“Maybe a run.”
“It’s canceled. We’re going to a funeral.”
“Why?”
“It’s a little-known fact that killers very often go to their victims’ funerals.”
“Well, we didn’t go to the other funerals.”
“There haven’t really been any others. Rhonda Tyler’s parents apparently didn’t want to be bothered, so she was buried in a potter’s field near Lynchburg. I went to the burial. The only other people there were the gravediggers.”
“I’m surprised no one from the Aphrodisiac went. Like Pam maybe.”
“I think they just want to forget it even happened.”
“Talk about hiding your head in the sand.”
“And Steve Canney was cremated without a service.”
“That’s a little unusual for a big football star.”
“His father didn’t see it that way.”
“How about Pembroke?” asked Michelle.
“Her parents were so embarrassed by what she was doing with Canney when she died, they buried her at an undisclosed location out of the area.”
“Hinson?”
“Her parents took her remains back to New York where she was born.”
“So what do you make of Eddie and Dorothea’s coming by?” she asked.
“Eddie I understand. His mother probably put him up to it. Her dutifully loyal son is a perfect tool for her. Dorothea’s presence was far more interesting. She claimed it was to tell us her theory on the killer. I’m surprised she’d given it that much thought actually. I think she came principally to fish for information.”
“Maybe she’s just bucking for a bigger piece of the estate. Not that she needs it.”
“No, I think she might,” replied King.
“What do you mean? She’s the queen of local real estate.”
“Dorothea’s become involved in some questionable real estate ventures that went south very recently.”
“You did some checking?”
“I was getting tired of letting Chip Bailey have all the fun.”
“And you haven’t told him this?”
“He’s FBI, he can find out for himself.”
“So Dorothea needs money, and she’s trying to get in Remmy’s good graces in order to get it.”
“That could be.” He checked his watch. “I’ve arranged interviews with Roger Canney and Pembroke’s parents starting in about an hour. After we finish with them, you may want to go shopping.”
“Shopping? For what?”
He ran his gaze over her. “Jeans and a Secret Service windbreaker just don’t cut it for proper funeral attire.”