Noah's funeral was a sparse affair. It'd been scheduled that Thursday afternoon in a little steepled chapel about a mile and a half from the river. I parked in an unpaved lot across the street and climbed from my car dressed head to toe in black. I would have worn red but, well, these impeccable southern manners won't allow me to break decorum. Even if the deceased is an asshole. Excuse me, was. He was an asshole.

       Funerals are for the living anyway.

       Noah's family hadn't arrived quite yet, though his coffin sat stoically beneath the pulpit. I'd walked down there when I'd arrived. I'd only met the man once, but the unnatural way they'd positioned him in the casket and the sallow color of his cheeks made him unrecognizable from the person who'd threatened me behind Taste Teas. The crowd was only about twenty people deep, including myself, and there weren't too many flowers. Weren't too many mourners either and most every eye in the house was bone dry.

       I sat about ten rows back, behind a couple of nice old ladies, flipping through the glossy two-page pamphlet the usher had given me when I'd walked in. The front page had a large photo of Noah turned slightly away from the camera. His blonde hair glistened in an early evening sun, the laugh lines around his eyes crinkled attractively, and his mouth was upturned into a cheeky grin. He looked happy.

       He almost looked like a nice person too. Almost.

       I flipped to the first page and skimmed the obituary. There wasn't much to say since he'd died so young. Most of his accomplishments stopped after graduating college and getting that first IT job. The bottom of the page claimed he was survived by his parents Bill and Nancy, and his older siblings Paul, Connie, and Maggie. There was no mention of a special friend or a fiancée.

       Ashley wasn't in the audience either.

       When another fifteen minutes went by with no sign of the family the crowd started expressing its restlessness with increasingly loud chatter. Most of it was inane speculation about where they could be. I didn't join in, but then I wasn't raised in a barn. The organist started playing a hymn to reduce the noise and subtly signal that this was a funeral and not happy hour at a goddamn Applebee's, but the gentle melody just served to give them a soundtrack to talk over.

       Even the two old ladies in front of me started chatting like this was Sunday brunch. "Taking a while to start, huh?" The one on the left said.

        "Hush, Bea!"

        Bea hmphed. "I have things to do tonight!"

       The other shook her finger at her friend like she was scolding a child. "Me too but don't you go causing a scene."

       "I'm hungry, Sadie! What's taking them so long?"

       The one on the right—Sadie—shook her head. "It can't be easy to bury your child, Bea." It seemed Sadie at least had some decorum about her. I could respect that.

       "I suppose not." Bea sniffed then started profusely fanning herself with Noah's obituary. "I bet the real reason they're late is 'cause they're fightin' again."

       Sadie's head turned just so, so that her hearing aid was closer to Bea. "Again?"

       "Were you not at the Easter party?"

       "No. Amos had an arthritis flare up."

       "He's not dead yet?"

       "No, but I wish he'd hurry up." Sadie started fanning herself with her own program. It was a little stuffy in here. The church could use a new AC system. "It's been a loooong forty years."

       Bea snickered. "Sadie!"

       Sadie leaned a bit closer. "So, what happened?"

       "Noah showed up with his little girlfriend and a real stink started 'cause Nancy took one look at the girl and turned her nose up."

       "No!"

       "Yep. Then Bill suggested she wasn't a good fit for the family since hers was, well, too colorful if you catch my drift."

       "Ticky tacky." Sadie shook her head then glanced over the crowd. "Somebody should tell the Walker's they're not exactly top stock themselves."

       "And break snooty Nancy's delusions of grandeur?" Bea snorted back a laugh. "How will she survive if there's no one for her to look down on?"

       Jesus, these geriatric heifers are ruthless. I can't wait 'til I'm old enough to openly say all the mean stuff I say in my head all day out loud!

       "Anyway, after they left, I heard Bill talk about cutting him off."

       "Cutting him off from what?"

       "Apparently they were still helping pay some of his bills." She shrugged. "Either way it was no great loss."

       "He was always a troublemaker." Sadie ran a gloved hand over her wig to make sure it wasn't crooked. It was. "Remember that time Mary-Beth Wilson caught him peeping in her bedroom window?"

       Bea tsked. "Natural born pervert."

       The two of them stifled laughter. "If I keep having too much fun at this funeral, I'll about earn my seat in hell."

       "Say hi to Noah when you're down there."

        "I'll save a seat for you, Bea."

       Their giggles were cut off by the organ striking a bit harder than before. The congregation stood and turned back toward the door just as the preacher walked in with Noah's family right behind him.

       The first couple in the procession, I presumed, were Noah's parents. His father's straight-backed gait portrayed the image of stability and strength. His mother, however, was a little less than stable. She hunched forward slightly, dabbing at her eyes with her left hand and holding tightly to Noah's fathers' arm with the other.

       Behind them Noah's siblings filed in with their spouses on their arms. Except for the third and last one who staggered in last with cold hardly present eyes.

       That was it. His funeral procession consisted of seven people and five of them were in his immediate family. Ashley was missing. If the gossiping hens were right, then Noah's family wasn't fond of her. But would they be cruel enough to prevent her from mourning him? That's fucked up.

       After the family took their seats in the front pew the service began. They started with a prayer, and the preacher asked everyone to bow their heads. I took that as my chance to scan the crowd in more detail.

      The congregation seemed perfectly ordinary. The pews were dotted with figures in tasteful black suits and dresses. Ages varied, but there was a distinct whiff of middle-class Americana about the room. And though all heads stayed bowed in respect and all eyes closed, there was an impatience in the air. As if all the guests were here out of obligation rather than mourning. Even if that was true, it was still a light crowd. Funerals are for the living, after all. I get the feeling that Noah's not the only unpopular person in his family.

       Other than that, everything seemed on the up and up—what the fuck? There was a man sitting by himself on a lonely back pew in a tailor-made suit that probably cost more than it would take to fix the AC in this hot-ass church. I hadn't paid much attention to him before since he was behind me but something about the salt and pepper pattern to his hair was familiar. His head was bowed but when he casually raised it to peek at the gold watch on his wrist I got a better look at his face. It couldn't be. Could it?

       Either I've started hallucinating from heat exhaustion or that man is David Howell, my third suspect. But what are the odds?

       Before I could turn back the prayer ended, and all heads rose back to position. I don't want anyone to see me staring at him, but I need confirmation. I leaned back in my seat and looked right like I was contemplating the stained glass on the other side of the building. Nothing to see. Just a bored person looking around. I let my neck lean lazily to the right like there was no rhyme or reason to it and then when a sufficient amount of nerve was built up, I peeked back right quick and—oh shit! That is David Howell! I snapped my head back forward; my face remained a mask of tedium while inside I was celebrating the luck. That was him!

       Why would David Howell attend the funeral of the man blackmailing him? Morbid curiosity or was he making sure his victim was dead and buried? Either way this was an opportunity of epic proportion. I just needed to find a way to talk to him.

       As I plotted the preacher man was busy trying to retcon Noah into a good person. "...But today, we all grieve the loss of this bright young man. Even with his short, uh...life, he touched so many...And truly through his life we, uh...see...God's work..."

       They get this guy straight out of preacher's school or something. That doesn't seem right. He looked ancient enough to have given Moses some pointers about public speaking before his talks with Pharaoh. Not to be rude. I looked up at the pulpit just in time to see the shellshocked look on the preacher's face. He stared toward the front of the church like a mouse caught between a cat and a trap, stumbling over the words in a speech he'd probably memorized. I and most of the congregation followed his gaze toward the front where one of the clear glass doors was propped open. Standing there, swathed all in black was Ashley.

       She looked a hot mess, and that's putting it lightly. The black skirt and blazer combo she wore was wrinkled and crooked. Her hair was barely combed and pulled back into a half-assed, sloppy pony slung lazily across her shoulder. Black tears streamed down her cheeks—the mascara smudged and streaky.

       I sunk deeper into the pew. I can't let her see me...

       Mrs. Walker stood from her seat on the first pew and stomped back down the aisle, her face a mask of rage. "What are you doing here?"

       Ashley cowered. "I...I just...came to say...goodbye."

       "I don't want you here!"

       Mr. Walker came up and grabbed his wife by the elbow. "Nancy."

       But she pushed him off and shoved an outraged finger into Ashley's face. "No! I told you not to come!"

       "Mom." The other Walker boy had come to join his father in calming down his mother.

       Mrs. Walker would hear none of it. "You killed my son!" Her voice cracked with emotion.

       "No, I—"

       "Get out!"

       Ashley's eyes got wide and for a moment she looked like a scared child. "Mrs. Walker..." she whispered. "...please..."

       "Get out!" she yelled. "Get out! Get out! Get out!"

       Ashley's tear-filled eyes swept the congregation. I sunk down in my seat and turned back to face the pulpit. If she saw me, she'd try to come to me for support. That would blow any cover I had for the services if Mrs. Walker knew I was with her and potentially get me kicked out of what was otherwise an open event.

       I heard her shoes scrap across the thin carpet as she turned and ran out the door. I turned back in time to see Mrs. Walker being escorted back to her seat. She was hunched over, limping back to the front as if she was crippled and wailing as if she was in agony. The echoing sound of it was violent in a church that had gone dead silent.

       And for the first time since Noah died, I felt bad. He might have been a spineless, cowardly abuser but I'm not sure this woman deserved to bury her child.

       But what about Ashley? I wanted to follow behind her. Really. I wanted to tell her that while she was in pain now, one day she would heal. That what she felt now was only temporary. That there was much better out there waiting for her than Noah...

       But then I might miss my chance with David Howell. And that could be the difference between her in jail or free as a bird. So, I sat there, heavy as a brick and consoling myself that getting information on David was more valuable to her than having a shoulder to cry on, even if she didn't know it yet. And that being here in this intimate moment with the people who actually loved him wasn't as cruel as it suddenly felt.

       The service wasn't long. After the preacher finished his spiel, some lady stood up to sing a nice song, and a couple people even went up to tell some non-terrible stories about Noah. I quickly got the idea that most of this crowd didn't know about his little side gig, and you know what, I wasn't going to tell them.

       After that was done the pallbearers closed the casket and walked him out. The family followed—Noah's mom had turned into a blubbering mess, but the rest of the family remained stoic. The remaining crowd staggered behind, the gossip peaking again once the family was far enough away. I had no intention of following them to the cemetery. My focus now, was David.

       He stood and waited for the aisle to clear before walking out. I grabbed my purse and followed from a distance. Wherever he was going, I was going. Hopefully, I could pull an ambush when he got wherever that was.

       He strolled across the street and into the unpaved parking lot. I hurried my way through the crowd and across the street and hit the clicker for my car. He climbed into his car—a black Benz—and I climbed into mine. I watched and waited as the crowd thinned and the road cleared. Once it was empty enough, David backed out into traffic and pulled off.

      I reversed out of my space and onto the street, determined to find out why he would show his face at the funeral of a man he hated and maybe even killed.