Jonathan arrived at the St. Joseph Funeral Home right when the service was beginning. He slipped in mostly unnoticed taking a seat closest to the exit. From where he sat, he could see Thomas's profile peeking out from the glossy dark casket. Most of his hair had grown back, he finally looked like his old self. It was strange, he looked healthy - his shell - sitting here didn't seem right. So Jonathan waited... as if Thomas was going to pop up and say "Gotcha!" Though, it would be nice to relieve himself of this tragedy- that's too cruel of a joke; especially for someone like Thomas.
Jonathan dropped his eyes to the shiny dress shoes he hasn't worn since he lost custody of his daughter a month ago. He drummed his fingers on his knobby knees, listening to the pastor go into his sermon. The pastor is Brenda's father. A tall, muscular, and handsome older man. He'd just had his 79th birthday, and he looked like he could've graduated the same year as Jonathan.
His shiny dress shoes were the only nice things he brought with him from LA. He was already on the plane to Philadelphia when he got the call from Brenda. The only appropriate funeral attire was a wrinkled button-down and black khaki pants, he didn't even bring his good tie. Which Jonathan had assumed was good enough until he saw the others. Scanning the mourners, Jonathan began to realize how severely underdressed he was. Gowns, veils, long silk, intricate lace, and evening gloves adorned the mourners. Even Thomas's sons were dressed sharply. There was something strange about the mourners. Except for Thomas's sons, his father-in-law, and Jonathan; everyone else was a woman.
Brenda's family? Jonathan hadn't met anyone other than Brenda's immediate family a couple of times. Jonathan never stayed long enough to catch all of their names or make meaningful conversations. Everything he knew about Brenda and her life, he knew from Thomas. However, he's positive Brenda has a brother... right?
Definitely. Wolfe. The only person who Thomas couldn't win over. Still, is that a good enough reason to not come to his funeral? But it wasn't just Wolfe, it wasn't just the women. No one, relating to Thomas came.
Well-dressed strangers took to the altar to share a few words of the departed. Kind words, and fond stories. But the man they talked about was not so kind it was borderline naïve. A man who'd extend a helping hand to an enemy and give a bully a second chance. Thomas Ellis, in their eyes, was the Hero of Little Cove. Jonathan loved Thomas, but, that was a little hard to believe.
Thomas's widow was the last who took to the altar, a steady stream of tears rolling down to her chin. Though her make-up was intact.
"My husband... he's been put through the wringer as you all know. I've seen people change when they're sick. A lot of them become cold, angry at the world. Not my Thomas. He was loving until the very end." Brenda's lower lip began quivering Brenda turned to the casket, she put her hands on Thomas's stiff shoulder, and squeezed. "There was so much I didn't get to know about you." Brenda turned away, dabbing tears from her eyes, and made a bee-line for the exit.
Eyes followed Brenda came to Jonathan, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Can I speak with you?" She asked.
"Sure." Jonathan was glad to get out of there and followed behind Brenda. She sat on the bench and pulled out a flask from her clutch. She took a big gulp and then offered some to him.
"I don't drink." Brenda looked him up and down.
"Ever?"
"I don't care for the taste of it. And I don't like to lose control of my body." Brenda considered this as she pulled a cigarette out of its pack with her red satin lips.
"You smoke?"
"Doesn't go well with my asthma." Brenda lit the cigarette, eyeing Jonathan closely. She inhaled deeply, turning her head to exhale the smoke. Despite her consideration, the wind blew it back in Jonathan's direction. He didn't mind it, it was ironic, but he liked the smell of cigarette smoke - reminded him of his mother.
"I didn't think you would come, Jon." She said, smoke slithering from her mouth. "Given you're such a hot shot Detective in Los Angeles. One would think you'd be too busy to come out here."
"Thomas was my friend, I would never miss this," Jonathan said. But he couldn't say the same for Thomas's family. His father and his brother were still alive. The last time Jonathan spoke to Thomas, he and his brother were on good terms - what happened?
"Sad isn't it? Thomas's family not coming." Said Brenda. "Though we can't dwell on that. You and I have bigger problems.
"We do? What problem may that be?" Brenda crossed her legs. Jonathan waited for her to speak, but she appeared to be waiting. Chatter from inside the funeral home grew louder as the mourners began exiting. Brenda was surrounded in seconds, she received warmth and compassion, as if hugs and kisses would heal her from grieving. If only it was that easy. Jonathan moved out of the way to let them pass. Untrusting eyes still watching him. Perhaps he didn't belong here.
It was just Brenda and Jonathan again. "I'm glad you came because you're the only one who can help me." She closed the distance between them and lowered her voice. "My husband was murdered, Jon." Jonathan's body went rigid as coldness slithered down his spine. He couldn't see that, who would kill Thomas?
Nigel and Gabriel, Thomas's sons were the last to leave the building with their grandfather. Jonathan held his tongue in front of the teenage boys.
"Uncle Jon?" They both gave him a brief hug. "How long are you staying in Little Cove." Asked Gabriel.
"For a little while. I'll come over and visit you guys when I get situated."
"We're not home." Said Nigel bleakly. "We're staying with Grandpa's." Octavius shook Jonathan's hand firmly, he flashed the whitest and warmest smile at him. A smile free from sadness.
"Nice to see you, son. I just wish it was under better circumstances." He said. "You know you're always welcome to stop by. A friend of Thomas is a friend to us."
"Thank you, sir. Mind if I stop by a little later?"
"Of course, of course. I want to hear all about what it's like being a detective in a flashy city like Los Angeles." Is that all people know about me? He thought. "Come on, boys. You're mother's going to meet us at the cemetery." Gabriel and Nigel both kissed their mother on the cheek before obeying their Grandfather. Jonathan waved at the boys as they climbed into Octavius's white truck. When they pulled off he said;
"Murdered? Are you sure?"
"I know it. Like I knew you'd need proof." She reached into her clutch pulling out a piece of napkin. It was thick with monogrammed letters in the center of it; M. V. G. Jonathan unfolded it, it was a note. "I found this in his pocket the night before he died. I didn't have the time to bring it up to him." The note sent chills down his spine. 'I'm watching you.' was all it said.
"Did you take this to the police with this?" Brenda bit down on her lower lip, biting back the tears.
"They... they laughed at me. Told me that it was natural for grieving widows to 'fabricate' stories to make sense of things." Brenda lit another cigarette between trembling fingers. Her shaking came from her anger, which was clear. He understood her anger. If he'd laughed in the face of a grieving widow, he would have been suspended. Even if it was all in her head. Jonathan studied the note.
"I need more evidence." He said. "This is definitely... creepy, but I'd need more to build an investigation." Brenda pursed her lips, putting out the partly smoked cigarette. "And, I can't do much, I... I'm retiring." Jonathan sat beside Brenda.
"What if there's compensation?" Jonathan shook his head. He'd already turned in the towel as a detective. Even had a themed retirement party. Regardless of his departure coming a month or two too late. He was done with it. Jonathan came down to this funeral for closure, bitter, painful closure that is. But he was fine with accepting it. Putting a microscope on Thomas's death would open things up that Jonathan would rather leave shut.
Yet, guilt spoke louder for him. As he watched Brenda huff down cigarette smoke, remembered it being her who sent Jonathan pictures of cancerous lungs when he had the nicotine bug. If he were to take this on, it would only be to give her some kind of closure.
"Look, I'm not saying I'll find anything, but I will look into this." Brenda gasped, wrapping her thin arms around his neck.
"Thank you, Jon. I knew I could trust you." She said. It felt good to appease her. But that's the tricky thing about guilt; it helped soothe Brenda now. What'll happen when Jonathan comes up with nothing?