Twisted Read Online Free PDF Page B

at arm’s length.
    â€œYou too, Uly.”
    â€œWish it could have been—” He stopped, feeling ridiculous, feeling as though every word was a cliché now.
    â€œI know.” She looked at the casket. “I know, he was ... what can you say?”
    â€œHe was a pain in the ass ... and I guess I loved him. I can’t believe I only knew him for ... what? A year?” Grove glanced at the coffin. He didn’t know if he was ready to take a closer look. He didn’t know if he was ready for that.
    The sound of whispering tugged at Grove’s attention, and he looked up.
    Behind Maura, along the front of the choir nave, a motley assortment of De Lourde’s old cronies stood side by side like a formation of colorful, exotic birds. Some of them, like Delilah, looked like old silent movie stars decked out in their black regalia and dark Joan Crawford sunglasses. Others wore eccentric, southern dandy mourning coats and top hats as though garbed for a parade.
    Miguel Lafountant, the stout little Cuban, stood at the end of the row, nodding a tearful greeting at Grove. “Hello, Mr. Ulysses,” he uttered in a broken voice.
    Grove turned to Maura and gently offered his hand. “Some people you should meet.”
    They went over to the Cuban.
    â€œMiguel, this is Maura County.” Grove spoke in a low, respectful tone. “She worked with the professor off and on. She was writing a book with him. Maura, this is Miguel Lafountant, a fellow professor at Tulane.”
    â€œPleasure, cheri ,” Miguel said with a sad little nod.
    â€œWe’ll miss him a lot,” Maura said.
    â€œThat’s a fact.”
    A painful pause as the Cuban looked down, a single tear dripping off his swarthy cheek. Then he looked up. “Where’s my manners?” He nodded to a young man next to him. “This handsome young man is Michael Doerr, one of Professor De Lourde’s star graduate students. Michael, say hello to a couple of Moses’s illustrious associates.”
    An effeminate young man of mixed race stepped forward and gave a little bow. He wore a crisp tuxedo shirt under his velveteen jacket, and his sculpted caramel face was runny with tears. “Pleasure, ma’am ... sir,” he murmured in a soft, deep southern accent, his voice trembling slightly. He was painfully shy and refused to even look at Grove.
    Miguel gazed at the young man like a proud father. “Michael was part of the team that went to the Yucatan with Moses, smack dab in the middle of that other terrible hurricane.”
    Grove’s ears perked. “No kidding.”
    â€œYes, it was quite an expedition.”
    Grove was confused. “This was recently?”
    Miguel shrugged. “Couple of years ago ... March of ’04, I believe. Is that correct, Michael?”
    The shy young man nodded, gazing down, wringing a shredded Kleenex in his hands.
    Miguel then gestured at the tall, willowy young woman next to Michael Doerr. “And this lovely specimen is Ms. Sandi Loper-Herzog, the Queen of Darkness and all things metaphysical. Another one of Moses’s star pupils.”
    The girl was draped in goth finery, all gangly arms and legs, her dark, sunken eyes stained with lampblack. “How ya doin’?” she croaked, her voice saturated with grief.
    â€œPleasure,” Grove said and then found himself suddenly at a loss for words, his mouth feeling as though it were cast in concrete. What could he say? What can anybody say at a funeral other than empty, pathetic platitudes? Grove let out a pained breath as he looked at the floor for a moment. In his peripheral vision he sensed the young man in the tuxedo, Michael Doerr, fighting a wave of sobs.
    Grove wanted to say something but could not muster a single word. He turned and looked at the coffin. Almost imperceptibly, Maura County stepped back to a respectable distance. Miguel Lafountant stepped back as well, and Grove felt an