Requiem for a Realtor by Ralph McInerny Page A

funeral with his wife had been such a fiasco.

9
    Cy Horvath told his wife he was going to attend Stanley Collins’s wake.
    â€œWho’s he?”
    â€œHe sold us this house.”
    â€œYou want to make sure he’s dead?”
    â€œI thought you liked this house.”
    â€œJust kidding.”
    â€œHe’s dead all right. I was there for the autopsy.”
    â€œUgh.”
    â€œYou don’t have to go.”
    â€œNeither do you.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œI don’t even remember what he looks like.”
    So he went alone to McDivitt’s and took a seat in back. It was a pretty good turnout. Someone sat down beside him, and he was surprised to see it was Joe Perzel. Joe punched his arm and tried to look solemn.
    â€œNight off, Joe?”
    â€œI work days.”
    â€œI thought you were a cop.”
    Joe groaned. It was an old joke, and a bad one. “Where does your dad work?” “He doesn’t work. He’s a cop.”
    â€œThere’s Keegan.”
    And so it was. He came in with Father Dowling and McDivitt. McDivitt stopped just inside the door. Father Dowling continued to the prie-dieu in front of the open coffin. Phil noticed Cy and Perzel and joined them, grunting as he sat. Then the rosary began.
    The rosary takes fifteen minutes in such circumstances, the priest saying the first half of the prayers, everyone else doing the second half. Five mysteries. Phil had fished a rosary from his pocket, Cy kept count on his fingers, Perzel seemed to be dozing. Usually when Cy came to a wake it was to check out the crowd because they were working on a case. Well, maybe Stanley Collins was a case. Not that there was a big chance they would find the one who ran him down. Probably some car thief who had panicked and then returned the car where he had found it. Cy thought about it. Somewhere someone was sweating it out, wondering if he would be tracked down. It happened. Some nosey neighbor notices the damage to his car, or the culprit made the mistake of taking it in too soon for repair and a mechanic put two and two together. Except in this case, they had the car and it belonged to Stanley Collins. Even so, whoever had driven it would be a nervous wreck.
    The widow was in the front row, in black, a miniskirt. One of those gauzy black things over her head. Mantilla. Who was the guy next to her? Cy whispered the question to Phil.
    â€œA dentist named Jameson.”
    â€œLike the whiskey?”
    â€œI guess.”
    Well, he was a tall drink of water, anyway. Most of the people Cy didn’t know, and that seemed an excuse for sticking around afterward. Phil seemed to know a lot of them. Of course, Cy knew Amos Cadbury.
    â€œMany are parishioners from St. Hilary’s,” Phil said.
    â€œThat his parish?”
    â€œMore or less.”
    Why else would Dowling be in charge? Perzel was talking to a nervous overweight guy in a loud sport jacket. Cy joined them.
    â€œThis is George Sawyer.”
    â€œStanley and I are partners. Were,” he corrected.
    â€œSawyer and Collins.”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œYou sold me my house.”
    Sawyer looked at him quickly. This was no place to talk with a dissatisfied client.
    â€œAny problems?”
    â€œYeah. I’m not there enough. Helluva way for your partner to die.”
    Sawyer shook his head. “I will miss him.”
    â€œToo bad the driver didn’t.”
    Sawyer walked away. He had spoken in solemn tones and didn’t care for Cy’s crack. Cy didn’t care for it too much himself.
    Amos Cadbury took Father Dowling away, and Phil suggested they all go for a drink.
    â€œHow about the Rendezous?” Perzel said.
    â€œWhere’s that?” Phil asked.
    â€œI’ll show you.” Someone passed them, and Joe called out, “Hey, Wanda. Hi.”
    Wanda was a lot of woman with enough hair on her head for several more. But her eyes were red and tears