“I don’t know. Just telling you what Wade said. That was pretty much it. They didn’t even talk to him about Brooke or—” He halts again. “Okay, seriously? This is just weird.”
When I turn again, this time it’s to find Gideon walking in our direction.
Easton mutters to me out of the side of his mouth. “Why is Gid here? Who drives three hours to attend a funeral of some bitch he couldn’t even stand?”
“I asked him to come,” I admit.
He gapes at me. “Why?”
“Because I need to talk to him.” I don’t offer any other details, and Easton doesn’t have time to cross-examine me, because Gideon reaches us.
“Hey,” the eldest Royal brother murmurs. His eyes aren’t on us, though. He’s staring at Brooke’s casket.
Is he imagining Dinah there? I wouldn’t be surprised if he was. Steve’s wife has been blackmailing Gideon for six months, maybe longer.
I move down to make some space, and he sits beside Easton. Gideon’s a Royal anomaly. He’s little thinner than his younger brothers, and his hair isn’t as dark. He has those blue, blue eyes, though.
“How are classes?” I ask awkwardly.
“Fine.”
I haven’t spent much time with Gideon at all because he goes to college a few hours away. I only know a handful of things about him. He’s a swimmer. He dated Savannah Montgomery. He’s sleeping with or has slept with Dinah. He sends dirty pictures to his girlfriend.
If Gideon would kill anyone, it’d be Dinah.
But…Dinah and Brooke look similar. They both have blonde hair styled in that magazine cover blow-out fashion. They’re both skinny as sticks with huge racks. From the back, they could easily be mistaken for sisters.
“Thanks for coming,” I tell him. Covertly, I study his face, which is hard and tense. Is that what guilt looks like?
“Still not sure why you summoned me,” is the terse reply.
I hesitate. “Can you stick around after the service? It feels weird discussing stuff while…” I nod toward the enormous picture of Brooke.
He nods back. “Yeah. We can talk after.”
Easton sighs, also staring at the photo. “I hate funerals.”
“I’ve never been to one before,” I confess.
“What about your mom?” he asks with a frown.
“Didn’t have the money for it. I was able to pay for a cremation and then I took her ashes and threw them in the ocean.”
Gideon turns to me with surprised eyes at the same time that Easton says, “No way.”
“Yes way,” I say, unsure of why they’re both staring at me.
“We spread our mom’s ashes in the Atlantic,” Gideon says quietly.
“Dad was going to bury her, but the twins were freaked out about worms eating their way into the coffin. They watched some Discovery Channel special on it or some shit. So he caved and agreed to the cremation.” A genuine smile spreads across Easton’s face, not the cocky fake grin he constantly wears, but a soft, honest one. “We took the urn out and waited for the sun to rise because mornings were her favorite. At first, there was no wind and the water was like glass.”
Gideon picks up the story. “But the minute the ashes hit the water, a huge gust came out of nowhere and the tide rolled out so far I swear I could’ve walked a mile without the sea hitting my knees.”
Easton nods. “It was like the ocean wanted her.”
We sit silently for a moment, thinking about our own losses. The grief over my mom’s death doesn’t feel so sharp today, not while I’m sandwiched between the broad shoulders of the two Royal brothers.
“That’s a beautiful memory,” I whisper. My suspicion that Gideon is the killer wanes. He loved his mother so much. Could he really murder a woman?
Easton grins impishly. “I like that our moms are watching over us from one coast to another.”
I can’t help but smile back. “Me, too.”
My gaze strays to the front row where Steve and Dinah sit, and my smile fades when I notice that Steve has his arm stretched across the back of Dinah’s chair. She’s leaning against him, her shoulders shaking slightly. Her grief reminds me of why we’re all here. This isn’t some mixer in a church basement.
It’s a funeral for a woman who was only ten years older than me. Brooke was young, and no matter her flaws, she didn’t deserve to die, especially not a violent death.
Maybe Dinah isn’t the killer at all. She’s the only one here who’s showing any true grief.
The minister walks up to the podium and asks for us to all take our seats.
“Friends and loved ones, we are gathered here today to mourn the passing of Brooke Anna Davidson. Let us stand together, join hands, and pray,” the gray-haired man intones.