The Tesla Legacy

Chapter 5

Vivian hated funerals. She’d attended plenty back in the service, and they’d never offered her comfort or closure. They made her angry that everyone was boxed up in the same generic ritual, just like their bodies were boxed up in wooden caskets. When she died, she wanted to have her ashes scattered out the back of an airplane. Then the mourners could parachute after and go have a beer when they landed — adrenaline and alcohol would be a good send-off.

If her mother outlived her, though, Vivian knew she’d insist on this kind of awkward service, where everyone felt compelled to make up something nice, maybe toss in a joke, and cry. At Vivian’s funeral, Lucy would feel guilty because she let her big sister fall off some indoor climbing wall and die and sad because she’d inherited Vivian’s shoes. Vivian’s shoes were too boring for Lucy. She suppressed a smile.

A couple of guys from the funeral home lifted the stone block into place, and that was it. Nobody but the priest gave a eulogy, which was weird. It looked like it was over.

One more thing she had to do, although Tesla hadn’t told her to, and probably didn’t want her to. Whatever. It was the right thing to do.

She walked over to Mrs. Tesla and held out her hand. “My name is Vivian Torres. I’m here on behalf of your son.”

The woman shook her hand. She wore silk gloves, like a movie star, but her tiny hand was surprisingly strong.

“Thank you for coming.” Mrs. Tesla waved her hand at the phone in her pocket. “And thank you, too, Joe.”

“Would you like to speak to him, ma’am?” Vivian fished the phone out of her pocket. Tesla would probably be furious he was being ambushed like this, but the least he could do was talk to his mother. She needed him, and he probably needed her, too.

Mrs. Tesla took the phone and turned away. Speaking in a low voice, she walked a few steps to the wall. Her finger traced the S in SMITH on the plaque.

Her good-looking older escort made a move to follow her, but Vivian intervened. “Had you known George Tesla long, Mr.…?”

“Hugh Hollingberry.” He shook his head. “I never met the man, but my fiancée was married to him once, many years ago.”

Fiancée? Knowing how rich Joe Tesla was, an alarm bell went off in her head. Mrs. Tesla seemed as if she could take care of herself, but even the toughest of women might have a blind spot about men. “I didn’t realize you were engaged to Mrs. Tesla.”

“Two years ago,” he said, which took him out of suspicion. Joe Tesla had been crazy rich for less than a year. “She humors me. How did you know the deceased?”

“I’m a…friend of his son’s.” That made it sound like she was sleeping with him, but she couldn’t say she’d been hired to cover the funeral, even if his mom would probably tell the man anyway.

“The mysterious software genius.” Hollingberry glanced over at Mrs. Tesla. “I’ve yet to meet him. What’s he like?”

“Mysterious.” She softened her non-answer with a smile. “How’d you meet Mrs. Tesla?”

He pointed to a looped ribbon that looked like the pink ones she’d seen for breast cancer, but this one was denim blue. “I met her at a charity event I sponsored to raise funds and awareness for rare genetic diseases.”

Vivian hadn’t expected that answer. She’d Google him later, but she doubted this guy was after Mrs. Tesla’s money. He sounded as if he had money of his own. “A pretty good cause.”

“I think so.” His blue eyes lit up, and he spoke with a passion that reminded her of Tesla. “My sister died from a rare genetic disease, and I realized how few resources are devoted to them. But these diseases can have profound effects not just on those who suffer from them, but also on our understanding of genetics as a whole. I believe these conditions hold the secrets to understanding many of the body’s processes, like aging, metabolism, mental illness, how—”

Mrs. Tesla had returned. “There now, Holly, no need to bore the young woman.”

“It sounds fascinating,” Vivian countered.

Hollingberry took Mrs. Tesla’s arm. “Are we ready to go home, my dear?”

Mrs. Tesla handed Vivian her phone and thanked her, then the two walked across the grass, through the passageway, and turned left at the street. Vivian decided she liked them both.

She looked at the phone in her hand. She was still connected to Tesla. She popped the phone into her pocket and turned so he could see the wall where his father was entombed and the two old guys who seemed to be the only other mourners. The priest and the two men from the funeral home waited as if they had all the time in the world, although they, more than most, had to know that wasn’t true.

Deciding Tesla might want to learn more about those mourners, she headed toward them. The cemetery was a beautiful place — an island of green and peace in the middle of Manhattan. She hoped that came through on the phone and gave Tesla some comfort.

“Hello.” The taller of the two was Indian, with thick black hair, a good-looking face, and large brown eyes. “I’m Professor Patel, and this is Professor Egger.”

Vivian felt like she was back in school. “Vivian Torres.”

The bald man with the crazy beard held out his hand for a shake. He, too, wore a black suit, but had paired it with an egg-yolk-yellow bow tie that looked jarring at a funeral. He’d taken off his jacket earlier, but he’d put it back on for the service. “I’m Professor Egger, but you can call me Eggy. Everyone else does.”

Well, that explained the tie. An inside joke.

“Please tell us you are a mysterious beauty who helped to ease George’s last hours.” Patel smiled. “Give some old men hope.”

“I’m a colleague of his son’s,” she said. “I never met Professor Tesla, Senior.”

Egger looked as if he held back a smile. “Ah, Professor Tesla.”

He stressed the last name in a way that piqued her interest. “He didn’t like being a Tesla?”

“To the contrary, he loved being a Tesla very much.” Egger straightened his bow tie.

“He wasn’t, of course.” Patel had a slight Indian accent.

“Wasn’t what?” Vivian wished she’d turned the phone off. She had a feeling Joe wouldn’t want to hear whatever was coming.

“In America, you can change your name to whatever you want.” Egger fussed with his yellow tie again. “I could be George Washington if I wanted to.”