“Notified me of what?” Keller said, not raising the obvious question of who the hell would notify her of something, other than the liaison she was on the line with.
“Oh, sweet Jesus.” The woman paused. “Dan Pine was attacked yesterday. They’re not sure he’s gonna make it.”
* * *
It was another half hour before Keller arrived at the church. She’d been delayed because she needed to tell Stan the news about Danny Pine before the media picked up the story.
The church was not picturesque. No old-time steeple with pristine grounds. Just a modern-looking structure that could’ve passed for a bank were it not for the stained-glass windows and sign out front. Lining the road were satellite trucks and makeshift tents made of tarps to protect equipment from the imminent rain. Reporters milled around, holding paper cups of coffee and primping in hand mirrors, waiting for the ceremony to end.
Keller pulled in next to several other vehicles parked illegally in the grass at the far end of the overflowing lot. She walked quickly, and the reporters paid her no mind. The air was strangely still, the sky an unusual shade of green. She felt an electric current in the atmosphere.
Inside, the front entryway of the church was quiet. She could hear voices coming from behind the two large doors that led into the nave of the church. She debated waiting it out, not wanting to interrupt the ceremony, but a man in a dark suit came out of one of the doors, and headed toward a sign for the men’s restroom. Reaching to catch the door before it closed, Keller was startled by a piercing sound—a wailing siren—coming from outside.
What the hell?
Keller realized that it was a tornado siren. The Pine family just couldn’t catch a break.
The doors opened and mourners started filing out. They headed to a stairwell near the restrooms. Keller found herself in the queue, pushed quietly along to the basement stairs. The old man in front of her grumbled as he made his way down one painful step after the other.
“Overreacting as always,” the old man said. “It’ll be gone by the time we get down there.”
Keller imagined that this was how it was everywhere. If you lived in Manhattan, you were immune to terror warnings. If you lived in San Francisco, you didn’t get jarred when the ground shook. If you lived in Florida, you took hurricane watches in stride. And if you lived here, you calmly shuffled to lower ground when funnels threatened to fall from the sky and destroy everything in their path.
She must’ve looked rattled, or maybe it was plain she was an out-of-towner, because once they reached the church’s basement an elderly woman put a hand on Keller’s arm. “Don’t worry, dear. We get these all the time.”
After a few minutes, mourners filled the entire basement. Keller stood near a bulletin board pinned with announcements—community bake sales, an AA meeting schedule, a poster for the Cub Scouts—and tried not to knock over the folded metal chairs leaning against the wall. Looking for Matt, she scanned the crowd.
In the far corner, a small group huddled around Matt’s aunt. A black woman stood next to Cindy, and Keller could make out someone’s head—the grandfather, probably—who was sitting down. She didn’t see Matt.
In the other corner, she spotted a group of college-aged kids, an interesting ensemble. A drop-dead gorgeous blonde, a mischievous-looking Indian kid, a Korean guy who was so tall that he had to crouch to avoid his head hitting the ceiling, a black kid with kind eyes, and a tiny woman with mascara that had run down her face. Matt’s friends from NYU, she assumed. Matt wasn’t with them, either.
She needed to talk to him. It was the absolute worst time to tell him about his brother, but she didn’t want him learning about the attack from the feed on his phone. She was becoming an expert at delivering bad news to Matt Pine.
She looked over to another small crowd. The governor was standing in the center, holding court. The only surprise was that there was no camera on him. No footage for the sequel to “A Violent Nature,” though Keller imagined the aunt had banned the Adlers from the ceremony. The minister was making his way through the mourners to speak to the governor.
“All right, folks,” the governor said in a loud voice, slicing through the noise. The minister was standing next to him. “The warning has been lifted. If I can ask everyone to head back upstairs.” He directed an arm to the stairwell. “Single file, please.”
The crowd parted to let Matt’s grandfather and aunt head up first. Led by a caregiver, the grandfather looked disoriented, confused.