Chapter 55

Icky’s funeral was a notable affair—sort of like Woodstock, without the mud. Of course, everyone was dressed in black. Black T-shirts. Black leather. And a sprinkling of traditional black suits and dresses, worn by the minister, the Murphys, and their friends.

The day was exceptionally hot. The mourners were sweating profusely, which, somehow, substituted for tears. It was a graveside ceremony; people brought blankets to sit on, hampers stuffed with good things to eat and drink, and other goodies such as Icky himself might have enjoyed.

Jay Miller, Icky’s friend since kindergarten, got things rolling with a Hendrix-inspired version of “Taps” played on solo electric guitar.

Then a young woman gave a soulful rendition of “Amazing Grace,” a cappella.

This was followed by “Amazing Grace” on the bagpipes. The inexperienced piper had trouble managing his breath, so the music came out in a herky-jerky, barely recognizable fashion, and some of the mourners started hooting.

Next, a bluegrass combo started in on an interminable version of “Will the Circle Be Unbroken?” on fiddle, banjo, and washboard. By now the crowd had moved beyond restive; they were downright hostile.

This was the moment when Icky’s father decided to take control of things. “Why don’t you all go home, you freeloading degenerates?”

Icky’s friends had learned to ignore Dr. Murphy long ago and they responded with obscenities and threats. Someone threw a half-eaten cheeseburger at him. As Dr. Murphy retreated, the band segued into a bluegrass version of “Danny Boy.” The mob roared its approval and tried to sing along.

Standing in the back, Chief Black whispered to Bruno, “If this gets any worse, somebody’s going to have to call the cops.”

Bruno was sulking. There was no sign of Alison. He hadn’t wanted to drive in from Tabernacle, but the Chief had convinced him she might show up.

“Could that be her over there?” the Chief indicated the direction with a nod of his head. “The woman in the gypsy costume?”

Bruno squinted. The sweat was getting in his eyes and this was about the half-dozenth time the Chief had thought he’d spotted her. “That’s no gypsy,” Bruno explained. “It’s Alison’s mother, impersonating Janis Joplin.”

Now it was Joe Kennedy’s turn to give a personal remembrance of his friend. He couched his remarks in terms of a drug deal, praising Icky’s character because he “paid his dues” and “gave good weight.”

Dr. Murphy razzed him repeatedly as an “insipid lout,” a “characterless reprobate,” and a “drug-crazed Neanderthal,” until finally Mrs. Murphy managed to pull him off to the side, where the two argued with some intensity.

Some of Icky’s high school teachers said they regretted the fact that he had dropped out because he never fulfilled his potential. This produced a round of snickers from the recent graduates.

Finally, Mr. Joyce, the Unitarian Minister, got up to deliver his eulogy. He announced that he’d taken his inspiration from the plaque on the side of the building where Newton (Icky) had spent his last conscious moments. It seems that back in 1777, one Jonas Cattell had performed a heroic feat, not far from the spot of the tragic fire. Young Jonas had escaped the captivity of His Majesty’s minions and run a distance of 10 miles to alert the commander at Fort Mercer that the Hessians were coming; the attack would come by land, not by the river, and he must turn his guns around. By this effort, Jonas Cattell enabled a revolutionary American army of only 300 to defeat a force of 1,600 mercenaries.

Why did he mention this? Icky could not have run 10 blocks, Mr. Joyce conceded, let alone 10 miles …

—“Yeah, but he could do 10 lines faster than anyone,” a voice interrupted, much to the mourners’ delight.

Mr. Joyce gracefully acknowledged the witticism before continuing, “… and certainly, he was no soldier. Yet like Jonas Cattell, Icky was 18 years old. And he was also fighting long odds.”

“I know his middle name was Ichabod,” Mr. Joyce continued, his voice resonating as he neared his conclusion. “But I like to think of him as Icarus. He was the fair-haired boy who flew too close to the sun. He singed his wings and fell to his death: senseless, tragic, and premature. But what a glorious figure he cut while soaring so high!”

Somehow these words silenced the hecklers. They knew it was utter nonsense, but at the same time, it was the right thing to say about Icky. It was exactly what they would have wanted said about themselves, if they had come to ruin due to their own stupidity.

As the crowd dispersed, Bruno and the Chief walked off together, scanning the crowd for Alison in disguise. No luck. She’d skipped the funeral.

The Chief quickly brought Bruno up to date. The manila envelopes Alison was using to send in her homework had all been postmarked “Gardenfield.” The only identifiable prints were those of Alison and Professor Barker. Chief Black had the force pulling extra shifts so they could stake out the post office and keep an eye on as many mail boxes as possible. He also had Harry researching the possibility of putting different types of ultraviolet powder in some mailboxes to try to narrow down where the envelopes were being mailed from.