Valeri Erwin, the sneaky little opportunist, was the one who needed to worry. Helen knew exactly what she had been up to. Too bad her little plan had backfired. She was the reason everything had gone so wrong so quickly. This was her damned fault.
Now they were all being looked at as suspects.
“If you’re sure.” Renata stood, looked to Jose. “Let’s go home.”
“One more thing,” Helen said, waylaying the two. When they looked back at her, she warned, “Don’t talk to the reporters. They’ll only make this worse for us.”
They shared a look and then went on their way.
Helen watched as they walked out the back door. She dropped into a chair at her kitchen table.
She put her face in her hands and let the tears flow. Her shoulders shook with the sobs. She was so tired and so frustrated. Besides losing her husband all those years ago, this was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. There was a time when Thomas Wilton had been almost like a brother to her. She drew in a ragged breath, scrubbed at the dampness on her face. But he wasn’t. Friendship was all well and good, but blood was thicker than water.
Now here they were. If only she had paid better attention, she would have seen this coming. She should have known the past would never be forgotten. Some things could not be forgiven.
It was Erwin and Alicia who had ruined everything.
This could have been prevented if only ... Too late for if-onlys now.
Deep breath. Helen scrubbed away the last of her tears. But she had to be strong. She could do what had to be done.
There was no other choice.
15
Barrett’s Funeral Home
Washington Street, 4:00 p.m.
“You’re sure you don’t want to go home?” Bent studied Vera with blatant skepticism.
She didn’t bother trying to produce a smile. She felt like hell. He was right about all the things he was no doubt thinking. Her head hurt. She felt ill. That late lunch he’d forced her to eat was on the verge of making a reappearance. But she was absolutely positive she did not want to go home and crawl into bed. She had too much to do. It was never good to allow a case to cool when so many little fires had been ignited.
Every member of Thomas Wilton’s household and personal staff was feeling the heat. If a single one of them was holding back, right now was when they would be most worried. The tension and fear that worry prompted made them vulnerable.
“No.” Vera dredged up a ghost of a smile. “I need to talk to Eve. She’ll take me home.”
Bent made one of those faces that warned he thought she was making a mistake. “Okay. Should I walk you in?”
She wasn’t even going to answer that. “I’ll see you later.”
Her exit from his truck was less than graceful, so she didn’t dare make eye contact with him once she was walking away. He wouldbe shaking his head and thinking that she was too hardheaded for her own good.
Maybe she was, but if he didn’t understand that was her way by now, he was well behind the curve and probably wouldn’t ever catch up.
She pulled open the glass entrance door. Damn, when had it gotten so heavy. Lucky for her no one greeted her, which meant she could scurry on to the mortuary room without having to exchange all the usual chitchat with someone who wanted to sell her a deluxe funeral and burial package.
As she neared her destination, she couldn’t decide which was worse: the fake floral odor of a funeral home or the atrocious music playing softly in the background.
She needed to remind Eve that when she died, she wanted to be cremated. She would not have half the town scrutinizing her cold, dead face and stiffly styled hair. Or talking about her infamous history over her casket, or any of the other stuff that people did during visitations.
At the mortuary room door Vera knocked, then braced herself for her sister’s reaction to her arrival. Eve did not like to be interrupted when she was preparing avisitor. That was what she insisted on calling the dead people who ended up on her table. Vera reminded herself not to saycorpseordead body.
When Eve didn’t open the door, Vera knocked again. Maybe her sister had started wearing earbuds and didn’t hear the knocking. Doubtful. Eve liked conversing with her visitors. Yeah, there was that too.
But that was just Eve’s way. She wasn’t psychic (that they knew of), and she wasn’t off her rocker. Well, not any more than Vera, anyway. They simply had their eccentricities. Didn’t everyone?
“Vee, what’re you doing here?”
