Fatal Connections

Chapter 35

For a moment, I just stood and looked at the array of clothing. Until a sudden flood of thoughts distracted me from my purpose. For some reason, I felt panicky. As if the walls of the small room were closing in. I inhaled deeply and let it out, feeling my belly extend like a balloon, then collapse. After a few more deep breaths, a calm settled over me. Until I remembered where I was and why I was there.

Just then, I spotted the object of my search: a small door with a curtained window. The muffled sound of a eulogy came from the other side. I had no idea how much time had passed, so I hurried over to the door. Just enough of a crack in the curtain to get a glimpse of the speaker who appeared to be the minister. Or pastor. Along with a halfway decent view of the first few rows of pews.

I took my time snapping photos. I couldn't help but notice that the Harcourts' publicist and business manager were sitting right up front, but I couldn't see Amy.

I checked the photos over carefully, with the hope that they might come in handy later for identification purposes. Meanwhile, my mind was consumed with questions: If the Harcourts' own daughter chose not to attend this memorial service, then who had arranged it? And why would she not attend?

Part of me wanted to poke around a bit more in this guy's office, but people were singing, chanting, or whatever in the auditorium behind the windowed door. They might be wrapping up. Another part of me worried that I might have another panic attack. Nonetheless, I couldn't resist making one last sweep of this inner sanctum of fine menswear. The seconds felt like minutes as I dug through the clothing to check a small set of shelves embedded in a corner. Checking pockets was out of the question without at least a few hours to do it.

As I scanned a four-level shelf with cubbyholes that held roughly 50 pairs of shoes, a white triangle appeared. Turned out to be a plain white business card wedged between the wall and the shoe storage shelf. I extracted it and snapped a quick pic. The card was nearly as plain as the office. Beneath a graphic of a gray koala with a white ruff, the words "Embrace the Wild" were printed in black lettering. Before I left the room, I tucked the intriguing card back where I had found it.

I shut the door on the plethora of clothing and crossed the ostentatiously plain room. Then I stole a look out the door and made my exit. I returned the way I had come until I reached the intersecting hallway that led to the church's foyer. By now, attendees were drifting out of the sanctuary, some heading for the door while others milled around and chatted in small groups.

I held back at the intersection, taking a few sneak peeks around the corner and occasionally glancing behind me to cover my rear. I didn't notice either of the detectives in the crowd, but it would have been easy to miss two people in a crowd of 500 or more. So I stood there long enough to realize that I looked ridiculous and that what I was doing was ridiculous. I should have just gone into the service and sat down with the mourners. If the detectives were there and saw me now, I would have some tricky explaining to do about where I was sitting and why they didn't see me. Of course, if I had behaved like a regular mourner, I would never have gotten my photos. Or found that interesting office with the very interesting closet.

Rounding the corner, I proceeded toward what remained of the crowd. Marge Calhoun was speaking to a younger woman who was taking notes. Marge's perky demeanor was there, but it was appropriately muted. Ryan Douglas emerged from the sanctuary surrounded by a clot of chattering people. No sign of the detectives.