I back away, sandwich in hand, as they argue about Sylvia Riscoff’s funeral.

“No service. I stand by my decision.” Commodore makes the declaration like the discussion is over, but Lincoln isn’t backing down.

“That’s not happening. We need closure. All of us. You’re not taking that away.”

Commodore leans back in his chair. “You really think a funeral is going to give you closure when we don’t even know if she was a junkie who killed herself or if someone killed her? Do you want to take the chance that her murderer is at the service?”

Both Commodore and Lincoln go quiet for a beat, and that’s when I realize what they’re both missing.

“Isn’t that why you should have a service? To try and draw her killer out, if there is one?”

The men look at me, and Commodore’s mouth moves but no sound comes out.

Lincoln frowns. “Whitney’s right. If there’s a chance . . .”

“If she was murdered, then we all know the person who did it,” Commodore says. “This isn’t a detective show on TV. There will be no service until we know the truth. Besides, Harrison hasn’t made contact, and we have no way to reach him. Do you really want your brother to miss it?”

“He wouldn’t miss it if we had a way to contact him, but you had his phone shut off immediately,” Lincoln shoots back at Commodore.

The old man narrows his gaze. “And I’d do it again. So we wait. We put out the word that the service is being delayed until family members can travel for it, which isn’t unusual when there’s a cremation, and that’s the end of this matter.”

Lincoln draws in a deep breath. I know he wants to argue with his grandfather, but it’s not going to do any good. The old man has a will of iron, much like his grandson, and there’s no changing his mind.

“I know my mother wanted to be cremated, but I think you’re making a mistake, old man. But we’ll do it your way—only because Harrison would never forgive any of us if he missed it.”

“Good. Better to focus on the wedding this weekend. We don’t need another funeral in this family right now, anyway.”

Twenty-Nine

Whitney

The morning of the rehearsal dinner dawns with a raging thunderstorm over the river. I pull up the weather forecast and pray that Cricket’s wedding day isn’t going to be ruined by weather, even though I know that would be the top of the list of things that don’t really matter in the long run. But still, for my cousin, I want everything to be perfect.

McKinley has already cleared the guests from the tower at The Gables, and Lincoln and I are in an SUV with Commodore’s personal driver at the wheel, on our way to meet Jackie and Karma and Cricket. Or at least, I’m on my way to meet them. Lincoln will wait downstairs to give us time alone, and Asa texted and said he’ll be coming a little later.