Free Deadly Fall by Susan Calder Page B

Together,” by Blue Rodeo. That was the name of the familiar song.
    Kenneth, the ex-husband, took his place in the third row. The tall, thin gray-haired women flanking him must be his mother and sister. Anne and her husband were behind him. Sam remained in the aisle talking with his son. Both had the straight posture common to short men used to looking up at others. They were joined by an obese man, who patted Dimitri on the back and spoke animatedly, using elaborate hand flourishes.
    Blue Rodeo merged into an operatic piece. Callie and Kenneth used to buy season’s tickets to the opera. Sam couldn’t stand opera, she had said.
    Wendy’s shrill voice jolted her. “Which one is Sam, the new husband?”
    â€œHe’s the short one talking with Felix Schoen, the journalist,” Bev said.
    â€œCripes,” Wendy said. “Felix sure has packed on the pounds. That scruffy gray hair makes him look like a street person.”
    Callie had mentioned Felix often, but, for some reason, Paula hadn’t met him. He was a good friend of both Callie and Sam. They had lived with him while their Riverdale house was being gutted.
    â€œI don’t get out to the charity parties these days,” Janice said. “Is that how you know Sam?”
    â€œI did the interiors for a building he designed,” Bev said. “We always work with the architect.”
    â€œWhat’s he like?”
    â€œAll architects are the same,” Bev said, “in love with their own importance.”
    Callie had said something similar about Dimitri, the politician.
    The memorial card’s right inside page contained the order of service and the names of the pallbearers. Callie’s brother, Tony, her son, Cameron, friend Felix, husbands, Kenneth and Sam, and Dimitri, Sam’s son. Evidently, women weren’t strong enough to wheel a casket down the aisle. Or would it be an urn? Would the casket or urn be brought in or was it hidden behind the people at the front?
    The memorial card said the Reverend Ellen Lavigne was officiating at the service. There would be two Bible readings and some music. The memorial card’s back page concluded with a Shakespeare poem.
    This was going to be hard. Bev’s babbling and perfume made Paula gag. A woman in ministerial robes entered from a side door, spoke to the gathering at the front of the church and stepped up to the pulpit. The crowd parted, revealing a trolley supporting a cherry wood box. Candles and flowers decked the altar behind it. The box was about a foot wide and eight inches high, Callie’s urn.
    The reverend waited for the buzz to subside. Callie’s children took their seats in the front pew. The gray-haired couple settling beside them would be Dorothy and Tony, Callie’s sister and brother, who must be roughly the ages of their parents when they died. Now, they were burying their baby sister. The redhead next to Tony said something to Dimitri, who moved to the aisle spot to make room for Isabelle and Sam.
    Rows of heads bowed. A few pews ahead of her, Felix Schoen’s large heaving shoulders suggested he was crying. The church was full. Paula looked back to see if anyone was standing. A man in the last row across the aisle nodded at her. She turned away, feeling guilty for having been caught, although the man was also ignoring the prayer. He was about thirty years old with a shaved head and beard stubble. She spun around. Detective Michael Vincelli smiled.
    She hadn’t recognized him in this different context. Did detectives normally attend the funeral of a murder victim whose case they were investigating? It made sense that they would. From the back pew, Vincelli could observe Callie’s family, friends, and associates for suspicious behavior, such as her checking out the crowd rather than praying.
    â€œI didn’t know Callie long,” Reverend Lavigne said. “She joined our church a year ago and was a blessing to the