Heaven's Fire (30 page)

Lillian took one look at him and interrupted smoothly. "Excuse me, Bryan. Kimberly asked me to tell you that your eleven-thirty is here."

What a good girl Lily White was. Simon wondered if Williams routinely had an "out" set up--a phone call he had to take or an appointment--or if his assistant had done it on her own initiative.

Either way, it worked. Williams stood up. "I'm afraid we'll have to continue this discussion another time. I need to take this meeting, and then I have a funeral to attend."

Simon allowed Williams and White to escort him into the lobby, which was devoid of visitors, including the "eleven-thirty." In the bathroom probably.

"The Firenze funeral? I'll be there, too," Simon said, extending his hand. "We can 'continue this discussion' then."

Williams shook his hand. Wussy little grip. The guy really should work on that.

Jake arrived at St. Luke's about quarter to one. There was a crowd in the narthex of the church, the jam was caused by people paying their condolences to the family.

Sadie and Angela stood side-by-side next to the door, book-ended by Pat and Tudy. Both of the men wore black suits and sunglasses. Both of the women wore black, too: Angela's dress accessorized with Coach's red Ergo Small Zip handbag; Sadie's, a crumpled white cotton handkerchief. Angela's scent was "Ethereal," and Sadie's, a mere whisper of "Cashmere Bouquet."

The resemblance between the two women was striking, though. Funny. Jake hadn't noticed that before. Angela's cheekbones definitely were her mother's, and the hair, too, though Sadie's was now steel gray and caught in a bun behind her head. Still, it remained every bit as thick as Angela's, which flowed glossy and black halfway down her back.

That must have been how Sadie looked when Pasquale had met her, Jake thought. Young and beautiful. Pasquale had told Jake once that his wife was still the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.

How sad to lose the one person who would forever see you that way.

Jake edged past the group and took a seat on the aisle. At the front of the church, an urn had been placed on a blue-draped table. On each side of the urn was a bouquet of what Jake's mother had called
"
firecrackers
"
because the blossoms looked like miniature fireworks bursts. A nearly life-size photograph of Pasquale sat on an easel next to the table. In it, he was smiling up at the camera as he lowered a shell by its fuse into the mortar.

Jake guessed that honoring Pasquale's without honoring his life's work--even if it was also the means of his death--would be unthinkable to the Firenzes. She wondered if she could be as forgiving.

As the first bars of "On Eagle's Wings" sounded, the family took their places in the front pew and Jake opened her hymnal.

Not that she didn't know the words by heart.

*****

Simon arrived at the funeral just as the congregation started singing the Eagle's Wings thing. God, how he hated that song.

He propped himself against the wall at the back of the church and surveyed the crowd. Pat, Angela, Sadie, Tudy, and a woman he assumed was Tudy’s wife were seated in the first pew on the right. Pat glanced around and, catching sight of Simon, turned back to say something to Tudy, who also looked. Both men were wearing sunglasses, even in the dimness of the church. Not that Simon could have read their eyes from this distance anyway.

Was Pat thinking that Pasquale—like his brother, apparently--had Alzheimer’s and it had contributed to his death somehow? Could the old man have mistaken sand for the black powder in the lift charge? Seemed improbable, especially since the sand had been in the storeroom, not in a magazine like the black powder.

The woman who had been slicing stars in the process building, passed by Simon to quietly take her seat next to Maxie, who had assembled the eight-inch shell at the shop. Simon didn't see some of the others he had expected. No sign of the mayor, or Martha Malone, or George Eagleton.

And where was Williams? Maybe they were all distancing themselves from the Firenzes and their
"
carelessness.
"
Simon felt badly about that. Pasquale deserved his due. Maybe Simon
should
release as much as he knew about the sabotage.

Jake, the sole TV8 representative, sat about two-thirds of the way back on the aisle. And as Simon looked on, Williams hurried down the center aisle and shoehorned himself in right next to her.

*****

On the second chorus of "On Eagle's Wings," Bryan had slipped into the seat next to Jake. There actually was no seat, it being a pew and all, but he managed to wedge himself in between Jake and the woman next to her. The woman looked like a young Sophia Loren, so Bryan's seating choice didn't surprise Jake.

But Bryan ignored "Sophia" and turned to Jake, planting one hand on the hymnal rack in front of them, and the other next to her head on the back of the pew.

"I need to talk to you," he whispered in her ear.

"Amen," Jake sang.

"What did you tell you Aamot?"

Jake slid her hymnal back into the rack, nearly taking off his fingers. "Quiet."

"Nobody can hear." They stood up with the rest of the congregation. "What did you say to him?"

"Who?"

"Aamot." Bryan seemed perturbed.

"About what?"

"Firenze!" Bryan said it louder than he probably intended, and heads turned in their direction.

"I don't know." Abbott and Costello had nothing on her. She turned and whispered in Bryan's ear. "But I do know that this is Pasquale's funeral, and you will show respect for him."

Bryan pulled back and looked at her. Apparently he wasn't used to being talked to like that.

Jake faced forward. "We'll discuss this later," she said, getting the signal to sit down.

Bryan was a half-beat late lowering himself to the bench.

Simon, seeing as he'd never actually sat down, managed to be the first one out of church after the family, and the first one in line to talk to them.

"Simon, thanks for coming." Pat shook his hand. He'd had his sunglasses off and was wiping at his eyes, but he slipped the glasses back on as Simon approached.

Simon could see his own reflection in them. It was like talking to twin miniatures of himself. "Nobody will think less of you if your eyes are red, you know."

Pat sighed, and pulled the glasses off. He swiped at his eyes again, then put the glasses right back on. "Everyone's staring, and this just makes it seem less..."

"Intrusive," Simon finished for him. "How are you holding up?"

"Okay. Have you found out anything?"

Many things, Simon thought, but the line was backing up behind him. "Yeah, but we can't talk about it here."

"You're coming over to the house after this, aren't you? We're having food, wine and then fireworks at dusk."

All the elements of a fireworks wake.

Simon nodded and was shouldered aside by an elderly Italian lady eager to pay her respects.

*****

Jake was trapped in the sea of people trying to exit down the center aisle of the church. She didn't know what the back-up was, but she had to get to work. She also wanted to avoid Bryan. Turning around, she saw him three bodies over, chatting up Sophia.

Jake made her move, taking an abrupt right through an already vacated pew to reach the side aisle. A door three-quarters of the way down the aisle led her into a dim corridor lined with classrooms, but the lighted "Exit" sign was as good as its word, and Jake found herself outside in the parking lot.

Cool.

Until Bryan caught up with her.

"Wait! Jake!" Huffing and puffing, he grabbed her arm.

She gave his hand a dirty look. "You must be out of shape. The corridor wasn't that long."

He ignored the insult, but removed his hand. "So it's later. Let's talk. What did you tell him about Firenze and kickbacks?"

"Who?"

"Don't pull the "Who's on First" crap with me, Jake."

Crap? From the urbane Bryan Williams? But then Jake had seen this plainspoken side of Bryan before. And liked it better usually, than his social persona. Unless he was threatening her.

Jake took her keys out of her purse and walked toward the Jaguar.

Bryan followed. "Listen, Jake. I did
not
ask Firenze for a kick-back on Lake Days."

Jake stopped next the car. "Of course not. You knew he wouldn't give you one. After all, you'd been through this with him before. Years before."

He grabbed her arm again. "You mean when you were working for me? Or maybe later, when we were sleeping together? When we said we loved each other?"

Fine time to pull
that
one out. "Oh, please. Are you trying to make me feel guilty or are you claiming non-spousal privilege? Now let me go."

They were standing very close, practically toe to toe. He let her go, but he didn't step back. "I just want to remind you that you were there, too."

"I had nothing to do with the money side of the business, Bryan, and you know it."

"
I
do, but..." He let it hang.

What a jerk. She pushed the remote key to unlock the door.

Bryan tried another tactic. "Whatever you thought of me then, Jake, whatever you think of me now, I assure you I did nothing illegal with the Lake Days sponsorship or the Firenzes."

"What about immoral? Did you do anything immoral?" She laughed and touched his face. "Don't worry, Bryan. I didn't betray any confidences...from you."

The truth, she thought as she drove off. It really will set you free.

*****

As Simon left the church, he saw Jake and Bryan Williams in the parking lot. They were standing very close, and seemed in deep conversation. Jake reached up and touched Williams’ face before getting into the Jaguar and driving off.

Simon was.... Stunned was too grandiose a word. Bummed, maybe. Jake said she'd "worked" for Bryan, but was there still more to the relationship? Like a
"
relationship
"
?

The Jaguar. Why was it easier for Simon to imagine Williams buying it for Jake, than Jake buying it for herself?

He gave that some thought.

Maybe because Williams had a big, impressive office, and Jake lived in a little house.

Maybe because Williams owned his own company, and Jake worked for a television station, which usually meant more prestige than money.

Maybe because Williams struck Simon as someone who would spend seventy-five grand on a car, and Jake didn't.

Maybe.

Or maybe Simon was just a jealous, sexist asshole.

Yeah, that was it.

*****

Kathy held up a telephone message as Simon walked in the door. "I have something for you."

Simon stuck out his hand. "Lay it on me, Sugar."

"You're going to like this." She dangled it just out of his reach.

"You're a brat, you know that, don't you?" He snatched the message. "It's why your brothers won't speak to you anymore," he said over his shoulder as he walked into his office.

"I don't have any brothers." She followed him in and plunked herself down in his guest chair. "Why aren't you at the funeral?"

"Already went to the funeral," Simon said, reading the message,
"
and I’m on my way to the funeral lunch or dinner or whatever you call a meal served at three in the afternoon."

Kathy smiled. "You should know: What did you call
your
meal yesterday afternoon?"

"
Hell.
"

Ah-hah.
"
Dianne called here this morning."

Now she had his attention. "Dianne? Why?"

"She said she saw you briefly at Harry's and wanted to make sure you were all right." Kathy tried to keep the skepticism out of her voice. Simon's ex-wife had sounded more curious than concerned.

Simon squirmed like a man who had been caught cheating. Why was it the innocent ones who acted guilty? "Dianne was there, waiting for a verdict to come in," he protested. "I just told her about the house burning down."

Kathy reached over and patted his hand. "You don't have to explain to me, dear. I'm not your mother
or
your wife."

"I think of you more as my bossy baby sister, and I bless you for that," Simon said, looking up from the telephone message. "For this, however, I bless the Safe Explosives Act." He waved the slip of paper.

"Me, I can understand," Kathy said, lifting her eyebrows, "but the Safe Explosives Act?"

"Yup. It requires fingerprints and photos of anyone who works with fireworks. Including Ray Guida. And," he said, getting up and adjusting his necktie, "since you read all my messages, you know that Guida's fingerprints are on the cigarette lighter they found outside my house."