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“Should be
interesting,” Pescoli said.
They discussed the case a little while longer, then each went their separate ways. Pescoli was all about getting her kids ready for the sad event while Alvarez returned to her condo to meet Dylan. He would be her rock during the service.
At least with him at her side, she could get through the event without completely falling apart . . . she hoped. Usually, she was the cool, level-headed detective and kept her emotions under tight rein.
Dan Grayson’s death had changed all that.
Chapter 20
Pescoli had dreaded this day from the minute she heard the sheriff had died.
She was dressed in full uniform, Sturgis with her. The idea had been Joelle Fisher’s, and for once, Pescoli had agreed with the receptionist that Sturgis’s presence would be fitting as the dog had been constantly at Grayson’s side, in or out of the office. Sturgis was part of the department, too, and he always behaved himself.
With a quick look around the crowded auditorium of Pinewood Center, she located her children standing together in the center of one section of chairs. Santana wasn’t with them, but that was no surprise as they weren’t yet a family. In fact, she wondered if there ever would be a time where they existed cohesively . . . and doubted it. She finally found him amidst the standing room only throng, near enough to the wide set of double doors at the back to satisfy the fire marshal.
She moved to the section reserved for law enforcement, where she and her fellow officers would stand during the service.
Though there had been a hum of conversation rising to the tall ceiling before the funeral got underway, a hush fell over the mourners as Blackwater approached the podium and introduced himself. Without any fanfare, he gave the opening remarks about the dedication and service of Dan Grayson. He was sincere and true, without any self-promotion and his remarks were surprisingly spot-on without the usual aggrandizing of the dead’s accomplishments. No flowery phrases. No inordinate sentimentality. He called Grayson a straight shooter who was respected by his peers and those who worked for him, and stated that the sheriff was embraced by the community that had elected him. Blackwater summed up by saying that Sheriff Daniel Grayson would be missed by those he worked with and those he worked for, and that the community had lost an honest, kind, and dedicated officer of the law.
Pescoli grudgingly had to admit Grayson would have approved of the acting sheriff’s remarks.
Flanked by flags of the United States and the State of Montana, a huge picture of the sheriff hung from a wall of navy-blue draping in the front of the hall. In the headshot, Grayson wasn’t smiling, his stern expression offering none of the warmth that had epitomized the man. His sense of humor, his calm hand in running the department, the love he had for the dog at her side weren’t evident.
Considering Pescoli’s emotional state, it was probably a good thing. She, like so many others jammed into the large room, remembered him for the level-headed and kind man he was.
Officers from other jurisdictions as well as the Pinewood County Sheriff’s Department, the city of Grizzly Falls’ Police Department, and the Montana State Police were in attendance. Friends and family, townspeople, and neighbors filled the large hall to overflowing.
As she listened to the eulogy given by the chaplain, Pescoli caught glimpses of the wives and husbands of the officers, as well as Trace O’Halleran and Dr. Kacey Lambert along with Grace Perchant and Ivor Hicks. For once, Hicks was quiet, not causing a scene. She hoped he could maintain as much for the duration of the service.
Pescoli noticed Manny Douglas, the reporter for the local paper, taking notes. God, the guy has no couth.
Sandi from Wild Will’s was in attendance, as was the owner of Dino’s, the local pizza parlor. Pescoli recognized the local veterinarian and the pharmacist. There were several hundred people she didn’t know along with more than a sprinkling of familiar faces.
The Grayson family was seated front and center, everyone dressed in black, each member grim-faced. Dan’s brothers Cade and Big Zed were seated with Hattie, Bart’s ex-wife. She was fighting a losing battle with tears, a tissue wadded in her fist. Her girls were also part of the group.
Nearby, both of Dan’s ex-wives, neither of which Pescoli cared much for, sat ramrod straight. Akina Bellows, seated next to her current husband, Rick, remained dry-eyed, but sober. Their one-year-old daughter, squirming slightly, was seated on Akina’s lap.
Dan Grayson’s first wife, Cara, a petite woman who was related to Hattie—Pescoli frowned. Maybe a half sister or something?—sat stiffly next to her husband, Nolan Banks. Their daughter, Allison, who was a little younger than Bianca, sat between her father and brothers and was fiddling with her cell phone despite what appeared to be several reprimands from her father. Nolan’s jaw tightened and finally he rolled his palm toward the ceiling and wiggled his fingers, silently indicating she should hand over the phone. The girl, ever-petulant, slid the offensive cell into a small clutch purse.
Pescoli suspected Allison was her own kind of trouble. Ezekiel and Isaiah, Nolan’s sons from a previous marriage, were leaning forward, elbows on their knees. Both boys, around college age, looked uncomfortable as they whispered and pulled at their collars and ties.
It seemed as if everyone in town had come to pay their respects. The chairs were all full, mourners spilling out into the hallway and anteroom.
After the chaplain, Cade and Zed approached the podium. While Zed didn’t say a word, Cade offered up some anecdotes about Dan Grayson, the man and the brother. Cade’s voice broke as he admitted he’d looked up to Dan, who had often been his ideal and sometimes even a father figure. Dan could get mad enough, but he’d always been able to see the clear path and had helped his hellion of a brother find his way, too.
After a prayer, there was a solo of “Amazing Grace” by Frannie Hendrickson, who led a choir at the Methodist church on Sundays and was known for her purple wig and karaoke renditions at the Tin Roof Saloon in Missoula on Saturday nights. Today, her hair was black, as were her dress and heels, her voice a clear and pure soprano that rose to the rafters.
Once again, Pescoli felt teary. She patted Sturgis’s head and the damn dog licked her hand, then leaned against her. At that moment, she knew that she’d keep the black lab until his dying day. Until then, she’d thought one of Dan’s brothers might want the dog, but it no longer mattered. Sturgis was hers and would be a living reminder of the sheriff. She caught Santana’s eye just before the last prayer and he gave her an encouraging smile and small wink that somehow made her heart swell despite her sadness. Her throat clogged at how suddenly grateful she was to be marrying him.
With the back of one finger she swiped away her tears and mentally reminded herself to toughen up, that if the chaplain were to be believed, Dan Grayson was in “a better place.” She wasn’t certain about that, but it was a nice idea and she liked to think it was true even if she didn’t quite believe it.
Once the service had concluded with another quiet prayer, the flag-draped coffin was wheeled out of the hall by the pallbearers—Grayson’s brothers and four officers from the department.
Pescoli, the dog in tow, left the hall and found her kids outside. They were standing close together, talking, their breath visible in the air as they waited by Jeremy’s pickup, which was parked in the side lot. She and Sturgis made their way to the truck.
“Thanks for coming. It means a lot to me.”
