"Marci loved red," Jaine said, smiling at Luna and reaching for her hand. "I wish I had thought of it." Luna's lips trembled. "I wanted to send her off in style. This isn't in bad taste, is it?"
"Are you kidding? It's great. Everyone who knew Marci will understand, and if they didn't know Marci, then they don't matter."
Roger Bernsen was there, trying to blend in. He didn't do it very well, but he was trying. He didn't come over to speak, but then, they weren't here to socialize. They moved around, studying the crowd, listening to conversations. There were several blond men in attendance, but Sam carefully studied each one of them and none seemed to be paying any special attention to Jaine or the others. Most of them were with their wives. The killer could be married, he knew, and live a very normal life on the surface, but unless he was a stone-cold serial killer he would show some kind of emotion when faced with his handiwork, and his other targets.
Sam didn't think they were dealing with that land of killer; the attacks were too personal, and too emotional, like someone out of control.
He continued to watch all during the graveside service, which was mercifully brief. The heat was already stifling, though Cheryl had scheduled the service as early as possible to avoid the worst part of the day. He caught Bernsen's eye, and Roger slowly shook his head. He hadn't spotted anything either. Everything was being taped, and they would watch the film later, to see if there was anything they had missed, but Sam didn't think there was. Damn it, he'd been certain the killer would attend.
Cheryl was weeping a little, but mostly keeping it under control. Sam saw Jaine blot her eyes with the edge of a folded tissue: more female strategy to preserve the makeup. He didn't think his sisters knew all these tricks. A pretty, slender woman in a black dress approached Cheryl and was extending her condolences when she suddenly broke down and collapsed in Cheryl's startled arms, sobbing. "I just can't believe it," she wept. "The office isn't the same without her."
T.J. and Luna moved closer to Jaine, both of them eyeing the woman with "what's going on?" expressions. Sam walked over, too. People were grouping in clusters, politely ignoring the emotional storm, so he wouldn't be conspicuous doing the same thing.
"I might have known Leah would play this for all she's worth," T.J. muttered in disgust. "She's a drama queen," she added, for Sam's benefit. "She's in my department, and she does this on a regular basis. Give her something the least bit upsetting and she turns it into a tragedy." Jaine was watching the display in disbelief, her eyes wide. She shook her head and said mournfully, "The wheel's still going around, but her hamster's dead."
T.J. choked on a bark of laughter and tried to turn it into a cough. She quickly turned her back, her face red as she tried to control herself. Luna was biting her lower lip, but a snicker broke through and she, too, had to turn her back to the scene. Sam covered his mouth with his hand, but his shoulders were shaking. Maybe people would think he was crying.
A red dress! The bitch wore a red dress. Corin couldn't believe his eyes. That was so shameful, so cheap. He wouldn't have believed it of her, and he was so shocked it was all he could do to keep his hands off her. Mother would be horrified.
Women like that didn't deserve to live. None of them did. They were dirty, filthy whores, and he would be doing the world a favor by getting rid of them.
Luna sighed with relief when she finally stepped into her apartment and could lock off her high heels. Her feet were killing her, but looking good for Marci was worth the pain. She would do it all again if she had to, but she was glad she didn't.
Now that the funeral was over, she felt numb, exhausted. The wake had helped immensely; talking about Marci, laughing, crying, had been a catharsis that had allowed her to get through the day. The funeral itself, the ritual, was its own comfort. Her dad had told her that military funerals, with all the pomp and protocol and the precisely orchestrated movements, were a comfort to the families. The rituals said: This person counted. This person was respected. And the services were sort of an emotional marker, a point at which the grieving could honor the dead and yet have a starting place for the rest of their lives. It was funny how they had all connected to Cheryl. It was like having Marci, but different, because Cheryl was definitely her own person. It would be nice to stay in touch with her.
Luna twisted her arms to reach the back zipper of her dress, and had it half unzipped when someone rang her doorbell.
She froze, sudden panic freezing her veins. Oh, my God. He was out there, she knew it. He had followed her home. He knew she was here alone.
She edged toward the phone, as if he could see through the door and know what she was doing. Would he break it down? He had broken into Jaine's house, by knocking out a pane of glass, but was he strong enough to break down a door? She had never even thought to find out if her door was reinforced, or a simple wooden door.
"Luna?" The voice was puzzled, low. "It's Leah. Leah Street. Are you okay?"
"Leah?" she said weakly, relief making her dizzy. She bent over at the waist, breathing deeply to fight off the shakes. "I tried to catch up with you, but you were in too much of a hurry," Leah called.
Yes, she had been. She had been desperate to get home and out of those shoes.
"Just a minute, I was about to change clothes." Why on earth was Leah here? she wondered as she crossed to the door and unchained it. Before she unlocked it, however, she put her eye to the peephole to make certain it was Leah, though she knew she had recognized the voice.
It was Leah, looking sad and tired, and suddenly Luna felt guilty about the way they had laughed at her at the funeral. She couldn't imagine why Leah wanted to talk to her, they had never exchanged more than a few words in passing, but she unlocked the door. "Come in," she invited. "It was miserably hot at the service, wasn't it? Would you like something cold to drink?"