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“I was Jen’s friend,” I reply, glancing at Blake.
Blake nods. “She was a good friend to us both,” he adds quietly.
The minister looks at us sympathetically. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” he says, offering a warm smile. He motions us forward, the fabric of his robes rustling as he points toward the chapel room.
We make our way down the hall in silence, my footsteps echoing on the marble floor. As we’re about to enter the chapel, Blake grasps my hand. I glance at him, grateful for his presence. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves, and enter the chapel.
Tapestries, candles, and photos of Jen adorn the room, each a testament to her life. My gaze lands on the closed casket at the front, draped with lilies and daisies. Choking back a sob, I move forward, my feet heavy as we take our seats near the back row.
Jen’s family is at the front, near the casket. Her younger half-brother sits by their mother, Mara. Tears streak his face, his eyes rimmed red from sobbing probably all week.Poor Teddy, I think. They didn’t share a father, but they were close. His big sis meant the world to him. Their grandma isn’t present; she’s likely too ill to attend.
My gaze sweeps over the crowd, scanning each person for any signs of familiarity. I notice Nick and Zoey in separate pews, and I’m relieved that they set aside their feud to attend. I don’t recognize anyone else, but I can feel the sadness and grief lingering in the room as if it’s a tangible thing that hangs in the air like an oppressive cloud.
The music tapers off, and the service begins. For the next hour, I listen as people speak about Jen’s kindness, generosity, talent. How her bright light was extinguished too soon. I don’t have a speech prepared, so I don’t go up front. But to my surprise, Zoey makes her way to the podium. Blake and I exchange glances as she picks up the microphone.
“I didn’t know Jen as well as some of you here,” she starts, her voice scratchy. She clears her throat and digs into her pocket, popping a lozenge into her mouth before resuming her speech. “We’ve had some heated disagreements, in and out of work. But she’s … was a smart gal with a big heart. She’d give the shirt off her back to someone in need. I understand why so many of us here today miss her dearly. I know I will, too.” She clears her throat again, her voice quavering. “I just wish that I was less of a crappy friend, that I would have apologized before …”
She bursts into tears, giving the mic back to the minister before returning to her seat. I can’t help but feel sympathy for her; it’s incredibly difficult to stand up in front of a room full of grieving loved ones and admit your mistakes. But I know all too well the pain of leaving words unsaid.
The service ends after a touching closing statement from the minister and a moment of silent reflection in honor of Jen’s life and memory. Everyone stands, some making their way to the door while others queue up in a single-file line near her casket. I join them, Blake’s presence beside me helping me to not break.
Once I’m next in line, I step up to the casket—but someone muscles their way in front of me, blocking my path. I frown, opening my mouth to tell them off. But my indignation evaporates in an instant when I realize who it is.
“One funeral after another,” the man says, adjusting his tie. “People seem to die a lot around you, Miss Madison … Or is it Miss Underwood now?”
I blink slowly, my hands falling at my sides in fists at the mention of my previous fake name. “Detective Bryant,” I say smoothly, doing my best to keep my tone even. “What brings you out here to Pennsylvania?”
His eyes narrow. “You know why I’m here, Miss Underwood, so let’s cut the pleasantries. Why don’t you tell me what happened to Jen and why you were there that night? You can start from the beginning—I think it would be best if we got this whole thing sorted out before it gets any messier.”
People around me stare, some of them accusatory scowls, and I feel my patience growing thinner by the second. My nostrils flare, my knuckles going white from how hard I’m clenching them. “I came here to pay my respects to my friend,” I fume. “How dare you?—”
Blake steps forward, his posture rigid and voice tight. “Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”
Bryant casts a glance between us before nodding. “Of course,” he says, stepping away from the casket. He gestures for us to follow, and he strides down the aisle, leaving me to sort out my temper before I punch him in the fucking face for crashing Jen’s funeral.
The detective leads us to a secluded spot near the corner outside of the chapel. A few people walk by, shooting us curious glances, but we’re mostly left alone. Way to make this awkward, detective.
“Why are you here?” I demand, crossing my arms before Bryant can launch into a tirade of questioning.
He holds his hands up in a placating gesture. “I understand that you’re upset, but I need to ask you two some questions regarding Jennifer Breck’s death. So please, just hear me out before you throw punches.”
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, trying to maintain my composure. I glance at Blake, who remains silent and eerily still. “Fine,” I relent. “Ask your questions. I’m not obligated to answer them without legal representation, though.”
Bryant’s brow creases. “What can you tell me about the circumstances of Jennifer’s death? Do you know of anyone who may have had a motive for ending her life? Or know anything about who could have done it?”
I shake my head. “No.”Yet again another lie. “Detective, don’t you think this is in poor taste? Talking about my friend’s murder at her own goddamn funer?—”
Blake interjects. “If we have any additional information, we’ll be contacting the Sturgis P.D.” He drapes a protective arm around me. “In the meantime, we’ll be on our way.”
As Blake turns around and starts leading me away, Bryant blurts out, “They believe the murders are all linked. And I think you two know much more than you’re letting on.”
Blake stiffens, his fingers digging into my shoulder for the briefest moment before he ushers me away from the detective. He’s wound tight with tension as we walk toward the exit. I chew on my lip, fearing that Bryant’s putting the pieces together.
And I’m directly in the crosshairs.
Before we can leave, Nick catches up to me, tapping me on the shoulder. “Hey, Mia.”
I pause, observing his bloodshot eyes and puffy face. He shifts uncomfortably, tugging at his collar like his suit is strangling him. “Hey, Nick,” I say, drawing him into a hug. “I’d ask how you’re doing, but …”
