Page 48 of Our Daughter's Bones
Mackenzie tuned out the monotonous words of the lanky, square-faced priest—she bet he used the same description at every funeral. Every soul was beautiful. Every loss was heartbreaking. Every death was a reminder to appreciate the gift of life.
Instead, she counted the windowpanes running along the wall; it kept her tethered but distant.
Misery was too easy to fall into.
“Samuel and Gabriella seem to be holding it together,” Nick whispered at her side. He tipped his head in the direction of the couple, standing next to Erica’s picture and her closed casket.
Even if it weren’t for the media attention the Perez family had attracted, she would have known Samuel Perez before he’d taken his place at the front of the church. She’d seen him at several Lakemore events; fundraisers, charity galas, retirement parties, election nights. Samuel was neither a politician nor a law enforcement official, but he was the most important person in the food chain.
He was money.
Erica’s body had finally been released to the family. A year after she disappeared, they were going to bury her with dignity.
The thought clogged her throat.
With dignity—a courtesy she couldn’t show her father.
“They look devastated.”
“Even Arthur Bishop’s here.”
She followed Nick’s gaze to a man sitting in the front row. His mop of sandy brown hair looked like a wig. “Who’s he again?”
“Samuel’s business rival. Perez drove his business out of Lakemore a few years ago, but Bishop’s big in Tacoma now. His liquor empire runs through northern Washington up to British Columbia.”
“I’m guessing he was a suspect in Erica’s disappearance?”
“Not really,” Nick shrugged. “I looked into him, but there’s no real motive. What’s in it for him if Erica goes missing? The rivalry’s all business.”
“Still, that’s dignified of him, to show up at her funeral.”
“Money always sticks together, Mack. Plus, there’s the mob rule. Don’t touch the family.”
Samuel Perez’s build was beefy under his black suit. His black hair matched his eyes. He stepped up to the microphone and spoke of his daughter. Gabriella was taller than him but of scrawny frame. A black dress hugged her flat body and exposed her stick-like legs. Her surgically contoured nose was red as she sobbed into a dainty handkerchief.
“Look at that—Nathaniel Jones.”
Mack followed Nick’s gaze again, and spotted Nathaniel Jones standing in a corner wearing a solemn expression. He was gigantic—that’s the first word that came to her mind. Well over six feet tall, his body looked artificially inflated. He had no hair on his head but had bushy grey eyebrows, pulled down in a pained frown. Next to him stood a tall boy with a sharp jawline leading to a pointy chin.
She had seen him at Lakemore High. The alpha of the pack—he had told off his friend for commenting on Mackenzie’s hair.
“Quinn Jones. Are Nathaniel and Samuel friends?”
“Since high school. Nathaniel owns Empire Media. They own more than half the newspapers in Washington and have a monopoly on the local news network.”
“No wonder Erica’s disappearance received this much coverage.” No one had cared about Abby. Would they now?
She looked at the closed casket in the center. From afar, she couldn’t make out the intricate details of the design, but the hardwood was a gleaming walnut.
Erica had been hit with a rock, based on the pattern of fractures and the moss and fern particulates found in the skull. It indicated that she was struck and killed in the woods, as opposed to being transported there from another location.
She looked at the casket again. A sinking feeling overtook her.
“Mack?” Nick’s elbow poked her.
She jumped. “What?”
“I was saying let’s fill in Samuel and Gabriella together.”
