Broken Trust (18 page)

twenty-six

Cold, dry air sent
shivers down Nora’s arms and raised goose bumps on her legs as she hurried along the sidewalk with Petal and Abigail. The church occupied a whole city block just south of the Pearl Street Mall in downtown Boulder. Because snow threatened, they’d parked in a covered public garage several blocks away and now suffered the winds of the cold front as they hurried toward the church. The heavy clouds snuffed out sight of the Flatirons. Nora could have used a sunny day and mountain view to balance the dread of the funeral.

Despite the foul weather, cyclists buzzed by on the streets and an occasional runner dodged them. Students bundled in ski coats and Uggs hurried by with their heads down.

In the cozy warmth of her apartment, her mother’s disapproval of pants versus a dress didn’t seem important. Today, she should have worn the slacks and let Abigail stew. Abigail appeared regal in her appropriate black pencil skirt, pumps
,
and wool coat. At least Nora wore boots and a long skirt against the gusts coming off the mountains.

In their traditional and tasteful funeral wear, Nora and Abigail flanked Petal, dreds a wild mass flowing around her shoulders, her eyes and nose tomato-red and puffy. Petal huddled under layers of everything from yoga pants, an unhemmed denim skirt and the perennial gauze, t-shirts, sweaters, scarves
,
and wraps. Abigail didn’t seem fazed at accompanying Petal in her disheveled homeless fashion.

A tall, black metal fence outlined the church property. The red-brick structure loomed ahead of them, with a bricked courtyard in front, a well-equipped playground to the side, and what was probably a school attached to create a block-long building. They crossed the courtyard and headed for the massive double doors of the chapel. Nora fought the urge to run. So far, Darla’s death felt more like a movie or novel. Attending a funeral made it as real as Scott’s murder. As horrific as Heather’s violent passing.

You can’t hide from death forever. Now is the time to face it down.

Her hands closed on the cold metal handle and she pulled the door open. They entered a posh narthex. Carpeted in muted rust and browns, spotless and perfect in the way of affluence, the room could accommodate a crowd of Sunday worshippers on their way from the chapel. Nora inhaled the heat
and
underlying candle wax and furniture polish, relieved to be out of the coming storm. “It doesn’t seem like anyone is here. Are you sure this is the right place?” she asked Petal.

Petal swiped a sleeve across her nose and sniffed. “Darla didn’t have much family. She didn’t have many friends. Just me.”

Abigail marched across the narthex to more double doors that must lead to the chapel. These stood open. She poked her head inside and hurried back to them. She whispered, “I think this is the place.”

Petal threaded her arm through Nora’s and attached herself to Nora’s side. They made awkward progress through the doors and several steps down the aisle. An older woman sat behind an organ at the back of the altar. She played what sounded like a succession of chords but was probably
a
standard hymn, the elevator music of a conservative church.

Petal raised her head and must have caught her first sight of the simple casket on the altar. She froze, her mouth open in silent despair.

The light wood of the closed casket blended with the pulpit and altar railings. It looked lonely with
only a
few flowers surrounding it. Petal trembled and sucked closer to Nora.

Together they followed Abigail down the aisle. “Do you want to view the casket, dear?” Abigail whispered to Petal.

She answered with a whimper.

A handful of people spread out in the pews about five rows down from the front. Abigail headed toward the altar. Petal reached out and grabbed Abigail’s arm to stop her. Her hand gripped a back pew. As usual, Petal tried to be invisible.

Nora slid into the pew and Abigail let Petal in next to sandwich her.

Nora shrugged out of her coat and surveyed the sparse crowd. She recognized Fay’s blonde tangle next to Bill’s slightly balding pate. Three others sat between Bill and Thomas, with his bushy brown hair. They must be staffers she hadn’t met.

Daniel sat in a middle pew across from Nora. He glanced back and tipped his head in greeting, then sat straight. Nora wouldn’t think he’d be required to attend the funeral of a staffer
,
but it showed a certain decency.

The organ music droned into the chapel. A couple of people picked away on their phones. Apparently, they weren’t close with Darla.

With a jolt, Nora realized she had more than
a
passing familiarity with one of
the
heads two rows back and to the outside of Daniel. She knew the sandy hair and laugh lines around the side of the mouth visible to her.

Cole. What was he doing here?

Nora glared at Abigail. It must be more of her mischief.

A ruckus at the back of the chapel caused several heads to turn. Mark and Sylvia entered amid a flurry of urgent whispers. Their argument stopped when they realized people watched them. Sylvia straightened her spine. Her high-heeled black boots and long coat gave her the sleek appearance of a panther, despite her petite frame.

Petal squeaked and sank into herself.

Mark guided Sylvia to a front pew and they sat, staring ahead.

Finally a middle-aged woman in a dark suit
with
thick calves and grandma-style pumps appeared from one of the doors off the side of the altar. “Good morning. Today we’re gathered to celebrate the life of Darla Barrows.”

Nora’s throat closed up. She struggled for air. The chapel disappeared and all around her stood tall Ponderosas. The casket turned into a pine box full of her husband’s ashes. Death. Everywhere.

Nora felt the ghost of
Charlie’s arm circl
ing
her for support a
s Abbey sat
at her feet. Scott’s friends paid tribute, giving tale after tale of Scott’s crazy antics. Nora’s insides felt scraped raw and hollow.

She
ha
d been sure she’d never feel happy again.

Two weeks later she’d huddled between Abigail and Cole on a pew in a Flagstaff church. The casket on the altar contained Heather’s body. Nora
had
squeezed her eyes closed and fought for control. Heather was young, so alive. Nora couldn’t hold all her grief.

Of course, today she sat in a church in downtown Boulder, Colorado, but
she
couldn’t convince that panic-prone mush serving as her mind. She thrust herself out of the pew and stumbled over Petal and Abigail to rush down the aisle to the narthex. Cold sweat filmed her body as she cast about for someplace to hide
, tears threatening her throat and eyes
. She didn’t want to explain her flight from the funeral to her new coworkers.

A stairway to the side of the narthex offered escape. She gripped the rail and lurched up, focused on slowing her
racing
heart and steadying her breathing. The stairway led to a choir loft, giving her full view of the altar and the casket. She whirled around and exited, plopping herself on the top stair.

Damn. Another panic attack. Did this herald the end to sanity? Soon she’d lock herself inside her apartment amid a maze of old
newspapers and magazines, with food delivered to her door, afraid
of the sunshine. She’d hold long conversations with a long-dead
Hopi
kikmongwi
.

Get a grip
.

She saw
Cole sho
o
t from the chapel
doors
. He scanned the lobby and his eyes locked on the stairs. His gaze followed it up and he spotted Nora slumped at the top. He bounded the stairs two at a time.

Ugh. Why did he have to be here?

He sat next to her. “What’s the matter? Are you okay?” he whispered.

She swallowed. Maybe Cole showing up was the best thing for a panic attack. It got her torqued up and helped her focus. “What are you doing here? Following me to a funeral is really low.” She matched his whisper.

He opened his mouth to speak. The outside doors opened and two police officers entered. Nora recognized them from the board meeting. She searched her brain for their names. Langston and Kirby. They wandered to the chapel and slipped inside.

The organ music swelled and weak strains of attendees’ singing filtered up to them.

Cole blushed. “I thought you might have a hard time going to another funeral.”

“Did Abigail call you?”

He studied his hands. “She’s concerned about you.”

“She’s trying to set us up.”

“Y
a
think?”

Nora felt the tingle of a smile.

“She was right, though. It’s tough on you and I thought you could use a friend”

Was he her friend? Did she want him to be?

A man in jeans and work shirt trudged into the narthex from an entryway across from the choir loft stairs where they sat. It must be a basement. He taped a computer
-
printed sign to the wall and disappeared downstairs again.

Nora needed to shift from her memories. “Okay. If you’re my friend, help me figure out who killed Darla.”

His jaw dropped. “You’re kidding, right? That’s the cops’ job.”

She waved that off. “I found some money missing from Sylvia’s accounts. A lot of it.”

His whisper grew stronger. “The cops already have enough evidence to suspect her. Let them know about this and be done. Get out of there.”

The man
re
appeared from downstairs carrying a long folding table. He glared at Nora and Cole before setting up the table and heading down the stairs.

She shook her head and lowered her voice. “It’s a little too clean, don’t you think? They find a gun in Sylvia’s office. Someone tells the cops Sylvia has plane tickets and plans to flee the country—which she denies. Suddenly money goes missing in Sylvia’s accounts?”

“Sounds like Sylvia killed Darla.”

Nora thought about it. “Sounds more like she was set up. She’s too smart to leave all those clues.”

The man popped up from downstairs carrying a giant coffee urn he placed on the table.

Always the reasonable one, Cole said, “Tell the cops about the missing money and let them deal with it.”

“I haven’t gone through all the accounts yet. It could have been transferred somewhere or in an account I don’t know about. I’m going to ask Mark.”

Cole’s eyebrows drew down and shielded his eyes in doubt. “Stay away from him.”

She waved that off. “He’s harmless. Just creepy and Sylvia
-
obsessed.”

“He probably tried to kill you. I don’t suppose you told the cops about that either.”

Two well-dressed wom
e
n stepped from downstairs carrying trays of cookies and coffee cups. They must be volunteers from the church to help with services. They eyed Nora and Cole with distaste before returning to the stairs.

He sounded impatient. “Would you let the cops do their job? This isn’t a game, Nora. Darla was murdered.”

Nora went cold. “Wouldn’t it be stupid to murder two
F
inance
D
irectors within
two
week
s
? I think I’m safe.”

People started to filter out of the chapel. A few coworkers formed a solemn knot in the middle of the lobby. Fay wiped at tears and Bill hugged her.

The small crowd milled around the coffee and cookies.

Nora stood. “I’m going to take Petal and Abigail home before I go back to work.”

They walked down the stairs. “Let me get you some coffee
before you go back outside at least
.” Cole headed toward the refreshments.

Nora stood at the foot of the stairs apart from the smattering of people. She watched the chapel doors for Abigail and Petal. The sooner they got out of here
,
the better.

Sylvia swooped
out
from the chapel and Mark followed. He grasped her elbow and turned her toward the coffee. She pulled her arm away, surveyed the table
,
and started toward the front door.

Fay glared at Sylvia,
as did
several of the other staffers. Sylvia smirked at them.

Daniel walked out of the chapel with the grace of a tiger. He burned three degrees hotter than handsome in his Armani suit. Sylvia’s eyes focused on him.

Mark said something and Sylvia nodded. He scurried to the coffee with a stupid grin on his face. Abigail and Petal finally
emerged
from the chapel. Abigail propped Petal against a wall next to the chapel doors and headed for the coffee. Her eyes scanned the lobby, probably trying to locate Nora.

Nora should try to be sociable but she didn’t feel up to mingling and making small talk
with
people she didn’t know, about a dead person she’d never met. Instead, she watched.

The group of half a dozen staffers congregated at one end of the refreshment table. Three or four other people held foam cups and spoke in hushed tones. Maybe they were family. The two church volunteers chatted with the basement guy, helping themselves to the cookies
they’d carried up
. Petal leaned against the chapel entrance like a lost puppy. Sylvia stood in the middle of the narthex. The minister and Daniel seemed deep in conversation with Langston and Kirby by the basement stairs.