To my supreme disappointment David didn't drive to his evil lair to confess to me he was the murderer. Instead, when he pulled off into traffic, he fell in line behind the damn funeral procession. I didn't even notice until we'd pulled into traffic and drove about half a mile at 30mph in a 45mph zone.

       Enduring more sad funeral faire was distressing but maybe I could still talk to David at the gravesite. After a drive that felt like hours, we finally pulled into Evergreen Memorial Park, one of the larger cemeteries in the city. I followed the crowd and parked along the road that ran through the northern segment of the burial ground.

       Noah's coffin was already prepped and ready for descent by the time I walked from my car to the large white tent set up to shade the festivities from the grueling sun. The Walker family was already seated in the covered fold out chairs facing the casket. I hurried over to find a spot behind the dwindled crowd. David and some others had chosen to remain standing in the back. I slipped up next to him but otherwise ignored him.

       When everyone was settled the preacher went up to recite thematically relevant scripture. He chose Revelation 21:2-4 but I'll be honest, I wasn't listening to that shit. We already heard scripture back at the church. How long is this funeral? What more is there to say about this dude? I'm tired, I'm hungry, my feet are killing me in these shoes—can we wrap it up? I wish they'd just put him in the ground already—wait, focus!

       If David was the murderer his attendance at his victim's funeral was damning. Plus, according to his social media David owned several guns, any one of which could have been the murder weapon. The only hitch in the theory was the fact that the gun had been left only a few feet from the body. What kind of fool would leave evidence if he didn't have to?

       Maybe he'd been in shock.

       I peeked over at David. He stood rim-rod straight with his hands folded together like he was a boy scout or something. His graying hair rustled a bit in a passing breeze. One of his expensive loafers tapped irritably in the grass. If I could just figure out—

       "—This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't cut him off!"

       My eyes snapped forward just in time to see Nancy Walker standing over Noah's coffin with tears streaming down her face.

       Noah's father stood from his seat. "He should have been cut off years ago. You agreed with me."

       She sniffed sadly. "Well, I was wrong."

       "Mom, it's not your fault." Noah's brother, Nate I recalled, stood. "He was a screw up."

       She gasped. "Don't say that."

       "He was. All that money you paid for college, and he throws it away to do God knows what. It's no wonder he was murdered."

       "Don't say that!"

       He pointed his finger at his mother, an act that would've won me a foot up my ass. "You always loved him the most."

       The littlest sister, Maggie, sighed. "Lay off. Today is not the day."

       "Then when?" Nate threw his hands up melodramatically. This whole family was melodramatic! Honestly, I'm over it. "He's dead! And the last time I talked to him I told him he was a screw up!" He looked like he was on the verge of tears too. Lord, we are never getting out of here.

       At that point I started tuning them out again. Always in circles with this family. Yes, he was a fuck up. Yes, no one liked him. Was it bad parenting? I don't know. Was it just his nature? Who gives a shit, he's dead? All I know is, I don't want to die out here waiting to bury this one man 'cause his family can't keep it together for a fucking ten-minute speech. It's true what they say, money really can't buy class. But it sure as hell could have bought some valium to keep Nancy Walker from derailing this shit every time someone said Noah's name! I am sooo ready to go!

       And I'm hungry as shit!

       "—If you hadn't cut him off, he'd still be alive."

       "Nancy, it's barely been three months. If he couldn't cut it by himself for three months—"

       Three months ago? That's about when he started blackmailing Kelli again. Did he start up again because he couldn't make the bills without his parents? Three months ago was about when he got fired too. Was the man living a completely fabricated life?

       To my amusement the preacher-man rolled his eyes at the Walker family's latest outburst. He was ready to go like the rest of us. "Sister Nancy," there was an edge to his voice, but he reeled it back in. "I understand your pain, but he's in God's kingdom now. Don't mourn his death, celebrate his homegoing."

       Very tactful, Mr. preacher-man.

       Nancy sniffed again, nodded her head, and walked back to her seat. Before her ass even connected with that fold out chair the preacher gave the signal and Noah's coffin began its descent into the earth.

       Thank you, God.

       Some of the mourners went up to speak with the family but David started easing back toward his car, so I followed. He moved quick. His pace was brisk and determined. He had a good two feet on me, so I had to power walk like an Olympian. For real, that's an Olympic sport—look it up.

      When I caught up, I slowed. "Sheesh," I said, only slightly out of breath. "Rough funeral, huh?"

       He cut his eyes at me quickly before looking back at the coffin. "Yeah."

      I leaned deeper into my southern accent. It made me sound friendly, folksy, and harmless. "Not too popular—not that I'm surprised, considering where I know him from."

       "Mmm hmm." He picked up his pace.

       "Not a bit surprised he got shot either." I was able to match his speed by powering myself with determination and residual annoyance. Irritation was an amazing motivator. "I might have taken the shot myself, but I'm too dogone responsible."

       He stopped, then turned on a dime to look me over. "You're a gun owner?"

       "Heck yeah! You got to be in this crazy world." I nodded. Common ground was the key to all human connection. A little of it was necessary here to open the lines of communication. "I'm just one woman, you know."

       "Ain't that the truth." He actually smiled a little. "What sort of firearm do you have?"

       Shit. Quick, what's a type of gun? "Oh, a Glock, nothing too fancy." Let's steer the conversation away from the technical and toward the philosophical. "It's only for protection, though I've always wanted to try hunting."

       His eyes lit up. I said the magic word. "I'm a hunter."

       I bat my eyes all innocent-like. "Really? What do you hunt?"

       "I'll hunt about anything. I've done wolves, deer, wild boar. I've even done some big five hunting."

       Barf. I saw his 'big five' pictures. There's one in particular of him smiling wide as he stood over the corpse of an African elephant that really irked me. Fuck him.

       "That is just the coolest." I grinned. "Well, anyway, how did you know Noah?"

       His shoulders stiffened. "Oh, uh, we were friends, I guess."

       I humphed, quite loudly. "We were friends too, sort of. If you could call it that." I crossed my arms and pursed my lips. "Of course, I'm not too sad our friendship's over—opps! Said too much."

       His brow furrowed. "If you didn't like him, why are you here?"

       I shrugged. "To make sure he's dead, of course."

       He chortled. His shoulders relaxed. "Me too."

       "Not a fan?"

       "Not at all." He leaned in so no one else could overhear. "I'll tell you one thing; the world got a little brighter without Noah Walker terrorizing good Christian folk."

       "Amen to that." I matched his whisper, though, no one in this crowd but Nancy Walker seemed to care if we bad mouthed him. "What could that fool have had on you, though? He had some pictures of mine. Told me to give him cash or else."

       "Pictures? Really? Asshole." He didn't seem surprised. Either I looked like the type to have compromising pics on the internet or he was being blackmailed with similarly compromising pics. "The thing he said I did; I didn't do it."

       The thing he said he did? "I shouldn't be surprised he'd just make up stuff about people." Better I pretend I believe him. Keep it friendly. "But hey, you don't have to worry anymore, right?"

       "Right." David checked his fancy watch again. "I've got a meeting soon. It was nice talking to you."

       "And you." I couldn't think of any way to keep him still, so I went to my car and watched him pull off and back onto the main road. "Shit."

       I sighed and cranked the car. Was today just a long waste of time? No, no. Focus on the positives. I found David, at least. And I've started a rapport with him. And I've figured out why Noah started his extortion racket again after a three-year hiatus. That's something. Even if it is something small.

********************************

       Later that night I dug deeper into David's background but there was nothing untoward about him. There was no criminal history to speak of. No episodes of violence or even minor level public confrontations. What I did find was an article in some society rag about his impending divorce from his wife of eighteen years. Connected? Maybe David was a serial cheater and Noah had blackmailed him with the evidence. Maybe he was a compulsive gambler and lost their mansion at the racetrack. Maybe he had a debilitating coke addiction. Or maybe not. I couldn't leave a motive up to speculation. In fact, I had no confirmation that David even did anything at all. It seemed to me the key with both David and Ro was figuring out their secrets, and whether it was worth killing over. But how?

       I rubbed at my eyes. Sleep beckoned. I shut down my laptop and crawled under my covers. I grabbed my remote and switched over to Hulu. After I found something sufficiently boring looking enough to put me to sleep, the phone rang. It was Manny.

        "Hey, you," I said while turning down the volume.

       "How was the funeral?"

       "Boring. But I did find my third suspect."

       "Well, that's suspicious." He sounded as tired as I felt.

       "I know. Not only that, but he's a hunter."

       He paused. "...So?"

       "So, he has access to guns."

       "...So?"

       "So, Noah was shot."

       "So?"

       I pushed myself up to a sitting position. "I will literally kill you if you say 'so' again."

       He chuckled. "You can't accuse someone of murder just because they have guns. Half the damn county has guns."

       Uh oh. Mr. Logical's about to wreck all my theories. "Okay, but I saw his social media and he has pictures of himself, get this, hunting elephants!"

       "S—"

       "Don't say it!"

       "Relevance?"

        "He's clearly a psychopath! Elephants are intelligent!"

       "So are pigs, but we had barbeque last week."

       "They're not as smart as elephants, though."

       "But smarter than dogs and we don't eat them."

       "Meats probably tough anyway."

       "If it was less tough, would you eat it?"

       "Depends on how hungry I am—why are we talking about dogs?"

       "I don't know but I think I better keep you fed if I want to protect Bertie."

       "Shut up!" I snickered. It was nice that he indulged my absurdity sometimes. "All I'm saying is if he could kill one of those sweet, smart, ugly-cute creatures for clout he could kill a human."

       "I don't know about that."

       I sighed. "Hunting for sport is wrong."

       "The tens of thousands of dollars he spent to kill one lion is used in conservations to protect a dozen more."

       "Why are you being so reasonable?" I scoffed. "Can't you let me be prejudiced in peace?"

       "Someone's got to temper your insanity." He yawned. That made me yawn. "Besides, if you want him charged for a real crime you've got to find real proof."

       "Fine." I slipped back under the covers and turned on my side. "How about this? The killer left his gun at the crime scene."

       "Fingerprints?"

       "No, but I figure it's just a matter of time before they trace it back to him."

       "Trace it back?"

       "Yeah. They can just check the gun registry thingy or whatever."

       "There's no gun registry in Florida."

       "Excusez-moi?"

       "Yeah. They'll be able to get it back to the last vendor who sold it, maybe, but if the gun was bought privately or the vendor has shitty records who knows."

       I groaned. "Oh my God. Do I live in the fucking O.K. Corral?"

       He snickered softly. "It's not that drastic but I wouldn't rely on some magical gun tracing theory."

       "Fuuuucccck me." This day was just full to the brim of bad news. "So, how was your day, Mr. Ethics in Crime Solving?"

       "Fine." His tone turned short.

        I tried again. "Nothing interesting happening in the life of a homicide detective?"

       "Just paperwork." Work had been a sore subject for over a week now. It seemed like it was getting to him—whatever it was—but I wasn't sure how to help. If I could help. "You excited for the fight tomorrow night?"

       "Not even a little."

        "That's okay. I'm excited enough for both of us."

        "Well, I hope you see what I'm willing to do to make you happy."

       "I do. How'd you like something pretty?" He thought for a moment. "Hmm...an elephant necklace?"

       "I'd love that, but you don't have to bribe me to hang out with you. I do it for the free food." I glimpsed over at my alarm clock and saw it was a little past my bedtime. "I need to get some sleep if I'm going to look cute for you at this fight tomorrow."

       "Alright. I love you, you lunatic."

       "Love you too."

       After I hung up I snuggled down into my sheets and let sleep gently pull me toward its soothing abyss. The last thought on my mind before I drifted off was of tomorrows fight.

       I had a date with a pretty boxer.