Daisy knew that Grover felt a little better when he left her apartment, but she spent that night tossing, turning, and mulling over his misfortune in her overtired mind.
The next day she was already grumpy when she got to work. She wanted nothing more than to be left alone in peace, but Jude had other ideas. She came to sit across from Daisy in Daisy’s office not long after the work day started.
“What is it, Jude?” Daisy asked, running her hand across her eyes. “I feel that I should warn you--I haven’t slept much and I’m a grouch today.”
“I can’t sleep, either,” said Jude.
“Worried about Mark John?” Daisy asked.
Jude let out a long sigh. “Yeah. I have a little more information.”
“Jude, I have more information, too.” Daisy fixed Jude with a pointed stare.
“You go first,” Jude said.
“Walt, Fiona’s paramour, was murdered last night.”
“Oh, my God.”
“So you obviously hadn’t heard that.” Does Mark John know yet? Daisy wondered.
Jude covered her mouth with her hand as the full implication of Daisy’s news struck her.
“They’re going to think Mark John did it!” Jude cried. Daisy didn’t answer. Jude was probably right. First the cheating wife is murdered, then her boyfriend? It looked as bad for Mark John as it did for Melody.
“Jude, what did you want to tell me?” Daisy asked. She spoke softly, albeit with an effort, knowing Jude was probably becoming more emotionally unglued by the minute.
“What?” Jude asked crossly. “Oh. Yeah. I came in to tell you that Fiona’s funeral is on Saturday. You should probably plan to be there.”
Daisy nodded. I didn’t even know the woman, she thought. “Are you going?” she asked.
Jude looked down at her fingers, which were intertwined in her lap. “I would rather not. She wasn’t exactly my favorite person.”
“Why? Because she was Mark John’s wife?”
“Yes.” Jude looked away, her eyes downcast.
“I suppose I can represent both of us,” Daisy said.
“Thanks.”
Funerals made Daisy nervous. The last one she had attended was Dean’s, and it had been horrible. Overwhelming, sad beyond any words, and emotionally draining. And that was before she knew she was a suspect in his death. She knew Fiona’s funeral was unlikely to have that same effect, but still. It was a funeral.
Daisy woke up Saturday morning with a headache. A tension headache, no doubt. She was anxious about the funeral. At Dean’s funeral, there had been lots of rude whisperings about his cause of death--this funeral was sure to be different since the victim had obviously been murdered. The whisperings would be about who did it. Daisy didn’t care to listen to whispering or gossiping or conversation of any kind.
She had made plans to have lunch with Grover after the funeral, so at least she looked forward to that, but even the thought of Grover made her anxious. The more time that went by without an arrest in Walt’s murder, the longer Grover could potentially be considered by the police as a suspect in the crime.
She rolled out of bed, took a shower, and tried to do something to hide the gray bags under her eyes. Her efforts were in vain. Eventually she pulled on a gray dress to match the bags and hailed a taxi to take her to the funeral home.
She was surprised by the number of people milling about. She wasn’t surprised that she only knew two of them--Mark John and Brian.
Mark John was greeting mourners who had come to pay their last respects. He hugged the women and shook hands gravely with the men. Every so often he would take a tissue out of his pocket and blow his nose, but he managed to remain calm.
Not so with Brian, who was crying at the back of the vestibule in the funeral home. A woman Daisy assumed was his wife stood next to him, her hand on his forearm.
Daisy didn’t want to approach either man, but Mark John saw her and walked over to her.
“Thank you for coming, Daisy. I appreciate it. I’m sure Brian does, too.”
“It was the least I could do, Mark John. I’m so sorry for your loss. And I’m sorry I never had a chance to meet Fiona.”
Mark John nodded, his eyes vacant, and let out a long breath.
“Funerals are awful, aren’t they?” he asked, looking around. “They’re filled with people one doesn’t know very well and it’s hard to be authentic.”
“I know what you mean,” Daisy said. “Brian doesn’t seem to be doing very well.”
Mark John turned around quickly to glance at his brother-in-law. “He’s an emotional guy. But he’ll be okay. That’s his wife with him. She’ll make sure he’s all right. Listen, Daisy, I have to talk to the funeral director before the service starts.”
“Sure. See you later.”
Mark John left and Daisy stood at the back of the room where the service was to be held. It was a large room and seats were starting to fill up. She was about to find a seat when there was a tap on her shoulder.
“Hi, Daisy. Thanks for coming.” It was Brian, and he had stopped crying, at least temporarily.
“Oh, Brian, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Daisy said, reaching to shake his hand. His grip was weak and clammy; Daisy had to fight the urge to wipe her hand down the front of her dress.
“Thank you. So tragic. This is my wife, Stacey,” he said, indicating the woman standing with him.
Daisy shook Stacey’s hand and stood back to let them pass through the doorway and down into the first row of seats reserved for family. Daisy noted that only Brian and Stacey were seated in the front row. Mark John would no doubt be joining them, bringing the total number of family members to three. That in itself was very sad. At least at Dean’s funeral Daisy had been surrounded by his brothers and sisters and parents. Today she sat alone in the back row of seats.
The service was short and lovely. The sounds of sniffling were all around Daisy, though she could not bring herself to shed any tears for the woman she hadn’t known. Mark John, Brian, and Stacey were the first ones to leave the large room for the receiving line in the vestibule, and Daisy waited her turn, letting all the other mourners file out before her.
She was the last person to shake hands with Mark John and Brian. While she waited in line, she had noticed they were not looking at each other. In fact, they were standing stiffly side-by-side, taking obvious care not to glance in the other’s direction.
Something wasn’t right.