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strange?
    “Apparently there a serious
case of memory loss in the Lodge household.”
    “But that is strange. Opal seems pretty sharp
to me. Unlikely to forget the butler was leaving for the day.”
    No answer.
    “Jake?”
    “Yeah. There's some things not making sense to me. Maybe
it's because there's a boatload of relatives descending on the house, and
everyone is stressed out. This is traumatic for all of them. Plus Hudson’s
sister is going downhill, and he’s worried about her.”
    “He runs the household.”
    “Right. They hired a
maid and a cook through a temp agency to help with the relatives. There’s a
relative a minute showing at the front door. Everyone’s running around like
coyotes after sage rats because the memorial service is tomorrow afternoon, and
the reception is at the house.”
    “Are you going to the memorial service?” I
asked.
    “You bet.”
    “I'll look for you there. We can sit together
and you can point out the cast of characters.”
    “I can't wait.”

 
    Chapter 4

 
    The
memorial service was held at St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church, one of those nice
old Tudor style churches with lots of pointed arches and mahogany trim. Sun lit
the stained glass. The place glowed. Nice touch for a funeral. I arrived early
to get a good seat toward the back to watch the parade of people. I was not
disappointed. The turnout included men in severe business suits and matching
women in stylish black and hats. Jake slid in beside me. He had poured himself
into a dark suit, stretching a bit at the buttons.  
    “How are things at the home ranch?” I said for
openers. I smoothed down his collar that was standing up in the back. This man
needed a butler. Or a wife. Butler would be less
trouble.
    “Chaotic.” Jake was watching people walk down
the aisle as he spoke.
    “See anyone you know?” I asked, following his
gaze toward an eye catching blond in tight black skirt, matching jacket, super
high heels and black bolero hat.
    “That's Albert’s girlfriend.”
    “Where?” It couldn't
be the blond.
    “The blond.”
    “You’re kidding.”
    “No. I talked to her yesterday. She says they
were just friends, that Albert thought there was more
to it than she did. She's older than she looks. Probably in
her forties somewhere.”
    “I wonder what she does to keep looking so
young.”
    “Maybe it's in the genes.”
    I looked at him. “More likely
in surgical tools. Does she have a name?”
    “Lisa Lundgren.”
    I watched her sitting alone, toward the middle
of a row way in front of us. She, too, seemed interested in the parade of
stars.
    “There's the niece that lives in Arlington,”
Jake said. “She came by the house yesterday while I was there.” He nodded at a
woman leading a little boy by the hand, followed by a tall, Ivy League looking
guy. She was way shorter than her lanky husband and a bit on the plump side. They
sat in front with the family, which was getting more extensive by the minute.
    Opal entered escorted by a youngish man in a
gray suit.
    “Nephew from Oregon,” said Jake out of the side
of his mouth. “He arrived Saturday and has been helping Opal with arrangements.”
    The church was large, but a respectable crowd
filled it. The people looked Washington think tank, white haired men in bow
ties, Capitol Hill types with billboard smiles. Albert
had friends in high circles. During the eulogy several men spoke in admiration
of Albert's work and life that included postings as political attaché for a
number of embassies. That might mean he was doing work for the Central Intelligence
Agency in his diplomatic postings. One could never be sure in this town. Several
of the nephews spoke of their uncle as a mentor, how kind he was, what an
inspiration, his droll sense of humor. The usual. It
could make a person wish they had known the old guy while he was living.
    In the receiving line at the end of the
service, Opal pressed my hand. “You will come over to the house, won't