Was she going to get up in front of all these people and tell them about her mother? Was she going tell them how her mother had given up the life a young woman was entitled to in order to support them both? Tell them how her mother had tried to stop her from getting her first job because she thought childhood should last a little longer? Tell them about her mother, a visible beacon of pride, watching as she graduated from high school, then university, then the police college? Tell them how after her promotion her mother had peppered the phrase, "My daughter, the detective," into every conversation? Tell them how, when she first got the diagnosis about her eyes, her mother had taken a train to Toronto and refused to hear the lies about being all right and not needing her there? Tell them about the nagging and the worrying and the way she always called during a shower? Tell them how her mother had needed to talk to her and she hadn't answered the phone?
Tell them her mother was dead?
"No." Vicki felt Celluci's hand close over her shoulder and realized her voice had been less than clear. She coughed and scanned the room in a near panic. "There. The short woman in the khaki trench coat." To point would expose the trembling. "That's Dr. Burke. Mother worked for her for the last five years. Maybe she'll say something."
Bright blue eyes focused just behind her for a second. Whatever Reverend Crosbie saw on Celluci's face seemed to reassure him because he nodded and said quietly, "I'll talk to Dr. Burke, then." His warm hand engulfed hers again. "Maybe you and I'll have a chance to talk later, eh?"
"Maybe."
Celluci's grip on her shoulder tightened as the minister walked away. "You all right?"
"Sure. I'm fine." But she didn't expect him to believe her, so she supposed it wasn't exactly a lie.
"Vicki?"
This was a voice she recognized and she turned almost eagerly to meet it. "Aunt Esther." The tall, sparse woman opened her arms and Vicki allowed herself to be folded into them. Esther Thomas had been her mother's closest friend. They'd grown up together, gone to school together, had been bride and bridesmaid, bridesmaid and bride. Esther had been teaching school in Ottawa for as long as Vicki could remember, but living in different cities hadn't dimmed the friendship.
Esther's cheeks were wet when they pulled apart. "I thought I wasn't going to make it." She sniffed and dug for a tissue. "I'm driving Richard's six-cylinder tank, but they're doing construction on highway fifteen. Can you believe it? It's only April. They're still likely to get snow. Damn, I... Thank you. You're Mike Celluci, aren't you? We met once, about three years ago, just after Christmas when you drove to Kingston to pick Vicki up."
"I remember."
"Vicki... "
"Vicki, I have a favor to ask you. I'd... I'd like to see her one last time."
Vicki stepped back, trod on Celluci's foot, and didn't notice. "See her?"
"Yes. To say good-bye." Tears welled and ran and she swiped at them without making much impact. "I don't think I'll be able to believe Marjory's actually dead unless I see her."
"But... "
"I know it's a closed coffin, but I thought you and I might be able to slip in now. Before things start."
Vicki had never understood the need to look at the dead. A corpse was a corpse and over the years she'd seen enough of them to know that they were all fundamentally alike. She didn't want to remember her mother the way she'd been, stretched out on the table in the morgue, and she certainly didn't want to remember her prepared like a manikin to go into the earth. But it was obviously something Esther needed.
"I'll have a word with Mr. Hutchinson," she heard herself saying.
A few moments later, the three of them were making their way down the center aisle of the chapel, shoes making no sound on the thick red carpet.
"We did prepare for this eventuality," Mr. Hutchinson said as they approached the coffin. "Very often when the casket is closed, friends and relatives still want to say one last good-bye to the deceased. I'm sure you'll find your mother much as you remember her, Ms. Nelson."
Vicki closed her teeth on her reply.
"The service is due to start momentarily," he said as he released the latch and began to raise the upper half of the lid, "so I'm afraid you'll have to... have to... "
Her fingers dug deep into satin cushioning as Vicki's hands closed over the padded edge of the coffin. In the center of the quilted pillow lay the upper end of a large sandbag. A quick glance toward the foot of the casket determined that a second sandbag made up the rest of the necessary weight.
She straightened and in a voice that ripped civilization off the words asked, "What have you done with my mother?"
Chapter Four
"This would probably go a lot easier if you'd get Ms. Nelson to go home." Detective Fergusson of the Kingston Police lowered his voice a little further. "It's not like we don't appreciate your input, Sergeant, but Ms. Nelson, she hasn't been a cop for a couple of years. She really shouldn't be here. Besides, you know, she's a woman. They get emotional at times like these."
"Get a lot of body snatching, do you?" Celluci asked dryly.
"No!" The detective's indignant gaze jerked up to meet Celluci's. "Never had one before. Ever."
"Ah. Then which times like these were you referring to?"