The older woman pressed a hand to her chest. “Please, you’re one of Violet’s oldest and dearest friends. You don’t need to bring anything except yourself.”
She used to be one of Violet’s friends. “How is she?”
The question was stupid but expected.
Mrs. Manning sighed, the effort a momentous task for her petite body. “As well as can be expected.” She wrung her hands as if uncertain what to do with them since there was no casserole or plant to accept. “The children are with my husband at the park. We felt they needed a break from ... all this.”
Plants and flowers were everywhere. Emily imagined that the counters in the kitchen were loaded with casseroles that wouldn’t fit into the fridge. Cookies and cakes and breads. Enough to feed an army. It was the Southern way.
“Is there anything I can do?” Another expected question.
Mrs. Manning patted Emily’s arm. “Thank you, Em, but I think I have things under control for now. Why don’t you come say hello to Violet? I know how excited she was to see you the other day at lunch. You’ll be a ray of sunshine on this dark day.”
Evidently Mrs. Manning hadn’t heard about Emily’s recent exploits or had decided not to hold them against her. Either way, Emily was glad for the reprieve.
She followed Violet’s mother through the grand home until they reached the double doors that likely led to the main suite. Mrs. Manning rapped softly on the door. “Violet, you have company, dear.”
The door opened almost immediately and Violet appeared looking her usual regal self.
“Em!” She rushed to hug Emily. “Thank you for coming.” She glanced at her mother. “Would you prepare tea, Mother? Tea would be so nice.”
“Certainly, dear.”
“Please, don’t go to any trouble,” Emily offered.
“Tea will do us good.” Violet tugged Emily into her room. “You’re just in time, Em.”
Men’s suits, clearly designer and expensive, lay across the bed, four in all. Two shirts for each were draped over the jackets along with three or four ties.
“I’m just having an awful time deciding which suit he should wear.” Violet turned to Emily. “Everyone will be there, you know. It’s imperative that the suit is perfect. Keith wouldn’t want it any other way.”
They both knew it was Violet who wouldn’t want it any other way. Emily watched as her friend tried different ties against the various shirts. Unlike her mother, Violet’s eyes weren’t red or swollen. Her black sheath looked exquisite. Her hair and makeup were perfect. She chatted on and on about what an enormous task making this final selection was for her.
If Emily only looked at the surface, at this seemingly cold woman who was more worried about her dead husband’s burial clothes than the fact that he was dead, she could almost imagine Violet climbing in through that bedroom window and killing the competition. Could almost see her pushing Keith over that ledge for whatever reason he’d failed to meet her expectations.
But this was Violet. She’d always been this way. A perfectionist. Obsessed with appearances, with meeting her goals.
“I think the navy suit would be best,” Emily offered, her voice too high, too shaky. “With that crisp white shirt and the tie that has that touch of red in it. Very classy.”
Violet inclined her head and surveyed the selections one last time. “I think you’re right.” She gathered the navy suit, white shirt, and specified tie and draped them across a wing chair. “Thank you,” she said to Emily. “I was leaning in that direction.”
“Would you like me to help you put the others away?”
“Oh yes. You know how I like everything in its place.”
Emily did know that. Together they put the fine suits away in the massive walk-in closet that was as big as Emily’s entire bedroom back at her apartment in Birmingham. Violet chattered with hardly a pause for breath about all the things she and Keith used to do. Her voice remained calm and stoic.
Emily couldn’t seem to find an appropriate opening to bring up the necklace. She felt exactly like a traitor.
“I called Troy and left a message that I’d like very much for him to speak at Keith’s eulogy, but he hasn’t returned my call.”
Violet said this with much confusion and disappointment. Folks, especially friends, didn’t usually ignore calls from Violet Manning-Turner.
“I’m sure he will,” Emily offered. Troy would be torn up pretty badly himself. He would need time to come to terms with his friend’s death before he spoke with Violet.
Violet stroked the sleeve of one of the suits she’d put away. “I’ll miss him.” She turned to meet Emily’s eyes. “I’m not sure it’s hit me just yet.”
Emily managed a trembling smile. “I know.” And she did.
