Daddy's Gone a Hunting by Mary Higgins Clark Page B

casket.
    Jessie touched her arm. “Let a few more people get in the line. I don’t want to be directly behind the marshals.”
    Hannah nodded. They moved to the left behind the last row of chairs, most of which were occupied. From where she was standing, she could see that Lottie was composed, but Gretchen had a handkerchief balled in her hand and was frequently raising it to dab her eyes.
    A few minutes later, Jessie whispered, “There are more people in line behind the marshals. We can go over there now.”
    A moment after they took their place in line, a woman came up behind them and said to Hannah, “I recognize you from your picture in the newspapers. How is your sister?”
    Hannah turned and looked into the concerned eyes of a slender woman who appeared to be in her late forties. “She’s holding her own. Thank you for asking.”
    “My husband came separately. Would you mind if I went ahead and joined him?” She pointed to Fire Marshal Frank Ramsey.
    It was Jessie who answered, “Of course not.” They watched as the woman asked the same question of the men directly ahead of them and then slipped into the line between her husband and Nathan Klein.
    “There’s no way she’s here just because he’s investigating the explosion,” Jessie whispered. “She’s got to have some connection with the family. I want to try to hear what she has to say to them.”
    Jessie moved to the side and stepped forward until she was at the foot of the casket. She heard both fire marshals extend their sympathy to Lottie and Gretchen. Then she heard Ramsey’s wife say, “Lottie, I’m Celia Ramsey. I don’t know if you remember me, but you and I were in chemotherapy together at Sloan-Kettering five yearsago. We went through a lot together. I’m so sorry about your loss. I could always see how devoted Gus was to you.”
    Celia turned to Gretchen. “Gretchen, I’m so sorry. I remember when I met you at Sloan, you had just bought your new home. You were showing me pictures of it.”
    Gretchen’s face lit up. She shoved the soggy handkerchief into the pocket of her black pantsuit. “You can’t imagine how even more beautiful it is with all the work I’ve done, both inside and out. And I’m growing plants and vegetables in my conservatory,” she said enthusiastically. She looked over at her mother, whose expression did not change. “Mama, it doesn’t matter if I show Celia some pictures, does it? I mean she’s already seen pictures of the house.”
    Lottie did not answer. She simply watched as her daughter stepped out of the receiving line, hurried over to a seat in the front row, and reached for her pocketbook. Then Lottie turned her attention back to the people in line. Soon Hannah was before her.
    Before Hannah could express her sympathy, Lottie, her voice so low that Hannah had to lean forward to hear her, said, “The police are convinced that Gus and Kate intentionally set that fire.”
    “They’re suspicious, yes,” Hannah said quietly. “I don’t think they’re convinced by any means.”
    “I don’t know what to think,” Lottie replied fiercely, “but I do know my husband is dead. If your sister convinced him to set this fire, it would be better off if she dies, unless she would prefer to spend years in prison.”
    Heartsick, Hannah realized that Lottie was afraid that Gus and Kate had set the fire. Was she telling that to the fire marshals? Knowing now that Lottie wanted no part of her sympathy, Hannah turned away. Gretchen, seated in the first row with Celia Ramsey beside her, had her iPad on her lap and was enthusiastically pointing out details in the pictures she was displaying on the screen.
    Marshal Frank Ramsey had quietly slipped into the seat on Gretchen’s other side so that he, too, could see the pictures of her beautiful home in Minnetonka, Minnesota.
    At that moment Hannah heard a plaintive moan and spun around in time to see Jessie try to grab and hold on to Lottie Schmidt as the frail