A/N: Talk of death and funeral.

Part 32

The drive to the north side of Lac Léman, to Montreux, where the funeral is held, takes exactly one hour and forty-seven minutes. Miranda knows this as Andrea's driving and she has very little else to do but check the time. Around them, the beautiful scenery of the lake and the Suisse landscape should attract some of her attention, but her mind only goes inward right now.

Miranda remembers the shy little timid girl that was Iris. How she clung to her mother's skirts, how the raucous laughter of the men aboard the ship made her shrink and hide. How this child, later an ethereally beautiful woman, could survive the illness that tore through small bodies as if they were set aflame. But she did. She lived on to be almost two-hundred and fifty years old, only to have her life snuffed out by a car crash caused by an avalanche. Miranda balls her hands into fists, forcing herself to breathe calmly.

Apparently, this doesn't escape Andrea who places a hand on Miranda's left. "You're nervous?"

"No." Miranda wills the muscles around her jaws to relax enough to make it possible for her to speak. "Furious."

"About?"

"How she died. I've been injured in my life. On a few occasions, so badly, the physicians deemed it impossible for me to recover. How can a car crash injure Iris so badly that she doesn't recover? Trust me, we're not easy to kill, us girls from the ship."

"What does it take?" Andrea asks quietly, her hand shaking now.

Miranda loathes this subject but realizes that going to a funeral for someone who is her peer, brings it center stage. "As there are only two of us left, that we know, obviously death is possible. Decapitation. Exsanguination. And gorier imagery that I won't disgust you with."

"I can…imagine." Andrea swallows audibly but keeps her hand on Miranda's. "Is this why you think hanging may not have been enough when it comes to Trudy and Caroline?"

"It's a theory."

They continue in silence for the next few miles. Then Andrea squeezes Miranda's hand and runs her thumb over her knuckles. "Did you mean it…last night?"

Miranda blinks as the question takes her off guard and she's not sure what Andrea means. "Excuse me?"

"Did you mean it when you asked me not to let go? Or was that…sort of in the moment?" Andrea's tone is matter of fact, but the fine tremors in her hand show she's not.

Miranda doesn't know how to respond. No, that's not correct. She knows exactly how she wants to reply to Andrea's brave question but that's not the same thing. A quick glance at the stunning, temporarily auburn-haired woman next to her, makes it impossible to lie. "I shouldn't mean it." Miranda's not prepared to say more, but she can tell from how the tension around Andrea's mouth relaxes, that she understands. Miranda wonders if Andrea also realizes that it's a non-answer. Probably.

They find the church, which is beautiful and ornate, and parking doesn't pose a problem. Together with Andrea, Miranda enters the building, and they find seats among the multitude of attendees. In front of the altar, Iris's casket, white and adorned with white carnations, pink roses, peach tulips, sits. The color scheme is springlike, rather than wintery, which perhaps speaks of her taste, or maybe of her family's preferences.

After a while, the organist starts playing and the ceremony commences. Miranda listens to the priest while stealthily scanning the faces in the crowd. She doesn't recognize anyone, but she's on age, and she trusts the instincts that she's honed for so many years.

The priest pauses and motions toward the fire pew. "And now we'll hear some words from Anneliese's daughter, Camille."

Daughter? Miranda flinches and sits up straight. Beside her, she hears Andrea gasp.

A woman in her mid-twenties walks up to the podium to the right of the casket. She is pale, her eyes watery, but she manages a wobbly smile as she smooths out a wrinkled paper before her. She gently clears her throat. "My mother, Anneliese, has to have had the gentlest soul in all of Switzerland. She never met anyone she didn't like, or who didn't end up adoring her. Mother could come off as very shy at first, but once you got to know her, she ended up being your best friend. Losing her has changed my life, and that of my family's, forever, and…it is irreparable."

Camille continues to talk about Iris, of her accomplishments, her humanity, and how she and her father had a long road ahead of them, learning to live without her.

As Camille goes back to her seat and the priest takes over, Andrea turns to Miranda, her eyes wide. "Daughter?" she mouths.

"Adopted? Miranda whispers back, shrugging.

The ceremony takes a little less than an hour and then the family and close friends begin walking out of the church. Miranda and Andrea follow among the last ones, and as they do, a man bumps into Miranda, making her stumble.

"Pardon, Madame! Je suis desolee." The man apologizes but also grabs her arm rather brusquely.

Miranda yanks her arm free and glares at the man who dares to touch her, no matter the reason. She goes cold. This face is familiar. She can't say exactly where she's seen him before, but she has. Her mind is racing, but she maintains her composure as she moves along with the rest of the funeral attendees. "It's quite all right," she replies in French. "Think nothing of it."

Andrea is by Miranda's side and if looks could kill, the man would self-combust from the way Andrea's gaze singes him.

They get out of the church without any further incident and watch as Iris's casket is loaded into the hearse. It too is adorned with springtime flowers. Closest among the mourners, a tall, salt-and-pepper haired man stands with his arm around Camille. She's weeping softly against his shoulder and he kisses the top of her head. This must be Iris's husband. From the obituary, she knows his name is Mikael Munck.

Watching the hearse move to ready itself for the caravan of cars with mourners, Miranda takes Andrea's hand. "We'll to go the cemetery, but keep our distance. It's enough that we're going to infringe on this family at the house later."

"Agreed."

They walk back to the parking lot among the other people and wait until all the cars have left the parking lot before Andrea pulls out. Only then does Miranda realize that yet another car, a black BMW, has waited and now is right behind them. She pulls up a compact and directs the mirror to the back over her shoulder.

"I see them," Andrea says calmly. "They drove slowly as if to let everyone else pass. I was going to let them pass, but they stopped."

"Unsurprisingly, it's the man who stepped into me at the church who's behind the wheel." Miranda snaps the compact close. "I suggest we week a little closer to the mourners than we originally planned. We can't risk finding ourselves alone with anyone who might turn out to be the stalker."

"Stalkers. Plural. If it's that guy, he's got two others with him in the car." Andrea shakes her head. "Did we walk straight into a trap coming here?"

Miranda sighs. "Perhaps."

xxxxx

Continued in part 33.