“Did Naomi give you any information about the funeral arrangements?” I asked when I could speak again.

“It’s the day after tomorrow. A graveside service at Bonaventure. While she was still lucid, Amber asked Truman Rainwater to conduct the service. According to Naomi, Amber and Rainwater had become very close.”

“Good,” I remarked. “Will you be there, too?” I asked.

“Yes,” Patricia replied. “I’ll be there.”

We were quiet for a minute or two. Then another thought occurred.

“How about Zimmer? What’s next with him?” I asked.

“Turns out the bullet they took out of you was fired from the gun they found in his car,” she answered.

“Lucky shot,” I replied with a sniff.

“Yeah, well, that’s one pretty good charge in itself—it ties him to the assault at the cabin—that, and the bullets from your gun they dug out of him,” she responded.

“An Olympian feat, a Homeric display of shooting, if I do say so myself.”

“Whatever,” Patricia replied in dismissal. “I’m told his arraignment is next week. The state judge wants to bring charges first and not wait on the feds.”

“I’d like to be there when it happens, Patricia. Think that can be arranged?”

“I don’t see why not. And I’d like to be there to see it myself,” she said.

“Well then, Detective. Can we call it a date?”

“It’s a date,” she replied.

“You’ll have to drive, though,” I said. “My car was destroyed in an accident.”

“I was wondering what your insurance company has to say about that,” she quipped.

“They are less than pleased, my agent tells me. And intend to pursue, with great vigor, the other parties involved.”

“They better get in line,” Patricia commented with a laugh.

“Oh no,” I replied. “Those boys are in for some real trouble now. They don’t know what they’re in for; you don’t fool around with the insurance industry.”

“Whatever, Tanner. Whatever.”

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 22

I STOOD IN THE PARKING LOT AT THE back of the courthouse and waited. It had been a good funeral, I reflected. There weren’t many of us there: Naomi and her husband, Willamon; a couple of their neighbors; and even a few of the big-hat ladies, which I’m sure would have pissed Amber off to no end. Parker and Danny Ray were there also, each looking good in their new suits. And of course, Patricia and I.

We all stood at the grave, looking upon the casket as Brother Truman spoke of love and redemption, of the gift of life, and the joy we find, even among the sorrow and suffering we all experience.

And then he sang, just he, in a fine, clear voice, and that was the real funeral, the one that touched all of us who had gathered in that beautiful cemetery to mourn the passing of the girl we knew as Amber.