Ignition (2 page)

Then he spotted Amy and Dan. Amy was in a black dress with a little collar that kept flapping up against her cheek in the breeze. But she didn’t seem to care. She just kept staring ahead with a blank look on her face. And Dan was slumped over in his chair, kind of leaning against Amy. Even though they needed a major upgrade in the swagger department, Jonah knew he had to keep an eye on them. He might be the most talented performer of his age, but if his mom was right, he was about to get the chance to become something
much
bigger. He wasn’t gonna risk it over a couple of kids who couldn’t even rhyme a couplet if the beat hit ’em on the head!

During the service, Rev. Niblocke kept glancing over at the Kabras, then back down at his watch. Sweat dripped from his forehead.
Man
,
someone should teach him about stage presence.
Jonah thought.
Grace would have been asleep by now, if she weren’t already dead!

Jonah had to admit that he didn’t know Grace that well, but he remembered her as a pretty nice lady. She once showed him her vast music archive, full of first-pressing records and ancient sheet music. Original manuscripts from Bach to 2Pac lined the shelves of her music library. Grace had taste. There was no arguing with that.

Soon after the reverend finished, a five-star general got up to read a speech about Grace’s life. Then a president from some foreign country that Jonah had never heard of began gesturing wildly and speaking in a language Jonah didn’t recognize. With the clouds looming overhead and the light breeze rippling through the trees ringing the graveyard, the funeral was turning into a real showstopper. Jonah had to hand it to Grace. She really knew how to go out with a bang.

When the speakers had finished, six Nobel Peace Prize winners got out of their seats and walked toward Grace’s casket in tight formation to lower it into the ground. Then men in matching black suits invited the guests to stand by row and toss a shovelful of dirt on the coffin.

Jonah was called first. He rose, strutted over to the grave, picked up the shovel, and tossed a clump of dirt onto her casket. Before he finished, he made sure to wave heartily to the funeral crowd. Seconds later, he was tackled by girls wearing
WE
♥
THE WIZ-IZA-IZA-IZARD!
commemorative free-trade T-shirts.

Professor Astrid Rosenbloom watched in shock as Jonah Wizard, the famed hip-hop star, almost drowned in a sea of teenage-girl admiration. Nothing seemed to be making any sense today. Not the weather, not the funeral service, and
certainly
not the guests.

Astrid had been invited to Grace Cahill’s funeral just yesterday by a man claiming to be Grace’s lawyer, William McIntyre. Of course she had agreed to come. Grace Cahill’s death had left Astrid with too many questions.

Though William’s last-minute phone call was strange enough, Astrid was certainly not prepared for what she found at Grace’s funeral. It wasn’t just the number of people claiming to be relatives — hundreds, if Astrid had to guess — but the great diversity among them startled her. As a Harvard professor, Astrid had come to learn a great deal about differences of opinion and background. She was an expert at handling eccentric scholars, overbearing parents, and high-maintenance benefactors. You name it, she’d dealt with it masterfully. But
this
. This was a circus.

The wealth and self-assurance that permeated the crowd was astonishing. Earlier, an elderly Korean gentleman had strode past her carrying a diamond walking stick — that he wasn’t even using! Astrid adjusted her glasses for a better look around. At the end of her row, a blond woman with a twitching eye appeared to be arguing with a squirrel.
In Russian
. But before Astrid had a moment to take it in, the woman flicked her wrist at the animal, which stopped it dead in its tracks.
Did she just poison a squirrel with her fingernails?
Astrid shook her head in confusion.

The only people besides herself who didn’t seem to fit in were the two children sitting a few rows in front of her. Even the woman with a monkey on her shoulder seemed more at home in this crowd. Based on Grace’s description of her beloved grandchildren, Astrid guessed that these two were Amy and Dan Cahill. The boy had dark blond hair and kept swinging his legs back and forth under his chair.
Just like Atticus
, Astrid thought, thinking of her son, who had turned nine a few weeks ago.

Amy sat primly in her seat, but looked shattered by Grace’s passing. While everyone around them gossiped and chattered, Amy and Dan just sat quietly, gazing at the earth where Grace now lay. It was as if those two children were the only people who knew what a funeral was for — who knew what it meant to miss someone.

After the services finished, the mourners had lined up, row by row, to toss a shovelful of dirt onto Grace’s grave. Astrid sat this part out. She hadn’t known Grace for too long and it seemed inappropriate to help bury her.

It took nearly an hour for each guest to throw in their shovelful of earth. The sky was almost completely overcast now, and the wind had picked up. But no one had left yet. All the relatives were sticking around for something. There was a feeling of nervousness, of anxiety in the air. Groups of families gathered together and almost sneered at others. For all the knowing looks that were being exchanged, Astrid thought she might as well have been in a Roman court during a plot to overthrow the Caesar. She felt her own body tense with anxiety. William McIntyre walked up to the podium next.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said gravely. “I am William McIntyre, Madame Cahill’s lawyer and executor.”

A light murmur began to spread across the crowded graveyard.

“If you will look inside your programs,” McIntyre continued, “some of you will find a gold invitation card.” The murmuring deepened as hundreds of people shuffled through their programs.

Some ripped theirs open, and Astrid could see plumes of paper rising above the crowd.

“
Sacré bleu!
This is impossible!” a man with a curly mustache exclaimed.

“There must be some mistake!” another woman whined from the back of the crowd. Curses were yelled all over the graveyard as guests discovered they had not received an invitation. The woman sitting next to Astrid tried to steal a card from a child when her parents weren’t looking.

“Thief!” the little girl yelled, and a fight broke out. Even those who
did
receive invitations were greedily lording them over less fortunate relatives.

Astrid didn’t look inside her program. But someone jostled her from behind and a gold card fell from Astrid’s program down to the grass beneath her chair. She picked it up and turned it over.

Astrid’s mouth dropped open. It was impossible. There must have been some mistake. She checked her name at the top of the card twice more. The invitation was clearly addressed to her.
But why?

The crowd had now fully fallen into a roar of complaints and angry shouting. Apparently, a great majority of the guests had not received a golden invitation card, and the painful truth of being left out was hitting them hard. Amidst the hubbub, Astrid stole a glance at Amy and Dan in front of her. For the first time all afternoon, they were smiling.

“I assure you,” William raised his voice above the yelling, “the invitations were not done randomly. I apologize to those of you who were excluded. Grace Cahill meant you no disrespect. Of all the members of the Cahill clan, only a few were chosen as the most likely.”

“Most likely to what?” Dan piped up.

“To be the beneficiaries of Grace Cahill’s will. Now, if you please, those with invitations will gather in the Great Hall.”

Beneficiaries?

McIntyre had said nothing about a will reading. This was not part of the plan.

The Great Hall was exactly that: great. The room was extremely large and echoed like a Roman amphitheater. Which was appropriate, because rows of armor, swords, and other weapons lined the walls. Some were so large, like the jousting spears, that they reached almost to the ceiling. The colored panes in the tall stained-glass windows, at once vibrant, would shift quickly to darker shades, then back again. Astrid supposed it was an effect of the darkening clouds passing by overhead.

The chosen family members began filing into the room. Some looked surprised to be there and eagerly took a seat. Others, like a group of triplets, walked around haughtily, as if this sort of thing happened to them every day.

“I’m so very pleased you could make it, Astrid,” William said, startling her. “And I know Grace would be very happy to see you here.”

“Thank you, William,” Astrid answered. “But I don’t understand why I’ve been included in all this. Are you sure there hasn’t been some mistake?”

William smiled. “After this meeting, you and I can talk in private. The legacy Grace gave you is special, and so requires special attention. The following presentation is not for you, but Grace wanted you to see it anyway. Please wait here for me until after everyone has left.”

“But —” Astrid started to protest before William cut her off.

“All will be explained,” he said, then turned and walked resolutely up the aisle to the front of the room.

William seated himself behind a desk to face his audience. Behind him hung what looked like a projection screen, similar to the kind Astrid used in her classes. There were about forty people in the room, and most had taken their seats, eager to learn of their inheritance. Astrid stepped farther back into the corner, not wishing to be seen by any of the family members. William McIntyre swiftly pulled a piece of paper out of a brown leather folder and began to read: