Free Nursery Crimes by Ayelet Waldman Page B

movie star, the father of a student at Heart’s Song, wiped away tears as he told us how Abigail Hathaway had helped his daughter through the difficult period of her parents’ moderately notorious divorce.
    After the movie star sat down, the pulpit remained empty for a few moments. Suddenly, with a toss of salt-and-pepper curls, Daniel Mooney rose from his seat. He stepped up to the pulpit with a long, loose stride and lifted his arms to the assembly.
    “I embrace you. I embrace you and thank you for your love, for your support, for your memories of our dearest Abigail.
    “I see that some of you are crying. Don’t cry for her. Life is simply an illusion. The tears you shed are for yourselves, for us all. For we are here in the time-space of earthly life and she has gone forward, gone upward to the realm of complete being. She has gone home.
    “If you grieve for Abigail you will hold her back from that place. You will hold her back from the light. Celebrate for her. Be joyful for her. Let your joy propel her ethereal body to the home we all crave.”
    Daniel Mooney blathered on in this manner for a good half hour and actually succeeded in drying up all the tears that might have been shed for his wife. Periodically during his oration, he would pause dramatically and sweep his hair off his forehead with a flourish of thumb and ring finger. And, he never, not once, looked down at his stepdaughter, sitting alone in the front pew, isolated and abandoned in her misery. By the time he finally sat down, I had found another suspect in Abigail Hathaway’s death.
    The minister led us in a final hymn, then stepped down off his pulpit and led the dead woman’s husband and daughter out of the chapel. Once they had walked down the aisle, the rest of us stood up to leave. Stacy turned to me and said, “Do you want to grab something to eat? I don’t have to be back at the office for an hour or so.”
    “Who, me? Eat? Never,” I replied.
    As we made our way through the crowd, Stacy stopped every few feet to greet another one of her acquaintances.
    “Hello! Tragic, isn’t it?” she said. And again.
    “How
are
you? Isn’t this just awful?” And yet again.
    “Hi. So sad. Isn’t it just so sad?”
    I was impressed at her capacity to sound both genuinely grief-stricken and happy to see someone at the same time. We finally reached the door and walked out into the bright, dry sunlight. Making our way to the curb, we waved our claim checks in the direction of the parking attendants and waited for our cars. Just then, a young woman with a long, brown braid down her back and red-rimmed eyes touched Stacy’s shoulder.
    “Oh, Stacy. I’m so glad you came. Is Zachary okay? Does he know?” she asked.
    “Maggie! Dear, sweet Maggie! Zack’s fine, he’s doing great. I told him about Abigail, but he doesn’t really understand. How are
you
holding up?”
    “Um, I don’t know. I’m like, totally in shock. You know, we were together until just before it happened,” the young woman said, her eyes welling up with tears.
    That caught my attention. I immediately butted in on the conversation.
    “You poor thing,” I said. “You saw her right before she died?”
    Stacy shot me a warning glance.
    “
Juliet.
This is Maggie Franks. She’s one of the teachers in the Billy Goat room. Maggie, this is my friend Juliet Applebaum.”
    I reached out my hand and shook Maggie’s limp one.
    “Did you know Abigail?” she asked.
    “No, not really,” I replied. “I just came to keep Stacy company.”
    Stacy snorted derisively. I hurriedly continued, “We were heading out for some lunch. Would you care to join us?”
    Maggie looked at me gratefully. “You know, I think I would. Mr. Mooney isn’t having any kind of reception today, and I really don’t feel like being alone right now.”
    Stacy, who had been glaring at me incredulously, politely seconded my invitation and we arranged to meet at Babaloo, a little restaurant nearby. We retrieved