the process itself—Lipscomb led Helen through it so smoothly, almost elegantly, that it drove home the unspoken point that homicide detectives go through this on a regular, if not daily, basis.
I did what I could for Helen, literally offering her a shoulder to cry on. When she seemed to be cried out for the moment, I tiptoed into delicate territory. “Have you thought about his service?”
I might as well have opened the floodgates myself. Helen sobbed anew and Candy squinted at me, not happily. “It’s all a little overwhelming.”
“The magazine would like to host the reception.”
Helen stopped crying so abruptly that she choked. Candy patted her on the back until she stopped coughing, then Helen looked at me with a fierce frown. “What?”
“If it’s all right with you, the magazine would like to pay for the reception. As a tribute to Teddy.”
Helen wiped uselessly at her eyes. “By ‘magazine,’ you mean Yvonne.”
It was pretty clear that line of reasoning was going to take us to a dark place and I wasn’t properly dressed. “No. All of us. Though Yvonne authorized it.”
Helen struggled with something bitter, but Candy cut her off. “Let them foot the bill. It’s the least they can do, all the hours he gave them. All the hours they took him away from you.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way at all. I’d just assumed that Yvonne was looking to show off. But it was a theory I felt comfortable nodding to support. Helen shifted her ravaged eyes between my encouraging nod and Candy’s resolute face a couple of times. “I want to be part of planning it.”
“Oh, of course,” I assured her. Yvonne might not go for that, but Tricia would make sure Helen was included throughout. “A friend of mine will take care of everything and she’ll consult you on all points.”
Helen hesitated and Candy plopped her arm around her shoulders. “You’ve got enough to worry about, honey. Let them do this.”
Helen’s gaze shifted back to my eyes. She was looking for something but I couldn’t tell what. Which made it a lot easier to play innocent, nod again, and muster up an encouraging smile. After a long moment, Helen nodded.
“Okay.”
“Good. My friend Tricia Vincent will call you.” I made sure Candy had all my numbers and understood I was sincere about her or Helen calling if there was anything else I could do. I repeated that to Helen and wasn’t sure she heard me until she whispered back, “His office.”
I hadn’t thought of it yet. Teddy’s office needed to be packed up. “Want me to help you?”
“Could you just … do it?”
“Sure.” I could certainly understand Helen not wanting to deal with the packing or having to see everyone—especially Yvonne—right now. Maybe it would be less creepy to pack his stuff without her there to tell me what personal significance each and every item had. Though there was also the possibility that there wouldn’t be that much and that would be pretty sad, too. My friend Bill works in advertising and is constantly getting cut loose and rehired. He swears that you should never have more personal stuff in your office than can fit in one paper carton. That way, you only have to make one trip when you leave.
But if you’re packing up at the end of a life, not at the end of a job, shouldn’t there be lots of stuff? A proud collection of items that humanized your office and now stand as memorials to all the hours you spent, all the work you did, all the lives you touched? Shouldn’t your life spill over into at least a second carton? For Helen’s sake, I hoped I was going to pack up a rich trove that she could go through at her own pace and find some comfort in.
And, of course, I thought with another adrenaline surge, there was a chance I could find something in his office that might make this whole miserable thing make sense. “I’ll take care of it this morning and call you about a good time to bring the boxes by.”
She thanked me and
I did what I could for Helen, literally offering her a shoulder to cry on. When she seemed to be cried out for the moment, I tiptoed into delicate territory. “Have you thought about his service?”
I might as well have opened the floodgates myself. Helen sobbed anew and Candy squinted at me, not happily. “It’s all a little overwhelming.”
“The magazine would like to host the reception.”
Helen stopped crying so abruptly that she choked. Candy patted her on the back until she stopped coughing, then Helen looked at me with a fierce frown. “What?”
“If it’s all right with you, the magazine would like to pay for the reception. As a tribute to Teddy.”
Helen wiped uselessly at her eyes. “By ‘magazine,’ you mean Yvonne.”
It was pretty clear that line of reasoning was going to take us to a dark place and I wasn’t properly dressed. “No. All of us. Though Yvonne authorized it.”
Helen struggled with something bitter, but Candy cut her off. “Let them foot the bill. It’s the least they can do, all the hours he gave them. All the hours they took him away from you.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way at all. I’d just assumed that Yvonne was looking to show off. But it was a theory I felt comfortable nodding to support. Helen shifted her ravaged eyes between my encouraging nod and Candy’s resolute face a couple of times. “I want to be part of planning it.”
“Oh, of course,” I assured her. Yvonne might not go for that, but Tricia would make sure Helen was included throughout. “A friend of mine will take care of everything and she’ll consult you on all points.”
Helen hesitated and Candy plopped her arm around her shoulders. “You’ve got enough to worry about, honey. Let them do this.”
Helen’s gaze shifted back to my eyes. She was looking for something but I couldn’t tell what. Which made it a lot easier to play innocent, nod again, and muster up an encouraging smile. After a long moment, Helen nodded.
“Okay.”
“Good. My friend Tricia Vincent will call you.” I made sure Candy had all my numbers and understood I was sincere about her or Helen calling if there was anything else I could do. I repeated that to Helen and wasn’t sure she heard me until she whispered back, “His office.”
I hadn’t thought of it yet. Teddy’s office needed to be packed up. “Want me to help you?”
“Could you just … do it?”
“Sure.” I could certainly understand Helen not wanting to deal with the packing or having to see everyone—especially Yvonne—right now. Maybe it would be less creepy to pack his stuff without her there to tell me what personal significance each and every item had. Though there was also the possibility that there wouldn’t be that much and that would be pretty sad, too. My friend Bill works in advertising and is constantly getting cut loose and rehired. He swears that you should never have more personal stuff in your office than can fit in one paper carton. That way, you only have to make one trip when you leave.
But if you’re packing up at the end of a life, not at the end of a job, shouldn’t there be lots of stuff? A proud collection of items that humanized your office and now stand as memorials to all the hours you spent, all the work you did, all the lives you touched? Shouldn’t your life spill over into at least a second carton? For Helen’s sake, I hoped I was going to pack up a rich trove that she could go through at her own pace and find some comfort in.
And, of course, I thought with another adrenaline surge, there was a chance I could find something in his office that might make this whole miserable thing make sense. “I’ll take care of it this morning and call you about a good time to bring the boxes by.”
She thanked me and
Similar Books
