We Find What Is Lost: A Novel of the Terribly Acronymed Detective Club (Book 1)

Chapter Eleven: Rachel, Saturday

Flee, Rachel thought. Get out of here, right now.

Too late. Lauren had seen her first and was already coming her way. She was exotic to Rachel when they were kids; since then she'd blossomed into a Eurasian beauty with those almond eyes and high cheekbones. Her brown hair was down to her shoulders now, and it suited her better. She was still small, but she'd ditched the overalls in favour of a pale pink blouse and black slacks. No tomboy anymore. She was a mom now, Rachel had discovered on her Facebook page, so maybe that changed her style.

Encountering a room full of people when she'd spent a good part of the last few months in her apartment by herself was overwhelming, and she almost turned on her heel and left, but Lauren's smile was warm and welcoming, and it kept her in place. "Rachel," she said, opening her arms.

She leaned in and returned the hug briefly, a few pats on the back and done. "Hi, Lauren. Wow, how long has it been?"

"Too long. You look great!"

"No, I don't. You do, though." She looked up and saw Al and Sunny. "Hey, guys."

Sunny offered his hand, not quite as willing to risk the hug as Lauren was. "How are you, Rachel?"

She took it and said, "Oh... been better. But you guys... wow, so surreal to see you all. And Joe?"

"Right here," Joe said, sidling up beside Sunny and patting down on his shoulder, which compressed him like a spring. At Joe's sides were a boy and a girl clinging to his legs like orphaned marmosets. "Tosh and Naomi, meet Mom's and my childhood friends, Rachel and Al. You've already met Sunny and his family."

Tosh burrowed his face deeper into his dad's leg. "Hi," the older and braver Naomi said. "Where're Harpreet and Ajit?"

Sunny crouched down to their level and said, "Sorry Naomi, Harpreet has the flu today, so we decided to keep them at home so she didn't get you two sick."

Al met Rachel's eyes and she smirked at him. The two childless friends had no idea how to interact with kids.

"Beautiful children," Rachel said.

"Thank you," Lauren said. "We think so, too."

Suddenly no one knew what to say, but soon they were distracted by a tapping on a microphone. They looked to a podium at the right side of the room, where a man in a suit was getting everyone's attention. To Rachel's horror, a large metal urn sat alone on a small table beside it. Mrs. Anderson was here, after all.

"Hi everybody," the man said. "I'm Rodney Maxwell, Mayor of New Westminster." A short round of polite applause. "I'd like to welcome you all to this memorial for Martha Anderson, who lived in Queensborough all of her one hundred and four years and, from the number of people gathered here, was a well-loved member of this community." Another round of applause.

Rachel caught sight of a photo blown up on the wall by the projector, and before the mayor went on further with his remarks, Rachel, to her utter surprise and embarrassment, burst into sobs.

The mayor went on for a few seconds, but even he began to realize he was losing everyone's attention as they were turning to see who was mourning so loudly.

It scared Rachel, how hard she was sobbing, nearly doubled over with the convulsions gripping her sides. She covered her face with her hands, ashamed of her grief. What was she crying about? All she'd seen was a photo of her sitting at the piano with Mrs. Anderson, trying to get her fingering right, wishing she was riding her bike with her friends instead. She hadn't even liked those piano lessons much. Was it Mrs. Anderson she missed? That warm presence sitting next to her, patiently guiding her, fighting what she must have known was a losing battle to make her a prodigy? That one adult female who was present in her life for those critical years, actively invested in her well-being?