The Bitterest Pill

Seventeen

Jesse Stone had been to funerals, burials, and memorials of every description, but he had never hardened to them. Even at the funerals of vicious gangbangers, he had an open heart for their families. Regardless, he had to remain stoic to do his job. More often than not, he would hang back, off to one side or another, far away from the altar or the podium. He was there to observe, to see if anyone in attendance showed his hand. At Heather’s funeral, he wasn’t looking for suspects. This still wasn’t a murder case and it probably wasn’t ever going to be one, though he was keeping an eye out for Chris Grimm.

The service was held at the same church Suit and Elena had been married in, and Ross Weber, the man who’d married them, conducted the service. It was strange, Jesse thought, that grief and sorrow almost had a particular smell. The sweet notes in the air came from the huge number of floral arrangements arrayed on either side of the cherrywood coffin. There were roses — red, pink, yellow, and white — hundreds of them. There was the herbal and choking alcohol infusion from perfumes and colognes. It took the young years to figure out the right amount of the stuff to wear. The old had lost their senses of smell and wore too much to cover the odor of creeping decay. And there was the stink of stress sweat. None of the other odors could ever quite take the edge off that smell.

The church was full. Heather had been an only child, but both sets of grandparents were in attendance. There were lots of aunts, uncles, cousins, and family friends. Blank-faced, all. Jesse recognized many of the teachers he’d spoken with and some that he had not. Principal Wester and Freda were there, as were Maryglenn and Brandy Lawton. Three kids in the third pew from the front — two girls and a boy — were distraught, sobbing, rocking, clutching and clinging to one another. Jesse guessed those were Heather’s closest friends: Megan, Darby, and Rich. He would catch them later, at the cemetery. That’s when they would be most vulnerable to his questions.

There was no sign of Chris G. inside the church, and Jesse hadn’t seen him outside, either. Just in case, he’d stationed Suit in plainclothes in his pickup truck out front. Jesse had already stopped by the Grimms’ house. No one was home. At least, no one had answered the door. He’d also left a message on the phone machine. He hoped he wasn’t chasing his own tail around with this kid. His cop instincts were usually spot-on, but he wasn’t infallible. Jesse knew that believing you were was the biggest mistake of all.

There were about half as many people and twice as many tears at the graveside. When that casket gets lowered into the dirt, there’s no more pretending that it just isn’t real or that it’s all some kind of crazy, sick joke. It’s as real as it’s ever going to get. One of Heather’s grandmothers fainted, and Selectman Mackey fell to his knees as the first shovel of dirt rang against the cherrywood.

Jesse stayed far back, waiting for the crowd to break up. He kept a careful watch on Megan, Darby, and Rich as they walked away from their friend’s grave. As they approached a beat-up Jeep Cherokee, Jesse came over to them.

“I’m Jesse Stone, and I was wondering if I could talk to you.”

They looked at him with a mixture of hurt and confusion.

“You’re the police chief, right?” Rich said, pointing at Jesse’s PPD baseball cap.

He was a thin, handsome kid with fine, delicate features.

“Uh-huh. And you’re Rich. Which one of you girls is Megan?”

A very slight girl with long brown hair and a face reminiscent of Bette Davis said, “I’m Megan.”

Jesse turned to the other girl. “That would make you Darby.”

Darby was a striking girl, about five-six, with long red hair, tortoiseshell glasses, and a nose ring.

“That’s right,” she said. “I’m Darby.”

Jesse didn’t like doing it, but he didn’t waste time on preliminaries or small talk. They were off balance and raw with emotion. That’s what he needed.

“How long had Heather been using?”

They didn’t answer. He didn’t expect them to.

“She’s dead,” he said, pointing behind them at Heather’s grave. “I don’t want to hurt her reputation and I don’t want to get anyone in trouble, but I also don’t want to be at another funeral.”

“She wasn’t using,” Rich said.

“C’mon, kid. She didn’t die of old age.”

Rich shook his head furiously. “That’s not what I meant. It wasn’t that she did it for fun. She hated it, but—”

Megan, grabbed Rich’s arm. “Shut up, Richie.”

“No. I have to say this. She would want us to.”

Darby said, “She would, Meg.”

Jesse stood there, quiet, letting the friends work it out. Pressure from him would’ve ruined it.

“It was Oxy,” Rich said. “She never told us too much about it, because she didn’t want us to get in trouble.”

Jesse asked, “Was this after she hurt herself at the Holiday Show?”

They all nodded.

Darby spoke up. “We didn’t really notice until the end of school last year. She was acting a little weird and she was borrowing money all the time. She never used to need to borrow money.”

Tears rolled down Rich’s cheeks.

“What is it?” Jesse wanted to know.

“She stole things from me. My iPad, some jewelry... nothing important. I just told my folks I lost stuff.”

That was when Meg and Darby admitted that Heather had stolen from them as well. There was sad laughter among the tears as they acknowledged what they had kept secret from one another. They had loved Heather so deeply that they let her steal from them.

“I tried to get her to go for help,” Darby said. “The three of us tried doing one of those stupid intervention things, but she just got mad at us.”

Jesse asked a few more questions, but it was clear Heather had worked hard to insulate herself and to keep her friends away from the other life she lived. But when they were ready to leave, Jesse mentioned Chris G.

“Loser,” Megan said.

“A cute loser.” Darby was less harsh.

Jesse could see that Rich wanted to say something, but not in front of the girls. Jesse gave him a nod — later — when the girls were distracted. Rich got behind the wheel of the Jeep and they were gone. As Jesse turned back to his Explorer, he caught a glimpse of Chris G. running among the tombstones. Jesse took off after him.

The kid was quick and the grass was slick from a shower that had passed an hour or so before Heather’s burial. Jesse would make up some ground and then fall behind as the kid zigged, then zagged, among headstones, stone benches, and fences. As he chased the kid, Jesse shouted to him that he only wanted to talk. But Chris wasn’t having it. Jesse couldn’t blame the kid, especially if he had stuff to hide. After about a hundred yards, Jesse gave up, bending over at the waist, trying to catch his breath. When he stood straight, Chris G. was gone.