In a Badger Way (Honey Badger Chronicles #2) - Shelly Laurenston Page 0,99
so he could take the cellophane off the pack, fold the foil at the top back, and tapped the bottom against his hand until one of the bamboo stalks popped up. He gripped the shortened stalk between his lips and pulled it out. Then, as the priest spoke in Latin, Shen took a bite . . . and the sound cracked around the church, echoing off the walls.
He tried to chew, but stopped at each cracking sound. He did it three or four times, cringing every time he made noise. Finally, an older, Scottish She-badger in the pew right in front of them looked at him over her shoulder and snarled, “Just eat the damn things, would ya? Anything’s better than hearing that stomach of yours!”
Moving quickly, Shen ate several stalks, one after the other, until he knew he’d quieted his stomach at least for the next ten to twenty minutes.
“Thank you,” Stevie whispered.
“You’re welcome.” He took her hand in his again.
Smiling, Stevie moved in closer to him and rested her head against his arm.
“You keep holding my hand,” she whispered. “Are you doing that because you’re still worried I’m going to freak out?”
“I was,” he admitted. “But now I just like it.”
* * *
The service seemed to go on forever, but Stevie didn’t mind. Because she was holding Shen’s hand and it was the nicest thing. His hand was warm and dry and soothing.
Using her free hand, she opened up the program to find out what was next. She was relieved to see they were on the last speaker of the day. After that, her great-uncle’s sons and the older grandsons would carry his casket to the hearse.
Great-Uncle Pete’s oldest son finished speaking and, as he was thanking everyone for coming, he casually asked if anyone wanted to say anything else about his father. A few people stood up and did add a little. Old friends who wanted to express how much they would miss Pete. One of his brothers letting Pete’s adult sons and grandchildren know that he was there for them if any of them had a need for “some old man advice,” which got a mood-breaking laugh. Then his eldest son let everyone know that after the burial, the family would be going to a pub in New Jersey for one last drink in honor of their father.
Thinking it was over, Stevie started to reach for the black leather backpack she’d pulled out just for the occasion. A Gucci bag that looked fancy and could still hold several of her notebooks and a wallet, but would hopefully not lead to anyone muttering, “I can’t believe she brought a backpack. It’s a funeral not a hike.”
Before she could pick it up off the floor, though, she heard, “I have something to say.”
Stevie froze. No. No, no, no, no, nooooo.
Sitting up straight, she watched in horror as her father stood.
Her father wanted to say something. He wanted to say something!
Oh, God.
She leaned forward to check on her sisters. Max already had her face buried in both her hands while Charlie was sitting so bone straight and absolutely still that Stevie was terrified what her eldest sister might do. Because when Charlie had you in her sights, there was no escaping. No avoiding. No making it out alive.
Freddy faced the shocked faces of his extended family, foolishly unconcerned that nearly everyone in the room hated him. He was the reason a good chunk of them were currently cash poor. And the fact that he hadn’t even benefitted from that money only made them angrier. Because he was just so stupid. And yet . . . he was talking.
Freddy placed his hand over his heart and lowered his chin to his chest.
“What is happening?” Shen asked.
Stevie tapped Shen’s arm and motioned him closer. He leaned down a bit and she brought her mouth close to his ear. “You and the Dunns need to be ready.”
“To take down your father?”
“No. Charlie. She’ll have no qualms about killing him in front of witnesses. I’m not too worried about the family, but the church people could be a problem.”
Shen nodded and leaned over to whisper in Britta’s ear, allowing Stevie to—unfortunately—listen to whatever ridiculous bullshit was coming out of her father’s mouth.
Oh, and it was bullshit.
“It breaks my heart,” he said, tears beginning to run down his cheeks, “that we’ve lost such a great man. The mighty Peter MacKilligan. Loyal. Amazing. Good to his family. Always so generous.”