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Chapter Seventeen

PRESENT DAY

SYDNEY

Bonnie’s funeral is today.

It’s being held at a church in Brooklyn, which is where her parents live. It’s ironic, because I’m fairly sure that in the time I knew Bonnie she never once set foot in a church. It’s not that she wasn’t religious exactly, but… Well, she wasn’t religious. But she wasn’t anti -religion. She wouldn’t be offended by the fact that her funeral was being held in a church, especially if that’s what her parents wanted.

The part that might be more offensive to her is that she requires a funeral at thirty-three years old.

Gretchen, Randy, and I are stuffed into a yellow cab, riding out to Bensonhurst, the smell of hot leather seats heavy in the air. Randy wanted to take the D train instead of a taxi, but I didn’t feel like dealing with the subway in my fancy funeral attire. And what if something happened and we didn’t get there on time? Bonnie was such a stickler for promptness—she would have haunted us for at least the next year if we were late.

“Did you bring tissues?” I ask Gretchen, who is squeezed into the backseat between me and Randy.

“Loads,” she confirms.

“Why do you need so many tissues?” Randy speaks up. “Is there going to be food?”

Randy is wearing a navy-blue suit that can vaguely pass for black. He looks like he made some attempt to comb his usually unruly dark-brown hair, but since he has had the window cracked open for the entire cab ride, all his hard work has been undone by the wind.

“We are going to a funeral,” I remind him. When he looks at me blankly, I add, “It’s sad .”

“Right, but…” He frowns. “I mean, you guys were just friends. It’s not like she was your sister or your mother.”

I can only stare at Randy in astonishment. He’s not even trying to be a jerk. He is legitimately confused as to why we would be sad over Bonnie’s death. Thankfully, before I can say anything I regret, Gretchen elbows him in the ribs. “You’re an idiot,” she says.

Well said.

The church is a gigantic structure that seems to take up half the city block. My gaze sweeps over the steeple, which has a cross mounted on top. The taxi pulls up in front of what looks like an endless staircase to enter the church.

Before I can reach for my purse, Randy hands a wad of bills over to the driver. “It’s on me,” he tells us. “It’s your friend’s funeral and you guys are sad.”

I feel a little guilty because I don’t think Randy makes that much money as the super, but I’ve learned to be gracious when people offer to pay. I climb out of the taxi and Gretchen is a step behind me. She is tugging on the black skirt that shows off her skinny yet shapely legs.

“Ugh,” she says. “Do you think this skirt is inappropriately short for a funeral?”

“It’s fine,” I say, even though I secretly think it’s a little too short. But what is she supposed to do? She can’t exactly go home and change.

I’m about to follow Randy and Gretchen up the tower of stairs to the front door when I see a man leaning against the side of the church. My stomach flips slightly at the sight of Detective Jake Sousa. I tell my friends to go on ahead and save me a seat, and then I approach Jake, my purse clutched protectively to my chest.

Jake saw me a second after I noticed him. He offers me a grim smile. “My condolences,” he says.

I don’t want his condolences. I only care about one thing. “Have you arrested anyone yet?”

He hangs his head. “Unfortunately, no.”

I can’t believe this. It’s been a week since Bonnie’s murder, and with every passing day it’s less and less likely that they will ever arrest anyone. “Did you ever find her boyfriend?”

He shakes his head. “That’s why I’m here. I’m kind of hoping he might show up.”

“You think he’s that dumb?”

“Murderers often visit the funerals of their victims. Several have been caught under those circumstances.”

“Wow.” I sneer. “You must be super desperate.”

Jake drops his eyes. “Look, I’m sorry. I wish I had better news for you. You don’t know how many hours I have put in trying to find this bastard. We don’t even know if the boyfriend is the one who killed her. Maybe it’s somebody completely different.”

Frustration is written all over his face. When we were dating, Jake had an amazing success rate in solving homicides. If I were murdered, he would be the detective I would want on the case. And I truly believe that if he can’t find the person who killed Bonnie, nobody can.

But maybe nobody can. Which is a very depressing thought.

And a terrifying one.

“You’re still dead-bolting your door at night, right?” Jake asks me.

“Yes,” I confirm. “But don’t worry. I’m not dating anyone.”

He looks like he isn’t sure what to make of that statement. Jake is this big, muscular detective who never seems to lose his cool, and it always used to amuse me to make him squirm just a little bit.

I can’t help but think of Jake’s profile on Cynch. He may have acted like he was too busy for a significant other, but he is still looking. He’s still hoping to find his other half, even if he can’t give her what she wants.

“If you see anything suspicious at the funeral,” he says, “will you let me know?”

“I will.”

He frowns at me, his lips pressed together. “Be careful, Syd.”

Yeah, as if I’m not terrified enough without him saying that.

When I get inside the church, I notice a woman in her sixties standing in the back, wearing a black blazer and skirt, her eyes puffy and the whites almost painfully bloodshot. I recognize her as Bonnie’s mother. I get a pang just looking at her—as awful as this is for me, it’s got to be a million times worse for her.

She is in a conversation with someone else, but then our eyes lock. She murmurs, “Excuse me,” to the person she’s talking to and hurries over to me. I instinctively flinch. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to Mrs. Griffin, but just looking at her makes me horribly sad.

“Is it Sydney?” she asks.

“Yes.” I nod. “I…I’m so sorry, Mrs. Griffin.”

“Thank you.” Tears flow from her already-moist eyes. “I miss her so much, it hurts my soul.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say again because I really just don’t know what else to say.

“You were a good friend to her though, Sydney. I really appreciate that.”

“Thank you. She was a good friend to me too. I’ll miss her so much.”

She dabs her eyes with a tissue that has seen better days. She didn’t even bother with mascara, which was a wise choice. “The police told me she was seeing a man regularly. Do you have any idea who it was?”

“She did tell me she was seeing someone, but that’s all I know.”

“She…she didn’t mention his name? Show you a photo?”

“I’m sorry, no.”

“But how could that be?” she bursts out. “You girls talk all the time! And you all are constantly taking photos of every little stupid thing. Bonnie once sent me five pictures of a piece of sushi! How is it possible that there was not one photograph on her phone of this man that she was dating?”

I take a step back. “I…I don’t know.”

“You must know something!” The tears are flowing freely now. “Please, Sydney! You’ve got to remember something about this man! You can’t just let him get away with killing my baby!”

“I…”

“If it had been you,” she snaps at me, “Bonnie would have done everything she could to find out who did this to you! She wouldn’t just shrug her shoulders and tell your mother that she’s sorry!”

Mrs. Griffin is practically hysterical now. Thankfully, one of her friends or relatives comes over, puts an arm around her shoulder, and leads her away from me. Although, by this point, I am shaking like a leaf.

The worst part is she’s right. I still remember the way Bonnie threatened Real Kevin to get him away from me. If our situations were reversed, she would not give up so easily. I’ve done nothing to help catch the monster who did this to her.

If only I could go back in time, I would ask her more questions about the guy. What was his name? Can I see a photograph? Where does he work? Of course, the answers may have been lies anyway. But at least it would have been something.

My legs can barely support me as I make my way to where Gretchen and Randy have found seats near the front of the church. I have to squeeze down the aisle to sit next to them, and Gretchen has started crying again.

“I saw Bonnie’s mother shouting at you,” Gretchen says. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I lie. “She’s just devastated—that’s all.”

“Of course she’s devastated!” Gretchen sniffles. “It’s all so awful!”

For a moment, I imagine my mother in the church at my funeral, sobbing hysterically like she did when my dad died. The murder of your child is the kind of thing you never recover from. Gretchen and I will eventually move on, but Mrs. Griffin won’t. Not ever.

Randy reaches out and laces his fingers through Gretchen’s. She flashes him a grateful smile, which makes me feel even more sad that I don’t have anyone to hold hands with. And maybe I never will. After all, my dates recently have been bad and worse, and now I’m terrified to even use Cynch.

I look behind me at the back of the church, to see if Jake has entered. At least he’s a comforting presence, even if things didn’t work out between the two of us. But instead of Jake, I see something that completely shocks me.

It’s Kevin.

Kevin is at Bonnie’s funeral.