"Not now," Bob snapped, loud enough for others to hear. "We'll deal with it later."
Deal with what?June wondered.The debt Raymond had mentioned? Some other business matter? Or the fact that Raymond was dead and whatever leverage he'd held over Bob had died with him?
Horace and Petunia were not-surprisingly missing, having to deal with the aftermath of Raymond’s death.
"Let's go home," June said quietly to Sara Lee, touching her granddaughter's elbow. They'd heard enough speculation, seen enough revealing reactions. Now it was time to process what they'd observed.
As they walked past the murmuring groups, June nodded politely but didn’t stop to engage. She could feel the weight of curious gazes following them, considering everyone knew they'd found the body. Everyone wanted to ask questions, hear details, feed the gossip mill.
But June had no intention of satisfying that curiosity. Not yet. Not until she understood what really happened.
"You're very calm," Sara Lee said finally, breaking the silence as they turned onto their street.
"Am I?" June kept her tone mild, conversational. She glanced to the side, observing the tension in Sara Lee’s tight posture and how her hands clenched her purse strap. “How are you doing?”
"I keep seeing his face. His eyes. I can't stop thinking about it." Sara Lee's voice cracked slightly. "How are you so composed?"
June's heart ached for her granddaughter. Quiet for a moment, she chose her words carefully. "I've lived many years, sweetheart. I've lost people I loved. So have you." She paused, letting that truth settle, then adding, “Death isn't new to us, though it's never easy."
That was true. Death had visited June's life repeatedly… sometimes gently, sometimes with terrible violence. Her husband's heart attack at sixty-three. Sara Lee’s parents’ car accident on that icy road. Countless friends and colleagues over the years, each loss leaving its mark.
"What bothers me most about this isn’t that Raymond died, buthowhe died," June continued. She letthose words hang in the air, watching Sara Lee's expression shift to curiosity.
Before they had a chance to talk more, June spotted Helena on the sidewalk ahead. The pastor's wife moved quickly, almost frantically, as if she had somewhere urgent to be, or perhaps, somewhere desperate to escape from.
"Helena," June called out gently, not wanting to startle her but needing to speak with her.
Helena stopped, turning with obvious reluctance. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and June could see she'd been crying. "Ms. June. Sara Lee." Helena's voice was strained, tight with emotion barely held in check.
"Are you all right, dear?" June asked, though she could see clearly that Helena was upset.
Helena's laugh had a brittle, almost hysterical edge. "Am I all right? No. No, I don't think I am." She glanced back toward the church where her husband was probably still greeting parishioners, then seemed to make a decision, like some internal dam was breaking.
"That man... that horrible man. Raymond..." The words tumbled out in a rush. "He said terrible things… accusations." Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper, though they were alone on the sidewalk. "Things that weren't true. But people will talk anyway, won't they? They'll wonder. They'll whisper."
"Helena—" June began, wanting to offer comfort as well as to ask more questions.
"I need to go. I'm sorry." Helena hurried away before June could say another word, practically fleeing downthe sidewalk, leaving June and Sara Lee standing there watching her retreat.
June filed away Helena's panic. Her specific mention of accusations. Her certainty that people would talk despite the accusations being false. The way she'd said Raymond's name with such venom—that horrible man.
People didn't use that kind of language about someone unless there was real hatred there. Or real fear. Maybe even real pain.
When they reached their house, June and Sara Lee moved through their usual after-church routine, first changing into comfortable clothes. The casserole that had been warming in the oven while they were at service was soon plated. She kept the conversation light and inconsequential, feeling that her granddaughter needed normalcy.
Finally, tea was made and poured, and they moved to the study. It was one of June’s favorite rooms in the house. As with many Victorian homes, the front living room was more formal, but the study was for comfort. June's sanctuary. Her thinking place. The small room off the main hallway was lined floor to ceiling with built-in bookshelves her husband had built, crammed with mysteries, fiction classics, and reference volumes collected over a lifetime of reading. Two comfortable reading chairs sat angled toward each other in front of the bay window with a small coffee table in front. A small writing desk occupied one corner.
This was where June did her best thinking. Surrounded by books filled with the accumulatedwisdom of hundreds of authors, she could usually find her way through any problem.
It was the perfect retreat.Or the planning stage.
The Sunday sun slanted through the windows, painting everything in golden light that should have felt peaceful but somehow didn't. Too much had happened. Too much had changed.
Pippi trotted in and lay at June's feet, sighing contentedly. Mister Smee jumped onto the desk, seeking a sun spot where several books had been left.
Sara Lee sank into her chair, looking exhausted. June sipped her tea for a moment, organizing her thoughts and preparing for what she needed to say next.
8
