A Share in Death

“They don’t care, not any of them. My dad’s been beastly. He said, ‘Good riddance to the little poof.’ They’ve all been saying …” Her voice wavered and he risked a glance at her face, restraining an impulse to touch her. Without meeting his eyes, she folded her arms across her stomach and hunched her shoulders a little lower—a hedgehog posture. “They’re saying he killed himself. I don’t believe it. Sebastian wouldn’t do that.” She curled up even further, resting her face against her drawn-up knees.

Jesus, thought Kincaid, what was he to say to this child that wouldn’t make her feel even worse? Had she considered the implications of what she was saying? That if Sebastian hadn’t killed himself, someone she knew, and quite possibly loved, might have killed him? Kincaid didn’t think so. It was more likely that she hadn’t been told enough to realize that Sebastian’s death couldn’t have been an accident. “Well,” he temporized, “I’m not sure anything’s definite yet. There will have to be tests and things to find out exactly how Sebastian died.”

“Nobody I knew ever died before. Except my grandmother, and I hadn’t seen her for a long time.” Angela’s words were muffled by her knees. “They wouldn’t let me see him. My dad said not to be so stupid. But I can’t

A share in death 43

believe he’s dead. Gone, you know? Just like that. I feel like I should say goodbye.”

“It does help, sometimes, to see someone who’s died. A letting go. I think that’s why they have open caskets at funerals, except by the time the person’s been painted and fixed up at the undertakers they don’t bear any resemblance to the person you knew. It makes it worse, in a way.”

Angela thought about it for a moment. “Then I don’t think I’d want to see Sebastian that way, even if they’d let me. I’d rather remember him the way he was.”

“If I were you,” said Kincaid, slowly, “I’d have a private farewell. Do something you know he liked. Go somewhere he liked to go, or do something you did together.”

Angela lifted her head, her expression brightening. “Yeah. In memoriam. Isn’t that what it’s called? Maybe I will.”

“Angela,” Kincaid said, treading carefully, “you saw Sebastian last night, didn’t you?”

“At the party. That was when he talked about you. But I didn’t get to meet you, because you were so busy with them.” Her emphasis fell on the last word, and he guessed that the category included most adults. “Did Sebastian seem any different than usual?”

“You mean depressed? No.” Angela’s forehead creased in sudden concentration. “Except he left for a few minutes. And when he came back he seemed sort of… excited. He had this look he’d get sometimes, like the cat that ate the canary. Pleased with himself. But he didn’t say anything. When I asked him, he just said ‘Never you mind, little one’—teasing me, you know, the way he did.”

“Did you see him later, after the party?”

“No, my dad took me to York, to some fancy restaurant. But he was so cross that it was awful. We had a terrible row on the way back.”

“Did your dad go out again?”

“No. Well, I don’t think so. I locked myself in the bathroom for hours, I was so mad. I went to sleep on the floor, and when I woke up, he was in bed asleep.”

“Must have been a pretty awful row. What was it about?” Kincaid delivered the question lightly, almost jocularly,

44 deborah crombie

afraid he’d breach her new-found confidence in him.

“Oh, you know. My mum. Me. He hates my clothes, my hair, my make-up. He said I looked like a slut at the stupid party last night and I embarrassed him. Well, I hope I did. He’s embarrassed me enough times, making—” She broke off, dropping her head and twisting her fingers together, suddenly uncomfortable.

Voices came through the closed oak door behind them, followed by a bark of laughter. “That’s my dad, now.” Angela half stood, listening, like a hare poised for flight. “I’d better—”

“It’s all right. I’d better be off myself. Angela,” Kincaid said as she started toward the door, and she turned back to him, “Sebastian really cared about you, too. He told me so last night, before the party.”

“I know.” She smiled at him, and he saw what Sebastian had been astute enough to discover, the kernel of sweetness hidden beneath her usual sullen pose. “Can I call you Duncan? Mr. Kincaid makes you sound ancient.” A hint of flirtation, now, in the smile, and in the dark eyes looking at him through the lowered lashes. Kincaid realized he’d have to be careful not to tease her. She was, after all, almost grown.

“Sure. See you.”

“Yeah.” She slipped through the door and he waited a moment before following. He had the feeling that Angela might like to keep their conversation just between the two of them, and that suited him as well.

Graham Frazer’s hearty voice met him as he entered the sitting room. “Well, if it isn’t our resident narc.” Kincaid was beginning to share some of Sebastian’s antipathy for Frazer.