending fences.”
“They’ve got a long way to go, but they’re on the right track.”
We take a seat, and I notice a dark-haired man sitting next to Claret. He’s tall and built like a linebacker, olive skin, handsome, and he knows it. There’s an arrogant air about him, and I’m suddenly suspicious as to who this might be.
I lean close to Everett, and his thick cologne warms me. “Who’s the guy next to Claret?”
Everett squints as he does his best to inspect him, and as luck would have it, the man turns his head our way and we get a full shot of his handsome mug. I was right. He definitely has a pretentious air about him.
Everett goes rigid as he stops breathing for a second. “Lemon, I don’t want you to get any ideas.”
“Oh my God, it’s Louie the Lion, isn’t it?”
Everett closes his eyes a moment before pressing his cobalt peepers into mine. “He’s dangerous. He doesn’t hesitate taking out anyone he thinks might get in his way. I’ve dealt with the Canellis. They think they’re above the law—and they have been in a lot of ways.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means they’re experts at keeping their hands clean.”