Ceremony in Death (In Death #5)(2)

“He thought of you that way. So do I.” While she blinked at him, Feeney squared his hunched shoulders. “Let’s talk to Sally and the kids.”

They slipped through the crowd jammed together in a room oppressed with dark simulated wood, heavy red draperies, and the funereal smell of too many flowers crammed into too small a space.

Eve wondered why viewings of the dead were always accompanied by flowers and draping sheets of red. What ancient ceremony did it spring from, and why did the human race continue to cling to it?

She was certain that when her time came, she wouldn’t choose to be laid out for study by her loved ones and associates in an overheated room where the pervasive scent of flowers was reminiscent of rot.

Then she saw Sally, supported by her children and her children’s children, and realized such rites were for the living. The dead were beyond caring.

“Ryan.” Sally held out her hands — small, almost fairy-like hands — and lifted her cheek to Feeney’s. She held there a moment, her eyes closed, her face pale and quiet.

She was a slim, soft-spoken woman who Eve had always thought of as delicate. Yet a cop’s spouse who had survived the stress of the job for more than forty years had to have steel. Against her plain black dress she wore her husband’s twenty-five-year NYPSD ring on a chain.

Another rite, Eve thought. Another symbol.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Sally murmured.

“I’ll miss him. We’ll all miss him.” Feeney patted her back awkwardly before drawing away. Grief was in his throat, choking him. Swallowing it only lodged it cold and heavy in his gut. “You know if there’s anything…”

“I know.” Her lips curved slightly, and she gave his hand a quick and comforting squeeze before turning to Eve. “I appreciate you coming, Dallas.”

“He was a good man. A solid cop.”

“Yes, he was.” Recognizing it as high tribute, Sally managed a smile. “He was proud to serve and protect. Commander Whitney and his wife are here, and Chief Tibble. And so many others.” Her gaze drifted blindly around the room. “So many. He mattered, Frank mattered.”

“Of course he did, Sally.” Feeney shifted from foot to foot. “You, ah, know about the Survivor’s Fund.”

She smiled again, patted his hand. “We’re fine there. Don’t worry. Dallas, I don’t think you really know my family. Lieutenant Dallas, my daughter Brenda.”

Short, with rounded curves, Eve noted as they clasped hands. Dark hair and eyes, a bit heavy in the chin. Took after her father.

“My son Curtis.”

Slim, small boned, soft hands, eyes that were dry but dazed with grief.

“My grandchildren.”

There were five of them, the youngest a boy of about eight with a pug nose dashed with freckles. He eyed Eve consideringly. “How come you’ve got your zapper on?”

Flustered, Eve tugged her jacket over her side arm. “I came straight from Cop Central. I didn’t have time to go home and change.”

“Pete.” Curtis shot Eve an apologetic wince. “Don’t bother the lieutenant.”

“If people concentrated more on their personal and spiritual powers, weapons would be unnecessary. I’m Alice.”

A slim blonde in black stepped forward. She’d have been a stunner in any case, Eve mused, but having sprung from such basic stock, she was dazzling. Her eyes were a soft, dreamy blue, her mouth full and lush and unpainted. She wore her hair loose so that it rained straight and glossy over the shoulders of her flowing black dress. A thin silver chain fell to her waist. At the end of it was a black stone ringed in silver.

“Alice, you’re such a zip head.”

She flicked a cool glance over her shoulder toward a boy of about sixteen. But her hands kept fluttering back to the black stone, like elegant birds guarding a nest.

“My brother Jamie,” she said in a silky voice. “He still thinks name-calling deserves a reaction. My grandfather spoke of you, Lieutenant Dallas.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Your husband isn’t with you tonight?”

Eve arched a brow. Not just grief, she deduced, but nerves. It was easy enough to recognize. Signals as well, but they weren’t clear. The girl was after something, she mused. But what?

“No, he’s not.” She shifted her gaze back to Sally. “He sends his sympathies, Mrs. Wojinski. He’s off planet.”

“It must take a great deal of concentration and energy,” Alice interrupted, “to maintain a relationship with a man like Roarke while pursuing a demanding, difficult, even dangerous career. My grandfather used to say that once you had a grip on an investigation, you never let go. Would you say that’s accurate, Lieutenant?”

“If you let go, you lose. I don’t like to lose.” She held Alice’s odd gaze for a moment, then on impulse crouched down and whispered to Pete. “When I was a rookie, I saw your grandfather zap a guy at ten yards. He was the best.” She was rewarded with a quick grin before she straightened. “He won’t be forgotten, Mrs. Wojinski,” she said, offering her hand. “And he mattered very much to all of us.”

She started to step back, but Alice laid a hand on her arm, leaned close. The hand, Eve noted, trembled slightly. “It was interesting meeting you, Lieutenant. Thank you for coming.”