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“No. We don’t keep an office directory, and I never have a reason to call him.”
“Do you know where he lives?”
“No.” Lillian paused. “But he’ll be at Neil’s wake this afternoon. We’re all going. It’s open to the public.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Jacobson’s Funeral Home was a modern octagonal building with smoked glass windows recessed in a brick façade and a pitched gray roof. A boxwood hedge lined its front on busy West Chester Pike, and its parking lot wrapped around the back of the building, for employees and hearses.
I slipped on my ball cap and sunglasses and parked in the back but was still able to see the main lot. Nobody goes around the back of a funeral home, so I assumed I wouldn’t be spotted here, either by Fake Elliott Thompson, or my family, whom I expected to be here today.
The wake started at four o’clock, and I checked my watch. Three-twenty. My plan was to intercept Mike Dedham and find out if he could identify Fake Elliott Thompson in the photo. But I’d have to avoid being seen by my father and brother, who would show up in their never-ending custody battle over Stan.
I shifted lower in the seat, pulled down the brim of my ball cap, and waited. The first car to arrive contained three older women, and when they emerged in their black dresses, I assumed that one of them was Neil’s mother because she had graying red hair and used a walker.She looked grief-stricken, and my heart went out to her, though I remembered she had asked Daniel not to come. I couldn’t help but think that he would have been a comfort to her now.
There were no cars until closer to four o’clock, then came a flurry of arrivals in a few cars I recognized. Lillian in her yellow VW, then Stan and his wife in his Ford Explorer. Other Runstan employees got out of their cars, and I shifted upward, waiting for Mike. Guests to a wake could come at any time, so I had no idea when he’d be getting here.
Two black Range Rovers pulled into the lot, and I could see my father alone in the first one. John followed him, and then I lost sight of them both after they parked around the front of the building.
Cars continued to pull into the lot afterward, but none were suspicious or had Fake Elliott Thompson behind the wheel. I recognized more employees from the office, but there were some I didn’t know, whom I gathered were plant employees because they all seemed to know each other.
Then I noticed a red Prius parking near the entrance, and when the driver got out, I saw it was Mike. I grabbed my phone, got out of the car, and made a beeline for him. He was moving quickly, his head down in a dark suit. He looked up as I approached, but didn’t say anything, and I realized he didn’t recognize me.
“Mike, it’s TJ.” I took off the cap and sunglasses.
“TJ, how you been?” Mike broke into a smile. Cars pulled in around us, parking.
“Good, thanks. Can I ask you something before you go inside?”
“Sure.” Mike stopped, and I showed him the picture of Fake Elliott Thompson on my phone.
“Do you recognize this guy?”
“It’s hard to see in the sun.” Mike squinted at the photo. Peoplegetting out of their cars looked over, then went inside the funeral home. “Hmm, why, yes, he looks familiar.”
“Do you know him?”
“I don’t know,” Mike answered vaguely, then looked up. “Why?”
“I’m wondering if he’s an old friend of Stan’s, if he’s been around the office? Like from the early days?”
“Hedoeslook kind of familiar.” Mike looked at the picture again. “I don’t remember. But you know, I have some pictures at home from back in the day.”
“Would they jar your memory?”
“Possibly, and sometimes I write the names on the backs.”
Yes. “Could I see them? Maybe come over after the wake, if you’re free?”
“Sure, that’s fine. I live just down the road, in Broomall. But why?”
Suddenly I heard someone shout my name, and Mike and I looked over to see John hustling in our direction. I didn’t know when he’d spotted me, but my father was standing at the entrance to the funeral home. Soon Stan appeared beside him.
“TJ, what are you doing here?” John grabbed my arm, panicky. “You’re not welcome here. You have to go,now.”
“Get your hands off of me.” I wrenched my arm free in time to see Stan charging down the steps toward me, with my father on his heels.
“TJ!” John pushed me back. “Go, get out of here!”
