Makeovers Can Be Murder

Chapter 19

The clouds cleared away that afternoon just in time for the Newbodies to hold the Memory Ceremony for Jana.

At four p.m. I was clutching the prickly stem of a red rose in my right hand, a white rose in my left-red to symbolize life, white for death.

Eight women were clustered around me atop a stone bridge that spanned New Hope Creek in Duke Forest. The rains had transformed the boulder-pocked rivulet into muddy rapids; all around us was the sound of rushing water and the smell of damp earth.

Frank crouched below us at the shoreline, his camera resting on his shoulder. Bringing a crew along had actually been Evelyn′s idea. I′d resisted at first, not wanting to exploit Jana′s death. But Evelyn had already text-polled the Newbodies, and all eight women had decided unanimously that broadcasting the ceremony would provide a highway to release Jana′s spirit to the cosmos.

The only member who hadn′t made it to the gathering was Trish Putnam, who was still out of town. I′d left her a message on her cell about Jana, but had missed her return call. I still wanted to find out what had become of Jana′s purse, which she′d left at Trish′s house on the night of the Newbodies meeting. I′d have to follow up about that with her later.

Evelyn stood at the crest of the bridge, facing us. She was wearing a full-length white dress and carrying a woven basket. The basket had pieces of paper in it.

″As you all know, Jana Miller was a former member of the Newbodies,″ Evelyn began. ″She moved away to Miami a couple of years ago but kept in close touch and was a good friend to many of us. We′ve come here today to honor her life with our spirit memories.″

Evelyn started handing out pieces of paper and tiny pencils from the basket.

As she distributed the items to each of us, she continued, ″This is biodegradable paper that will dissolve almost instantly and leave no pollution in the creek,″ she said. ″I′d like us each to write a spiritual memory of Jana. Then we′ll release the notes and the roses into the water.″

When I got my piece of paper, I stared at it for a while, unsure what a ″spiritual memory″ was. Then I knew.

Jana, I wrote. Shaina is fine and she misses you very much. The police have made an arrest. I′ll keep following up until I′m satisfied they have the right person. I hope you′re at peace now. Love, Kate.

It was an oddly factual, unspiritual message.

But hey, I′m a reporter, not a psychic.

And if by some miracle my message managed to reach Jana on the other side of life, I hoped she′d appreciate the update.