The Devil You Know Read Online Free PDF Page B

being with my family since hers was so disagreeable.”
    He was the pip. He was also right. Maureen wouldn’t have minded.
    Every so often Barrett took a deep breath of the chill air and released it as a long, slow sigh. I didn’t think he was aware of doing it. Then he spoke, his voice soft, “If only I had not been so blind about Laura . . . Maureen might still be alive.”
    This was new. I’d never thought he might blame himself for her death. There was bitterness in his tone. He’d been mulling it over for a very long time.
    “You’d have done something if you’d known,” I said. “You weren’t blind—Laura was just too good at hiding herself. Who in the world could have expected it? Not even Einstein could have figured her out.”
    He shook his head a little. “Don’t you mean Freud?”
    “I meant Einstein. Freud might have, but you’re not him. It’s no one’s fault but Laura’s, and she’s gone now.”
    “Yes. And just as well. She was an appallingly clever girl . . . I suppose it was for the best she took those pills.” He let that one hang in the air.
    I’d worked on my poker face, but was glad he wasn’t looking at me. If my heart could still beat, it would have hammered hard for a moment. Barrett had figured things out. But was he going to do anything?
    He drew another deep breath, then cleared his throat. “We’re here for Maureen, not the one who took her from us.”
    Maybe not.
    Or just maybe not here and now.
    Or I could try kicking myself and stop being so damned paranoid.
    Unexpectedly he dropped a hand on my shoulder. “Mr. Fleming, don’t ask me why, but Maureen loved us both, each in our own time. You are right: her death wasn’t my fault or yours. We’re better men for her life touching ours, however brief a moment. We can best honor her memory by never forgetting her.”
    I mumbled something or other in agreement. He’d abruptly reminded me of my grandfather. The feeling I got was the same: that of an old man dealing with his pain by offering consolation to a much younger one.
    “They’re ready,” he said. “One more walk.”
    Thus did I find out I was to be a pallbearer. It wasn’t my first time, and I’d have just as soon shirked the honor. Hat in my off hand, I shared the weight of Maureen’s casket with three other men—Barrett paced slowly next to me, supporting his side—but it was a hard and heavy burden.
    We set it down on the two-by-fours bridging the grave, and I was glad to back away from that gaping hole. Barrett caught my arm, preventing me from tripping over one of his relative’s stone markers. I grunted a thanks and composed myself to listen to the service.
    Since the pastor hadn’t known Maureen, he limited himself to appropriate scripture with an emphasis on comfort for her two mourners. No hymns were sung, but we bowed heads in prayer, and I murmured along with the others. It was the bare basics, but done well. The pastor had an easy, sonorous voice, and read sincerely from his book. I liked what he read, and at the end I did feel comforted.
    They lowered the casket; I picked up a bunch of roses and dropped it in after. Barrett did the same. The pastor said the ashes to ashes part. I had no idea what denomination he belonged to, not that it mattered. He’d done well by her.
    Barrett cleared his throat again with a slight jerk of his head. I followed him from the grave.
    “What’s going on?” I asked.
    “They’ll finish things when we’ve gone. Believe me, the sound of the earth falling in is not something you want in your memory.”
    I could agree with that. I shook hands with the pastor and thanked him. Barrett took his turn, discreetly slipping the man a more tangible expression of appreciation, then we trudged off to our respective cars.
    Barrett drove as before. Neither of us talked, but it was an oddly companionable silence.
    The service was over, and I felt strangely lighter for it. Funerals are indeed for the living. I’d had that