After Sam returned home, she showered and changed clothes and then she, Alyss, and Shelby drove to the church, arriving just before the 4 o’clock service for Lloyd Varney. It appeared as though the entire town was there.
Over a background of sniffs and suppressed sobs from the gathered mourners, Reverend Phillip Blaine offered a heartrending eulogy from the church pulpit and then led the congregation to the adjacent cemetery where he stood quietly, as Lloyd’s casket descended into the ground. Billy, scrubbed and dressed in a suit and tie, clutched Louise’s hand, tears soaking his cheeks and beard.
Afterwards, everyone remained frozen in stunned silence as if unsure what to do or say. Slowly, the crowd dispersed. Sam, Alyss, and Shelby offered their condolences and prayers to Louise and then headed for the gate that led from the cemetery grounds.
An elderly couple walked toward them. The woman held the man’s right arm as if helping him balance. His gait was more a shuffle, his left leg dragging behind him as if it were afterthought. His left arm, thin, with pale, parchment-like skin and freckled with brown liver spots, protruded from his blue short-sleeved shirt. Flexed at the elbow and again at the wrist, it lay across his chest, the hand balled into a useless fist that seemed to clutch at his heart.
As he neared them, he smiled. At least the right half of his face did; the left frozen in a plastic stare. He looked like a living drama mask; one side smiling, the other crying. His eyes sparkled pleasantly.
“Hello, Dr. Locke,” Alyss said. “Martha.” She nodded to the woman and then introduced everyone.
“Nice to meet you.” Sam said.
“Our pleasure,” Martha said. She had soft gray hair and even softer eyes. “You’re the one that found Lloyd, aren’t you?”
Sam nodded.
“Terrible thing,” she continued. “A nice man and a good friend.”
They stood in awkward silence for a second until Alyss spoke. “Dr. Locke is our resident genius. He was nominated for a Nobel Prize once.”
“Really?” Sam said.
“Long ago,” he said.
“What field?” Sam asked.
“Medicine. I didn’t win though.”
“Still, to be nominated is a great honor.”
“You’re very kind,” he said.
Sam’s brain made the connection. “You ran Burt Eagan’s lab.”
He nodded.
“We saw it on our ride the yesterday,” Alyss said. “A low, concrete structure? Down by silver Creek?”
“That’s the one,” Edgar said. “I worked there for a little over a year. Until my stroke. After that, I was unable to continue, so Burt had to shut it down. I don’t know whether he ever found anyone else or not.”
Sam shook her head. “Burt said it wasn’t operational.”
“That’s too bad. I hoped he would get it up and running again. We had some very interesting experiments underway.”
Sam marveled at this man. Despite his frail body with its withered arm and leg, its half frozen face, his eyes were bright and clear and his mind quick. It was as if what the stroke took from him physically, it returned mentally.
Martha smiled apologetically. “We’d better be going. Edgar’s stamina isn’t what it used to be.” They said their goodbyes and turned down the sidewalk toward town.
Sam watched them go. “Impressive man. I don’t think I’ve ever met a Noble nominee.”