Page 52 of Double Bucked

The three of us climb out of the limo, and I help Claire to her feet. Immediately, I notice the heads turning toward Claire. She ignores the attention, avoiding eye contact with the expertise of a Hollywood star, looking up at the church instead.

“Are you ready?” I ask.

She lays her arm lightly in the crook of mine. Claire and I fall behind Arris Dagney, and together, we walk through the twin church doors.

A willow tree spreads an umbrella of shade, leaves rustling like wind chimes. The sound climbs my shoulder like a horde of spiders. I crank up the volume of my earbuds.

We’re greeted at the door by a somber pastor who looks half Grim Reaper himself, cheeks long and sallow. The church inside is surprisingly humble, with simple wooden pews, stained glass windows, and open beams that spread across the ceiling like the rib cage of a giant beast. There’s an overwhelming smell of cedar and sawdust.

An ornate mahogany coffin sits in the pulpit. Closed. A framed picture of Mr. Preacher stands beside it, the man serious and unsmiling in his portrait. White calla lilies bow their heads as though in reverent respect.

It’s a slow descent down the aisle as Arris Dagney stops to share small talk with everyone. I’ve gathered that the Dagneys and Preachers are Belleflower royalty. When people talk to them, they clasp their hands and speak in reverent voices. I half expect them to get to their knees and kiss the gold signet ring that adorns Arris’s pinky finger.

Claire, to her credit, shakes hands and politely thanks people for coming. The Promise Sisters briefly flutter around Claire, each wearing thick black dresses and small black fascinators and the same crocodile tears. Second to the front, we pass a very pregnant woman, who takes Claire’s hand.

“Thank you for coming, Bonnie,” Claire says. This one, she looks genuinely pleased to see, and I watch the women exchange a squeeze of hands.

Arris slides his hand over the bump of Bonnie’s stomach. “How’s our girl?” he asks.

The man beside Bonnie—her husband, I presume—nearly trips over himself as he gets to his feet. He clutches his hat, worrying the brim in his tight grip. “She’s great, sir. Thank you very much. Doctor says she’s in great health.”

“Wonderful.”

Arris’s hand cups the back of Bonnie’s head far too affectionately for my liking. Bonnie’s expression goes blank.

Hm.

Finally, the four of us take our seats in the front pew.

“No, Grandmimi, you can’t see him—it’s closed. I ain’t telling them to open it up.”

Ransom’s voice is a big, booming thing, and it carries, even when he’s trying to be quiet. I glance over the back of the pew. He’s seated far in the back, between the old man in the wheelchair and a matching old woman beside him.

The woman fusses at him. He folds his arms across his chest.

Our eyes connect across the church. I slide my arm around Claire’s shoulders.

“Are you okay?” I ask Claire.

Her jaw is a thin, tight line. She stares ahead at the coffin containing the remains of her father.

“If you ask me that again,” she says, “there will be two bodies in that coffin.”

I shut my mouth. Her shoulders are tense and tight under my embrace.

The Grim-Pastor takes the stand. He nods toward the pallbearers at the end of the hall, and they begin to close the door.

“Hold on! One damned minute.”

The doors shutter back open to allow the latecomer to enter. She’s in a classic, elegant funeral dress. Her heels click loudly across the marble floors. She walks with purpose around the pews, all the way to the front, and takes her seat beside Arris.

This, I take it, is Mrs. Dagney.

She fits the bill. The epitome of trophy wife—beautiful, poised, and elegant. Her dark skin is without blemish. Her hair is strung into perfect ringlets. Her makeup is sharp. She walks with the confident air of someone who owns the entire town.

Arris’s mouth is a bitter, thin line. “You’re late.”

She drops her purse beside her. “You left me at home.”

---