CHAPTER 9

I stood on the outer fringe of mourners as Stevie’s body was lowered into his grave. Over everyone’s heads, I could see Sue Ellen sitting in a metal folded chair beside her two girls--pretty, like Sue Ellen was at their age--and Tony standing on her other side. Sue Ellen held the hand of the child sitting nearest her, most likely her eldest daughter, probably fourteen, although she could have been older, tightly in her lap. It might have been my imagination or perhaps just a result of the way I was feeling about Tony at the moment, but it seemed that at one point he reached his hand over to rest it on Sue Ellen’s shoulder and she imperceptibly shifted her body to slide out from under it.

The service ended and I remained back as the crowd lined up and moved along to offer their condolences to the family. Any thought I might have had about joining the line was quelched by the sight of the large man from the church service standing quietly behind the family with his eyes fixed upon me, a slight sneer on his lips. At one point, Sue Ellen looked up my way and tilted her head slightly, as if wondering why I wasn’t coming forward. Then she looked over at Tony, busy shaking hands with someone I didn’t recognize, then over her shoulder at that sneering big guy and then back toward me. She seemed to nod in understanding, although I might have been seeing things that weren’t really there.

I couldn’t believe what I was doing, letting those two keep me from speaking with Sue Ellen. Sneer be damned, I was going to go up to her. And I would have, really, if at just that moment Tim hadn’t come over to me, along with three other guys who, after a moment, I recognized as Denny Lucas, Bob Keith, and Dom D’Annunzio. We had all hung out with Stevie back in the day, and they might have been the only ones at the funeral, besides Sue Ellen of course, who really knew him. By the time we had all shook hands and I answered their initial questions about how I was and I had told them about my car to explain why I was dressed the way I was, I looked up and saw that Tony was leading Sue Ellen away from the grave toward their limousine. As I watched, she stopped for a moment and turned back to look first at the grave and then up at me. Tony turned as well, and when he saw she was looking my way, turned her back in the direction of the car, a little too forcibly for my tastes, made a comment to her that I’m sure was at my expense, and walked her away.

“Any chance you’ve come to get your old job back at the Chronicle? Maybe you can take over for old Hoppy now that you’ve had all that big city experience,” Denny said, bringing me back into the conversation. Denny had been a pretty good athlete in his day, and I was always sort of amazed that he had hung with us back in high school. Of course, his sport was gymnastics, at which he excelled, but that probably wasn’t macho enough for the guys like Danny Sullivan and his jock friends. Denny still looked good, tanned, and confident. It turns out he had done pretty well starting an exercise club in East Hastings and now had three others in the county.

“Now why would Wes want to get on board a dying ship? The Chronicle’s become nothing more than a tabloid, running down the accomplishments of this town with its stories about thieves running amok and murderers. It may have had its day, but times are changing. Wes probably has big plans,” Bob said, taking my hand and shaking it firmly. “Of course, if you are thinking of settling down, I’ve got a few places listed that would be perfect for you.”

Bob had started selling houses right after college and, from all appearances, was doing pretty well. He was heavy and with a notable stomach, but he was wearing suspenders over his pressed white shirt so there wasn’t a roll hanging over the waist. His well-fitting, I would guess tailored, black wool-blended suit hung well on his frame. His yellow tie was still knotted tightly at his neck, although I think the heat was beginning to get to him a bit, sweat forming around his collar. He wore a yellow gold Oyster Rolex watch on his left wrist, which I noticed when he pulled a neatly folded handkerchief from his suit coat’s right inside pocket and dabbed at the beads of sweat on his forehead and back of his neck.

“Well, I have no plans of working at, let alone taking over, the Chronicle. Hoppy is a great editor, no one could run it like him. I’m just here to pay my last respects and then move on,” I continued. “Been thinking about checking out points south, never been south.”

“Wait a minute,” said Dom, turning to Tim. “I thought you said Wes was thinking about looking into Stevie’s murder, and we were supposed to convince him to do it.”

Ah, good old Dom, He was always honest, even if he had a habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. The thing about Dom was that, on the surface, he didn’t appear to be anything really special, average height, a little bulky, and he’d never been--and there was no use arguing the point--the sharpest tack in the carpet. But he was just such a good guy. People trusted him, they liked him, and he treated everybody, and I mean everybody, straight up.

“That’s not what I said, Dom,” Tim quickly interjected, giving me a quick look of mea culpa before turning back to Dom. “I said that Wes was coming down for Stevie’s funeral and that, if he had any questions about the murder, we should tell him what we know.”

“Well, whatever you said, I think it’s a good idea,” Dom said to Tim. “Nobody else is doin’ nothin’. It ain’t like you’re gonna find Stevie’s killer sitting up there in your ivied tower.”

Sometimes, I now remembered, it took a moment or two to decipher exactly what Dom was talking about.

“Ivied Towers,” Bob guffawed. “You’re mixing up ivory tower which means out of touch and ivied walls, which sometimes means a college. There’s no such thing as an ivied tower.”

“And besides that there is not a speck of ivy at East Hastings University,” Denny joined in.

“Ah, you know what I mean. Bob sells houses, I sell plumbing supplies, Denny’s got his clubs, and Tim’s teaching all day. What do we know about getting to the truth about Stevie? Wes does. He did it before.”

There was a bit of silence. I checked out the neatly mowed grass at my feet.

“Hey, if Wes wants to go, who are we to stop him?” Bob finally said. “In the meantime, it’s getting a little hot out here for me and I’ve built up a bit of an appetite, standing around out here in the fresh air,” he added, patting his ample belly, “and think it’s about time we headed over to Tony and Sue Ellen’s place. It’s air conditioned and I heard Costello’s is catering.”

“Well, er, I--” I started.

“Actually,” Tim said, giving me a look that let me know he’d handle everything, “I didn’t really see anyone other than Sue Ellen that I wanted to talk to, so I thought Wes and I would just pick up a case of beer and head out to one of the places we used to hang with Stevie, kinda hold our own private wake. You guys are welcome to come.”

Good old Tim. Not only did he save me the embarrassment of telling the others that I was persona non-grata at Sue Ellen’s, but he actually came up with a much more favorable alternative.

“That sounds like a good idea. How about the old spot out at the Kithane?” Dom replied. “I haven’t been out to the Kithane in years.”

“Sounds good,” said Denny.

We all looked at Bob. It was obvious he was weighing the offer against what was sure to be an opulent spread at Tony and Sue Ellen’s gathering.

“Okay--okay. I guess I’m in, but we also have to stop and pick up some hoagies to go with the beer. I’m starving.”

“Great,” said Tim. “Let me run over and tell Ellen. Denny, do you think her and the kids can get a ride over to Sue Ellen’s with Holly? That way I can drive us in the CRV.”

“Sure. I’ll go make sure she doesn’t mind,” Denny answered.

“Yeah, I’ll let Marcie know,” added Dom, “she probably won’t mind, seeing as it’s Wes.” He smiled at me. “Of course, you’ll have to come over to the house for a dinner before heading off to wherever you’re going. I know she wants to catch up.”

“I’ll get my car and follow you over,” said Bob.

And with that they all headed off to their families, who I could see were waiting impatiently by their respective cars. Left alone, I walked over at last to Stevie’s grave.

Workers were dismantling the tent that covered the immediate grave area and were rolling up the green tarp that had surrounded the grave. Nearby a small bulldozer idled, waiting to push the nearby pile of dirt over Stevie’s coffin.

I slid a single rose out from one of the many floral arrangements left behind by the mourners and stood over the grave, looking down at the box that held Stevie’s body.

On a small brass plate on the lid of the casket was Stevie’s date of birth and his death and a quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Do not go where the path may lead,

go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.

“‘Don’t go where the path may lead.’ That’s you in a nutshell, Stevie. I’m so sorry I didn’t keep in touch. I don’t know if it would have mattered, but at least--”

I stopped, the words catching in my throat, and a single, salty tear rolled down my cheek and over my lip. I looked up and noticed the workers had stopped to watch me.

“You guys take good care of this grave. He was a pretty good man, all in all,” I said to them.

They turned and went back to work.

I threw the rose into the grave. “I really wish there was something I could--” I caught myself again. Sometimes words were just so worthless.