As I watched the family walk by, I noticed Frank Anthony sitting on the opposite side of the aisle a few rows farther back. He touched two fingers to his eyebrow and gave me a short salute and a broad wink. I was surprised that he and Ryan weren’t sitting together, but then I realized deputies were probably scattered all around the church, watching for any sign of a killer who, perhaps, couldn’t stay away.
Bridgy gave me an elbow to the ribs and when she had my attention, mouthed, Skully, and slid her eyes toward the outside aisle off to our left. Skully was sitting in the back row, keeping his distance from the other mourners. He seemed to have combed his hair for the occasion. He kept his eyes straight ahead as if determined to concentrate on the altar and not be distracted by folks jostling in various pews. After the service, I’d finally have the opportunity to ask if he’d seen any unusual activity around Delia’s house, if not on the night she died, then anytime.
Pastor gave a strong and lively sermon about all God’s gifts that surround us during our lifetime. He talked about the gifts of the sea, from the tiniest mollusk to dolphins and manatees. He told us about the gifts of the land, animals and flowers, bushes and trees. Then he reminded us Miss Delia was always respectful toward all God’s gifts. He moved on to those she cherished the most, her friends and her family. And by the time he was finished awakening our memories of her gentle approach to every living thing, there wasn’t a dry eye in the church.
Pastor introduced Josiah Batson, whom he described as Miss Delia’s oldest nephew, and asked him to speak a few words about his “beloved aunt.”
Josiah stood up, strode into the aisle and hoisted his potbelly before he struggled up the steps to the altar. He did a better job of climbing to the pulpit by grasping the ledge.
He cleared his throat, let his eyes wander around the church and, finally, spoke.
“My brother, Edgar, and I were tied by business to Everglades City, and you know how Aunt Delia was about traveling. Not something she liked to do. Still, as the oldest living member of our family, Edgar and I showed her the respect she deserved.”
He looked around as though daring anyone to challenge him. Satisfied that we hung on his every word, he continued.
“We never missed a holiday that we didn’t send thoughtful gifts and touching cards to our, er, beloved aunt.”
Ophie’s stage whisper was none too quiet. “It’s like he read a description of what he should be saying and is throwing in the words he recalls but doesn’t know quite where they fit. Thoughtful gifts, my aunt Fanny. If he has to call them thoughtful, he probably didn’t think much about them.”
Someone a row or two behind us shushed her, and we continued to listen to the insincere nephew.
“And didn’t we have fun. My, er, beloved aunt Delia was such a jokester. Many a Sunday night we’d be on the phone telling stories and chuckling ’til all hours. Couldn’t hardly keep her quiet.”
A rustling reverberated throughout the church as row after row of funeral-goers looked at each other and considered what he was saying. Is he talking about Miss Delia Batson?
Pastor John had the advantage of sitting facing the pews, and he recognized trouble when he saw it. He rushed over to the pulpit and tugged on Josiah’s sleeve, while booming loud enough for us all to hear, “Thank you. Thank you, Mr. Batson, for that tender eulogy to your aunt Delia.”
As he led Josiah down the altar steps, Pastor signaled nephew number two to approach. The crowd was starting to settle down again. I’m sure we all hoped he knew his aunt better than Josiah did.
Pastor John clasped his hands and then spread his arms.
“You all know Miss Delia loved gospel music. Why, she often came to church on Wednesday nights to listen to the choir practice, and perhaps do a little toe tapping. Today her nephew Edgar will join our choir in singing ‘I’ll Fly Away,’ a longtime favorite of Miss Delia’s.”