Suspicion of Innocence Read Online Free PDF Page B

turquoise carpet. Above his head hung a mediocre landscape painting of snow-topped mountains. An odd choice for Florida. Gail supposed the shafts of light parting the clouds were meant to be inspirational.
    She stood beside his chair. "Dave?"
    He glanced up.
    "Doesn't it look a little odd, your sitting out here? You should be with the rest of the family."   "Oh, my. Whatever will Aunt Patsy say?"  
    Gail sat in the other chair. "Don't, Dave."  
    "Sorry." Her hand lay on the small table between them, and Dave entwined their fingers. He said, "How's Irene?"
    "Glued together with Patsy's Valiums."  
    He nodded. "I was thinking we ought to go get Karen."
    "A nine-year-old has no business at a funeral."
    "I went to my first funeral when I was five." He withdrew his hand.
    "We'll be finished in an hour, so what's the point?"
    The front door swung open and two people came through it. The woman—in her mid-twenties, with a frizzy ponytail—wore spike heels and a knit dress that showed a rounded stomach. At least the dress was black, so Gail couldn't immediately assume she had wandered into the funeral home by mistake. Her legs were tan and muscled.
    Her companion, a heavily built Hispanic, wore a royal blue suit with the sleeves rolled up, no tie. He had a mustache and a strand of hair which curled past his collar like a little black tail.
    Glancing at a small sign with Renee's name on it, the woman pointed to the left. Long silver earrings swung against her neck. "She's over this way, Julio." They signed the guest registry and disappeared down the corridor.
    "Good lord," Gail said. "What was that?"
    "Some of Renee's friends, I would imagine."
    "A pregnant exotic dancer and a pimp. Lovely."
    "Christ, Gail. You're at her funeral."
    Gail leaned her forehead into her open palm. "I'm sorry. Don't let me get like this in front of Irene. I don't know why I do it."
    "Because you hated Renee's guts."
    She raised her head. "That's a rotten thing to say."
    Dave shrugged, then stood up. "Well, I guess we ought to go put in an appearance." He waited. "Are you coming or not?"
    "In a minute."
    "Jesus. You're the one who wanted us both in there."
    Gail drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair, then got up and followed him back inside. He went off to talk to Ben. She found her mother in the first row of chairs with Patsy. Irene took Gail's hand as she sat down. "Patsy says she can stay another few days."
    Patsy nodded. "I told Kyle to go on home tomorrow. I'm gonna take a flight back to Tampa on Wednesday." She settled into the chair on the other side of Irene. "I need somebody to run me out to the airport, though."
    Gail hoped Patsy wouldn't ask her to do it. The mountain of work waiting for her at the office made her pulse race every time she thought of it. She had relied on the telephone and fax machine this week, but it wasn't enough. The senior partner in her department was beginning to wonder if he should temporarily shift some of her cases to other attorneys.
    Patsy leaned back to look around Irene's head. "I can't stand taxis, and I'm not letting Irene drive anywhere, the shape she's in. I swear, people over here drive like they're on drugs. . . ."
    Her voice trailed off as her eyes focused on something behind Gail. Gail turned to see. The other people in the room were watching, too, their conversations fading.
    It was an Indian. He looked like an Indian, at any rate. He wore a patchwork jacket stitched in rows of colors— tiny squares and triangles of red, yellow, and blue. Half a dozen strands of beads hung around his neck.
    The Indian walked slowly along the aisle, his eyes straight ahead of him. His long hair, black with silver shot through it, was tied back in a leather thong.  
    He stood at the casket for more than a minute before he turned and looked at Irene. She smiled up at him. "Why, Jimmy."
    He stood silently in front of her, then put his hand on her shoulder. "Mrs. Connor, my heart is full of sadness for you."
    "That's