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Yuri looked at his granddaughter incredulously. “Where we always are going to celebrate. To the Salty Dog.”
Brody merely smiled at Yuri’s statement as the older man left the house. Once Yuri was gone, Brody looked at Irena. “I told you there’d be a get-together at Ike’s.”
She appreciated that her grandfather was happy to see her, appreciated that old friends wanted to see her, but the truth of it was, she didn’t feel very festive.
“I’d rather go to the funeral parlor,” she told Brody.
“There’s not much point in you going, especially not tonight.” He saw the quizzical look that came into her eyes. “It’s a closed casket,” he explained. “Nathan and his wife couldn’t make Ryan presentable enough for viewing.”
He left it at that, not elaborating that Ryan had obviously placed the muzzle of his gun underneath his chin. It was the ultimate irony. Ryan’s looks were what his older brother had always traded on. His face had been his free ticket to countless bedrooms, and in the end, he’d destroyed it. Intentionally? There was no way of knowing, but he did have his suspicions.
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