SURVIVAL INSTINCT

CHAPTER: 14

"A penny for your thoughts," a voice next to her said. Sarah turned to directly stare into the face of Detective Tanya Hudson, who was dressed for the occasion in a black business suit with a jacket that most probably concealed the gun she carried. 

"I thought it was only on TV that the murderers attended their victim's funerals," Sarah answered, suggestively. Her mouth quirked.

"It is not unheard of. Most murders are committed by people close to the victim. But more to the point, I always attend my victim's funeral. You never know who you might see," Detective Tanya Hudson said. She looked around the room and added, "Big crowd!"

Sarah nodded. "Anyone who is somebody in real estate is here. That black guy over there is the head of the real estate commission. The three women he is talking with are the board members. The guy with the beard is the president of the local real estate association. The extremely good-looking man in the gray suit is mine as well as Diana's boss, James Parker, owner of the 'Parker Real Estate Agency.' And that is Clara Lobo he is talking to. They look upset, don't they? I hope nothing is wrong. Nothing more, I mean to say."

"I see Diana's husband has found a friend." Detective Hudson's tone was carefully neutral.

"A neighbor," Sarah said, "from what I understand."

"Looks friendly, though," Detective Hudson said bluntly.

It indeed was. They were smiling and chatting as if nothing was wrong and his wife was not laid out a few feet away. Sarah had avoided looking at Diana so far, not being a fan of corpses in general and this one in particular. And Tom Walter, Diana's husband had, God, knows why arranged for an open casket. Although Sarah admitted it could have been worse. Diana had been dressed in her favorite black, with her plump hands folded across her plump stomach, and a diamond the size of a large pea was on her finger. The undertaker had the good sense to insist on a high-necked blouse, and nothing below the double chin was visible. Sarah breathed a sigh of relief, although she had not really expected anything else. A gaping throat wound was not something a loving, or even a cheating husband would want to expose to the world.  

"Isn't that Mr. Ryan Johnson?" Detective Hudson asked. Sarah came out of her thoughts at the sound of her voice. 

"Where?" Sarah asked.

"He is half-hidden behind that woman in the burgundy dress," Hudson said.

Sarah stretched her neck as far as it would go. "That is Helen Blake, Diana's assistant. I guess her mother never told her she should not wear red to a funeral. And yes, I believe that is Ryan Johnson she is rubbing herself against."

Helen was Sarah's age and unattached, and was, what Sarah and her group, in their younger days, used to call boy-crazy.

"I think I will go have a chat with him. Unless you would like to rescue him yourself?" Detective Hudson arched her brows questioningly to Sarah.

Sarah shook her head. "I doubt he needs rescuing. But if you want to try, you are most welcome." 

"In that case, I will see you later." Detective Hudson gave Sarah a cordial nod and wandered off. Sarah watched out of the corner of her eyes as Hudson deftly disengaged Ryan from Helen's breathless attention and walked off with him. Helen sulked. 

The funeral service itself got underway shortly, and the speeches were alternately bearable and distressing. Parker was dignified and the real estate commissioner and association president more so, while Tom Walter, Diana's husband was composed, at least until he started talking about his and Diana's children, and subsequently a single tear rolled down his cheek and trembled on his chin for a moment before plunging to its doom on Tom's suit. And Clara was a blubbering mess who had to be escorted off the podium by Tim who patted her hand solicitously while grinning offensively at the rest of the people. Helen was apparently not considered important enough to be allowed to speak.

Sarah left the service as soon as she decently could, without stopping to talk to anyone, and walked over to the parking lot barely ahead of the TV cameras. She was just about to get into her car when someone materialized next to her. She jumped backward with a little scream.

"Goddammit!" Sarah added after she had caught her breath, "can't you knock or something? You are scaring a year off my life every time you do that." 

Ryan Johnson smirked. His eyes were covered by mirrored sunglasses, and he did not say anything, just stood there looking at her. She assumed he must be looking at her, for it was hard to be sure for all she could see was her own reflection in those glasses.

"Would you mind taking the glasses off?" Sarah asked peevishly. "I like seeing people's eyes when I speak to them. They are the mirrors of the soul and all that."

"In that case, my soul's black as sin," Ryan said wryly. He removed the glasses. Sarah gasped.

He was not kidding. The skin around his left eye was puffy and tight and was purple-black in color. Sarah used that color sparingly for evening eye-shadow sometimes. It did not look as good on him as she fancied it did on her. She grimaced at the thought. "Put them back on, please. It hurts to look at you. What happened?"

"Disagreed with someone," Ryan said. When the dark glasses were in place, he looked back at her, but now she could no longer see his expressions. She narrowed her own eyes.

"It was not Melanie, the Afro-American woman, was it?" Sarah asked him.

He grinned. "Would that sweet little girl do something like this?" Ryan asked.

"I would not be surprised," Sarah said. "She could probably take you in arm wrestling, too."

"I doubt it. No darling, it was not Melanie. I had a run-in with the law," Ryan said.

Oh, God. "Did Sheriff Stevenson do it?"  Was this Ben Stevenson's idea of a talk? Sarah wondered.

"One of his deputies got a little carried away," Ryan said. "Had a score to settle, seemingly. I took care of it." He shifted his weight slightly.

"Sounds painful," Sarah said.

"It was. It could not have been pleasant for him, either," Ryan replied.

"I can imagine." Sarah looked around. There was a TV camera pointed their way, and she turned her back to it before she added, "I did not expect to see you here."

"I came to see you," Ryan said, with a glance at the TV crew. He turned away as well.

"Oh." God, he was not going to ask her out too, was he? "Um...what can I do for you?" Sarah asked him.

He did not answer, but his lips curled, and she realized; too late; what kind of response she had let herself in for. To refer to it would be unladylike, however, so she kept her mouth shut, although she could feel her cheeks had heated up. She was blushing. Ryan chuckled. "Got a favor to ask."

"What kind of favor?" Sarah asked him.

"Not that kind, I assure you," Ryan said.

"I was not thinking that kind," Sarah retorted.

"Of course not," Ryan said blandly.

Sarah bit her lip. He did not say anything else, though, and finally, she asked again, with what dignity she could muster, "What kind of favor?"

"Did you find out anything about the owner of that house on South Massachusetts Avenue?" Ryan asked her.

Whoops. Sarah flushed. "Sorry. With everything that has been going on, it totally slipped my mind. I will do it later today, I promise," Sarah said.

"No problem. Do you have any free time in the next couple of days?" Ryan asked Sarah.

"For what?" she questioned him.

"I want to go back there." 

Sarah looked up at him, dismayed. "Are you sure?" she asked him.

Going back to 102 South Massachusetts Avenue was at the top of all those things that Sarah never wanted to do again. Especially after what had happened last time she was there.

Ryan smirked. "If you are too scared, darling, I am sure I can find someone else."

Sarah did not doubt that at all. Helen would jump at the chance to work with him, and Tim Dickson would be all over him at the very first opportunity. In more ways than one. Well, that did not bother her, either of them was welcome to him if Melanie was willing to share. She just hated the idea of missing out on the commission if he actually bought the place.

"I will do it. But not today. I still have got the reception to go to," Sarah said.

"Tomorrow is fine. Seven?" Ryan asked.

Sarah agreed to meet him at the ungodly early hour of seven in the morning, then watched him walk away.

The TV cameras zoomed in on him as he went past, but nobody pestered him for an interview. 

Well, Sarah was not surprised about that.