Death Never Sleeps Read Online Free Page A

he couldn’t put his finger on. But he knew what it was. It was his inability to juxtapose this beautiful life with eternal extinction. What was the point of a great dinner in Paris with people you loved, when you were all going to wind up in a box? How strange that all the buildings and houses would still be standing, yet everyone who ever breathed would be gone.
    Michael was awakened from his nightmare by Samantha’s gentle tap on his arm; it was time to file by the casket and leave the church. The Greek custom was for the casket to remain open during the funeral service at the church and then, in full view of all the mourners, for it to be shut—forever—at the conclusion of the service. Michael always felt this was undue torture for those left behind, but perhaps it allowed the deceased a final view of everyone in attendance. Fortunately, Michael thought, his brother’s casket was closed. Alex never cared much about traditions or customs.
    As they began their exit, Michael took his sister-in-law’s arm. “Michael, I need your help,” Donna whispered. “I need to speak with you alone. Please. You have no idea how important it is.”
    “Okay, don’t worry, Donna. Let’s talk while we’re at the wake after the burial. We’ll just find a quiet table at Grimaldi’s away from everyone for a few minutes.”
    As Michael approached the church’s door, Greta Garbone, Alex’s second wife, caught his arm. He turned around and looked closely at her. Her hair was disheveled and her blue eyes appeared to be bloodshot. She seemed unsteady. Michael was unsure whether she was gripping his arm to catch his attention or to keep her balance. Despite moving to within inches of his face, she was nearly screaming.
    “You got my name wrong in the obituary.” Her words were slightly slurred.
    Michael could feel Samantha pulling on his other arm, trying to keep him moving toward the doors, but Greta’s grip only tightened. He turned to face her. “Whatever happened to ‘I’m sorry for your loss’?” he said softly.
    “ Your loss? Where the hell were you all those years? And I read the fucking obituary, Michael; you know my name’s Greta, not Rosemary. You did it intentionally.” Greta’s face was red, twisted. In fact, Rosemary Garbone had changed her name to Greta just before marrying Alex, figuring it was a better stage name and assuming that Alex would bankroll her into a career as an actress.
    “Greta, I didn’t write the obituary. I never even saw it. I don’t care about obituaries, they’re all too late, if you know what I mean.” He knew she didn’t.
    Greta’s face came even closer. “I’m only sorry his fucking casket was closed. I wanted to see him dead. I wanted to see the last look on his face, the one when he knew he was going to die.”
    Samantha, watching the exchange, pulled Michael more firmly now. “Ignore her, Michael; she’s crazy and drunk. Come on, please.”
    Michael moved away, hoping that Greta would release her hand from his arm. But as he moved in the opposite direction, she tightened her grip again, forcing him back toward her and now catching the attention of the surrounding mourners.
    “Your brother used me. He wouldn’t go to LA; he wouldn’t leave fucking Queens—and then he dumped me for Donna.”
    Michael knew the story differently. As he watched his nephew, George, pushing through the crowd around them to rescue his mother from her tirade, Michael thought about Alex’s distress when Greta left him for the lure of a Las Vegas magician whom she believed had Hollywood connections.
    A teary-eyed George Nicholas finally reached his mother, pulling her away from Michael and off to the side of the church. “Mom, what are you doing? Let’s go.”
    But Greta Garbone wasn’t quite finished. “You’re no better than your brother,” she called out in Michael’s direction, her words echoing off the marble floors and stone walls, as all eyes inside the church now followed her.