Malpractice Makes Perfect

Chapter 4

          "This place is fabulous. One day I'm going to be rich enough to live in a house this ."

          "Alice, this is a repass. We just watched these people bury their mother."

          She ran a hand over the dreadlocks she'd piled into an elegant bun on top of her head. "And I respect her greatly. But this house, though."

          She wasn't wrong, the house—if you could call it that—was the stuff of dreams. Diana Dupont had bought a home in one of the oldest, richest neighborhoods in Burenville. The multimillion-dollar mansion was in Ortega, a man-made peninsula that jutted into the San Juan river. The property sat right against the cool, murky water. The neighborhoods occupants boasted of bankers, real estate developers, several players of our city's NFL team, and the mayor.

          We two gals had awoken this morning lifelong middle-classers and by the afternoon we'd traded in our golden tickets to take a guided tour through the upper class.

          Alice was dazzled by the extravagance of the plantation houses, the river, the yacht club, and the expensive cars. I, however, was working.

          And I wasn't the only one. Caterers dressed head to toe in black mingled among the crowd with silver trays full of unpronounceable hors d'oeuvres and flutes of champagne from France and not California. Honestly, the whole scene was giving me 'Nam flashbacks to my days waiting tables, but I relieved the bad memories with a plate full of decedent gourmet food.

          The only other person on the clock was the maid. She mostly stayed indoors but occasionally she'd step off the deck and hustle over to Destiny Dupont. I might not have paid her much mind except that she seemed particularly indebted to her above the other Dupont children, even though three out of four still lived in the house. Curious.

          The funeral had been quick—ish, at least. Only an hour.

          I'd spent the whole service watching the main family down on the front pew and trying desperately not to look at the time on my phone. The front of the church was painted a soothing beige; the only decoration a large ornate cross hung high on the wall behind the choir loft. There was no clock. Smart.

          Diana lay before the alter swaddled in a simple silk suit with a matching jewel studded hat. Surrounding her was a field of flowers.

          The preacher preached for twenty minutes about how precious life is, the virtues of living a godly life, and Diana's many philanthropic efforts, yada yada yada. Then, after they'd sung every sad Negro Spiritual in the AMC's 'We got a funeral' handbook, the pallbearers marched her mahogany casket out while the choir belted a rendition of Goin' Up Yonder that was actually pretty damn good.

          Behind them, the Dupont siblings followed their mother. Diana had two sons but neither had opted to help carry the casket. Instead they had escorted their sisters in and out of the church. Only leaving their sides once the burial was over and the remaining mourners had reconvened at Diana's mansion for the repass. Both events were invite only but the repass saw much fewer participants.

          Only Diana's inner circle was present now in the back garden of the white paneled castle she had called home for twenty-five years. Besides her children and grandchildren, the guests in attendance ranged from lawyers to CEOs to investors. Alice's eyes were practically sparkling with opportunity.

         "Don't even think about it." I said as we walked onto the back terrace and into the backyard. And by 'backyard' I meant elegant river side garden with shining brick deck covered by a flowered overhead trellis. Like the rest of the neighborhood the yard was shaded under a network of great branching oaks that swayed in the early afternoon breeze. It was as if I'd stepped into a post winter Narnia. Even the weather was perfect—though come summer the air would go from pleasant to muggy. "We're not here for you to try and make friends with the country club."