Dying to Please Read online

  The rain continued the next day, heavier and colder. The medical examiner released Judge Roberts's body to his family and they began the task of making the final arrangements. Sarah handled placing the obituary in the newspapers, and she put herself completely at the disposal of the family.

  She drove them to the funeral home they'd chosen, to deal with casket selection and the financial matters. The Judge had wanted to be buried beside his wife, had even bought a double tombstone when she died with his name already chiseled on it, so at least they didn't have to deal with that decision. Selecting a casket, however, shattered them. Randall and Jon held together, but they seemed incapable of making a decision; they kept looking to Barbara, and Barbara began silently crying.

  Sarah stepped out of the background and gave Barbara a hug. “I know,” she murmured in sympathy. “But it has to be done.”

  Barbara turned to her, eyes blinded by tears. “Which one do you like?”

  The question floored her. Stunned, Sarah looked around at the caskets, and at Randall and Jon. They were both watching her now with a sort of desperate plea in their expressions. It couldn't be plainer that they couldn't handle this.

  Sarah took a deep breath. “I like the bronze one.” It was expensive, but they could easily afford it, and they would feel better thinking they'd bought the best for their father.

  “I like that one best, too,” Randall said quickly.

  Barbara blotted her eyes. “The bronze?” she asked, her voice quivering. She looked at it. “It's very nice, isn't it?”

  “The best,” the funeral director put in. After all, business was business.

  “I like the color.” Barbara took a deep breath and turned to Sarah again. “I think you're right. We'll take the bronze.”

  From there they visited a florist to order flowers. The service would be at two o'clock on Sunday, at the huge church the Judge had attended. Sarah had already gotten rooms for the rest of Randall's family, who were driving down that day, Friday, after work and school. Visitation for friends would be at the funeral home on Saturday night, and before that, there was shopping to be done.

  Sarah had had the presence of mind to request a charcoal suit and black pumps from her closet, but she needed panty hose and a few other small items. Barbara decided the clothes she'd brought wouldn't do at all, and Blair tearfully confided she didn't even own any dark clothes. Julia, Jon's wife, also decided she needed something different. Only Emily had come fully prepared.

  The most logical thing to do was to begin at the Galleria, since it was attached to the hotel, but Blair had already roamed the mall from end to end, both stories, and wasn't satisfied with anything. Barbara did find some shoes she liked at Parisian, and Sarah quickly picked up the items she needed, including several black umbrellas, since it appeared they would be going back out in the rain after all.

  By evening, they had exhausted the contents of the Summit, Brookwood, and Sarah had driven them to all the exclusive boutiques that she knew of in the area. Barbara finally settled on a stylish black suit with a long, slim skirt, which, given the weather forecast, was a good idea. Blair selected a black skirt that ended just above her knees, and a slim-fitting, short jacket in eggplant; she had removed the ring from her eyebrow and washed the colored streaks from her hair. Funerals were serious business, both emotionally and fashionwise. Julia had been much more decisive than the other two, making her selection, a navy blue dress with a matching tunic jacket, at the first department store they visited in the Summit.

  Sarah's feet were so tired she was almost limping by the time she herded her charges back to the hotel. The rain had fallen unceasingly all day long, making shopping even more difficult, as they'd had to juggle umbrellas along with everything else. Her shoes were wet, her pants were damp, and despite the Berber jacket she was cold. All she wanted to do was take a hot shower and sit down with her feet elevated. Her cell phone hadn't rung all day long, and there were no messages waiting for her when she reached the inn. Maybe, she thought, she could rest now.

  The room phone rang as she was peeling off her damp socks. She groaned and flopped back on the bed, considering not answering it. But it might be one of the family, so she picked it up on the sixth ring.

  “Ms. Stevens, this is Greg Holbrook with the News. I'd like to interview you about the tragic murder—”

  “I'm not giving interviews,” she said firmly. “Good-bye.” She disconnected, then immediately rang the front desk and asked for a different room, booked under a false name. The next hour was spent handling that and getting her things switched to a room four doors down. She should have thought of the press before and taken those same precautions.

  Her new room was cold, having been empty all day. She turned the heat on full blast, and when the chill was gone, began stripping for that hot shower that she needed desperately now. Right on cue, her cell phone rang.

  At least this wasn't likely to be the press. But if it was someone in the Judge's family, then it meant something had come up she needed to handle.

  “Where are you?” Cahill demanded irritably. “The front desk said you'd checked out.”

  “Bless them,” she said with deep gratitude. “A reporter called my room, so I changed rooms and booked it under a different name.”

  “Good. Have you had supper?”

  “I've eaten today, if that's what you're asking.”

  “It isn't. I'm asking specifically about supper.”

  “Then, no, I haven't, and you couldn't blow me out of this room with dynamite. I took three of the ladies shopping. My feet hurt, I'm cold, and I want a hot shower. Period.”

  “Poor baby,” he said, and she could tell he was smiling. “What's your room number?”

  “I'm not telling. I don't want company.”

  “I give a great foot massage.”

  The thought of having her feet massaged almost made her moan. She had the presence of mind, though, to say, “I'll take a rain check. I'm exhausted, and dealing with you takes a lot of energy. I'm not up to it tonight.”

  “That's probably the best kiss-off I've ever had. Okay, I'll see you tomorrow. Sleep tight.”

  “Tomorrow?” Tomorrow was Saturday. She had . . . nothing to do. The realization was so strange as to be disorienting. Her Saturdays were always busy. If she took her half day on Saturday, then the mornings were spent getting the Judge's day arranged and everything taken care of. If she didn't take her half day on Saturday, that was because something was going on that required her supervision. Either way, Saturdays were busy days.

  “I'll be working,” Cahill said. “Checking out some things. But I'll see you tomorrow night at the funeral home.”

  That should be safe enough.

  “When will we be able to get into the house?”

  “Maybe Sunday. I think we've about done everything we can there.”

  “Will you let me know ahead of time? I want to have the library cleaned before the family sees it.”

  “Of course,” he said gently, and repeated, “Sleep tight,” before hanging up.

  The day of the funeral dawned clear and cold, with a wind that sliced through jackets. This was probably winter's last hurrah, Sarah thought—blackberry winter, the cool spell that came right after the blackberry bushes had bloomed. Indeed, the forecast called for a fast warming trend. On Monday the temperature was supposed to reach sixty-two; on Tuesday, seventy-five. By week's end it was forecast to be in the low eighties.

  At the family's insistence she sat with them in church. Cahill sat somewhere behind her; he'd said hello when he came in, briefly touched her hand, then pulled back to the fringes to watch. She wasn't certain exactly what he was watching for, but no detail escaped his attention.

  In her mind, she said good-bye to the Judge. She could almost feel his spirit hovering nearby, perhaps taking leave of his loved ones. Her lips trembled as she remembered all the funny things he'd said, the twinkle in his eyes, the joy he'd had in life. Losing him was like losing