St. Agatha’s Church is the oldest standing building in Galilee. Even the heroes and villains leave it alone. People of all denominations flock here for the sheer beauty of it. Anyone who is anyone in Galilee celebrates their milestones here. Weddings, christenings, and funerals for the elite. It’s a beautiful, gray stone building with cathedral ceilings, statues of St. Agatha and the Virgin Mary, and six stained-glass windows each a story high. The ones in the back and front of the church are glittering rose windows with a red cross in the front. The other four are of Archangels Michael, Gabriel, Rafael, and Uriel, all in epic battle. They added those a hundred years ago when Madman, one of the first villains, tried to blow up the church. Lightening, the protector of the city at the time, managed to stop him, but the church was in tatters. It’s been neutral ground since. Hope Alkaline remembers that.
Police presence is palpable with patrolmen walking up and down the sidewalk two blocks in either direction. As we move closer, the press outnumbers the mourners and police. They’ve been pushed over to the other side of the street, held back by barricades. The police have also cordoned off the blocks surrounding the church. Bryan, the guard, pulls up to the barricade and shows the invitation to the patrolwoman. She orders all the windows rolled down and she peeks in. It takes her a second to realize who we are, and she’s suitably mortified. “Sorry, ma’am. Sir.”
“Just keep up the good work,” I say.
We roll up to the front of the church. Justin looks at it and sighs. He was supposed to be walking in here to get married a month from now, not to attend his fiancée and her daughter’s funeral. None of us moves. I take Justin’s hand, squeezing it. He looks at me, indecision all over his face. “We can stay here as long as you need to,” I say.
He takes a deep breath, and then slowly lets it out. “Let’s get this over with.”
The moment I step out of the car following Geoff and Lucy, it is as if a rock concert erupts. Screaming reporters overrun the usual city sounds. We’ve become national celebrities. Front page of newspapers across the country. My life has been picked apart and analyzed by every talking head with a microphone. I’m either a strong victim or as a few have hinted at, a possible murderer in league with Alkaline. The popular theory is that he butchered them at my behest so I could have Justin all to myself. Plausible, but only the tabloids were running with that one, and they stopped after Justin’s battalion of lawyers went after them. Besides that blip, I’m now considered a tragic hero and Justin is just tragic. And here we are in our designer funeral attire looking very melancholy and beautiful surrounded by police in case a mass murderer tries to melt us. I’m shocked they’re staying behind the barricades and not rushing us like groupies.
As quick as we can, the four of us—me, Lucy, Justin, and Dobbs—rush into the church. It can seat three hundred and will today. Lucy just took the wedding guest list and sent out funeral invitations from it. Though instead of pastels the guests are in black and instead of pink and white daisies there are solemn lilies and a cornucopia of wreaths from mourners at the front of the church. In the center of the field of flowers there is a recent picture of the Thorntons taken at the beach. Marnie gazing down as Rebecca and Daisy build a sandcastle. I’ll bet Justin took the picture. There are no coffins as they were cremated. The remains were delivered this morning and we’re keeping them at the mansion until Sam, Rebecca’s brother, can fly back from the Middle East to bring them to Lake City. They’ll be interred near her father. Makes the most sense, I guess, keeping them all together. Justin didn’t object.
People offer their condolences to Justin as we pass, some I know, but the others must be from Independence, Lake City, or the hospital. Scattered around are police in dark suits trying to blend in with the crowd. Mirabelle nods at me, and I do the same back. I wonder if Harry’s here. The mayor and commissioner push their way toward us, no doubt to suck up or beg for forgiveness. Either way while Justin is distracted, I worm my way around the group and down the aisle to the less populated front with my shadow a step behind me.
I barely have time to take a breath before Bitsy rushes over to me, her eyes red and swollen. Without a word, she hugs me tight. My bodyguard doesn’t stop her, the louse. “Oh, God, I don’t know how I’m going to make it through this,” she says.
I pull away as politely as possible. “Yeah.”
Bitsy dramatically turns to the photo. “They were so beautiful. This is just such a tragedy. I still can’t bring myself to tell Preston. He’ll be heartbroken. He loved Daisy too.” She looks back at me. “We try and shield him from unpleasantness such as this.”