Two Guys Detective Agency (5 page)

house. She sent a resentful barb to Sullivan that he would allow his wife to live like this. She wouldn’t be

caught dead living in this dump, and her sister deserved better, too.

Vaguely recalling the layout of the house, she walked to the end of the hallway past the kids’ rooms and

knocked on the closed door of the master bedroom.

“Come in,” Linda called in a weak voice.

Octavia opened the door to find her sister sitting on an unmade bed. A pole had collapsed in the closet,

whose door was off its hinges. Boxes of hardwood flooring were stacked against the wall.

“Everyone’s gone,” she offered.

“I heard,” Linda said wryly. “I’m going to have to publish a blanket apology in the neighborhood

newsletter.”

Octavia scoffed. “Screw those vultures.”

“Easy for you to say. I have to live here.”

Her sister’s resignation stoked her ire. “No, you
chose
to live here.” But as soon as the words were out,

she wanted them back.

Linda’s mouth tightened. “And you look down on me for that.”

Octavia sighed. “That came out wrong.”

Linda pushed to her feet shakily. “No, it didn’t. Why did you come, Octavia? To remind me I made all

the wrong choices and look where it’s gotten me?” Her eyes glittered with new tears.

“No,” Octavia said carefully. “I came because I thought I could help you.”

“Really?” Linda practically shouted. “My husband is
dead
, Octavia, and I have two kids who haven’t

shed a tear since I told them their dad isn’t coming home, and I don’t know what I’m going to do. How can

you possibly help me?”

Octavia ached over her sister’s palpable agony, while acknowledging her own inadequacy to offer

comfort. She just wasn’t made that way. So she opened her purse and removed the check she’d written.

“Here.”

Chapter Four

LINDA STARED at the check in her hand. “Ten thousand dollars?”

“There’s more if you need it,” Octavia said, her voice smug.

What she
needed
was to be able to tear the check into little pieces and toss them at her sister’s designer

shoes. But she couldn’t…ten thousand dollars would catch her up on mortgage payments, utilities,

insurance. Plus she’d yet to receive bills from the hospital and the funeral home. Still, her pride kicked in.

“I can’t take this,” she said, extending the check.

“Of course you can,” Octavia argued, folding her arms. “Don’t suddenly stop being the sensible one.”

Octavia had a talent for wrapping censure around a compliment. Linda hesitated, loath to take money

from her arrogant sister, but knowing what it would mean for her children in the short term. “I’ll pay you

back,” she said finally.

“Nonsense,” Octavia said with a wave. “Now…what can I do to help you get ready?” She removed

another item from her purse and held it up. “I brought waterproof mascara.”

Linda smiled. That was Octavia — every problem in the world could be solved with money and

makeup. But she was happy to submit to her sister’s ministrations because she barely had the energy to

dress herself, and she wanted to look nice for her husband’s funeral.

Her husband’s funeral
.

The words were preposterous…incongruous…ridiculous.

Since the doctor’s pronouncement, she’d been going through the motions of living. She couldn’t stop

— she had children to care for and a household to run and burial details to arrange. She’d made decisions

no woman her age should ever have to make — this casket, those flowers, that gravesite.

If she’d hoped Sullivan’s mother would help, she was mistaken. Upon hearing the devastating news,

Marbella Smith had to be hospitalized herself. Her doctor had assured Linda over the phone her mother-in-

law would recover, but was too fragile to travel for the memorial service. Linda had a hard time picturing

Marbella as “fragile,” but the woman had just lost her only child. Still, some part of her wondered if not

coming to the funeral was Marbella’s final act of disapproval of the life he’d chosen.

“There now,” Octavia said, standing behind Linda in the bathroom mirror.

Linda stared at her reflection, impressed. Octavia knew how to work wonders with discount clothes,

and the makeup kit had come in handy, even though most of the pots of color and stain had been violated

by chubby finger pokes.

“Can I ask you a favor?” she said to Octavia.

“Sure.”

“I’d like to go early to the funeral home to take care of some paperwork. Would you and Richard bring

Maggie and Jarrod with you?”

She knew she was asking a lot because her sister had an aversion to little people. But to her credit,

Octavia stiffened only slightly. “Of course.”

“Thank you.”

“Your little girl is quite the prima donna.”

Linda bit back a smile. “Yes. She couldn’t be more like you if she were
your
daughter.”

Octavia sniffed. “I’ll go help her pick out something more appropriate to wear than the blinding outfit

she has on.”

“Good luck.”

Linda watched her slim, gorgeously put-together sister walk away, and squelched a pang of envy.

Octavia had known what she wanted in life from a young age, and had set her sights on getting it. She’d

parlayed her pageanting and cheerleading into enough scholarship money to attend the University of

Kentucky where she had spurned the attention of any man who couldn’t guarantee her the life she wanted.

Richard Habersham had been a law student when Octavia had met him. With a family pedigree and preppy

good looks, he’d fit her bill nicely. They were married the day after he graduated law school. (Only Linda

knew that Octavia had secured wedding insurance in case Richard hadn’t received his diploma as planned.)

When Octavia had walked down the aisle, she’d never looked back.

By that time, Linda had dropped out of college. Her own wedding had taken place in front of the justice

of the peace, and when she should have been graduating, she was juggling a toddler and learning how to

coupon. The distance and the differences in their lives had driven a wedge between the sisters that had

grown into a chasm over the years, especially since their mother was gone and their father had…spiraled

out of control.

Linda sighed. She supposed she would have to get word to Nelson Guy sooner or later that his younger

daughter was now a widow. She wasn’t sure if he received the
Lexington Herald-Leader
at his current

address of the Federal Correctional Institute in Manchester.

And the universe kept piling on.

Her limbs felt so heavy, she had to push herself to her feet. She felt a wall of grief bearing down on her,

knew it would crash over her at some unexpected moment. She only hoped she’d have the strength to

withstand the blow when it came. She’d done her part to keep the tsunami at bay — she’d opted for the

lumpy futon in the extra room instead of sleeping alone in her and Sullivan’s bed. She’d chosen not to bury

her nose in the shirt he’d left hanging over the chair. She’d purposely not called his cell phone just to hear

his recorded voice message. Her heart was like a plate glass window, utterly shattered, but hanging together

by a thin covering.

Octavia’s check lay on the bureau, made out in her sister’s beautiful, curvy handwriting, the zeroes nice

and round. The idea of having an extra ten thousand dollars lying around in a checking account was

stunning to Linda. Next to the check was a framed photo of Sullivan in his police uniform. He seemed to be

challenging her, telling her to thumb her nose at her sister’s money, that she had everything she needed.

Except she didn’t. She’d gone along with Sullivan’s whim to change jobs, had trusted him to take care

of them and now not only was she deeply in debt, but she didn’t have Sullivan, either. And just this

morning she’d gotten news from her insurance agent that Sullivan’s life insurance policy, whose premium

hadn’t been paid in four months, would not be honored.

“You didn’t leave me any choice,” she murmured. “And now I have to go bury you.”

She picked up the check, then gathered papers and other items she needed to take to the funeral parlor,

shoving everything into a bag. She walked through the hallway, and stopped at Jarrod’s door. She knocked,

then waited a few seconds before pushing it open.

He was sitting on his bed, dressed in slacks and a dress shirt, tie, and his UK jacket.

She walked in and sat next to him, gathering him in a hug. “This is going to be the worst day of our

lives,” she said. “But we’ll get through it, okay?”

He nodded against her neck. Still no tears.

“I need to go to the funeral home early to take care of some things. Will you ride with Aunt Octavia and

Uncle Richard and keep an eye on Maggie for me?”

He nodded again.

“Okay, I’ll see you there.”

He hugged her tight and she let him hang on as long as he wanted to, but eventually he loosened his

grip. “I’ll take care of Maggie, and you, too.”

Her heart twisted. “I know you will…you are your father’s son.”

She gave him a kiss, then went to see how Octavia was faring with Maggie.

Not well, from the looks of the toe-to-toe standoff.

“I think you should wear the blue dress,” Octavia said.

Maggie’s dark eyebrows were drawn together. “I want to wear my tutu.”

“You can’t wear a tutu — it’s not appropriate.”

“What’s ‘propreate’ mean?”

Linda stepped in.

Maggie lit up. “You look pretty, Mommy!”

“Thank you, sweetie. I think Aunt Octavia is right — your blue dress would look nice today.”

Maggie’s lip poked out. “But Daddy likes my tutu.”

Linda bit down on the inside of her cheek. “You’re right. But I happen to know he likes your blue

dress, too.”

Maggie brightened. “I can wear them both!”

“If that’s what you want,” Linda said, giving Octavia a pointed look. “Mommy’s going ahead to the

funeral home. You and Jarrod are coming with Aunt Octavia and Uncle Richard, okay?”

“I want to go with you,” Maggie whined.

“Not this time,” Linda said, shushing her. “Be good for Mommy, and make sure Jarrod behaves, too.”

Having tattletale power over her brother cheered her up. “Okay, Mommy.”

She gave her daughter a kiss and a hug, then gave Octavia directions to the funeral parlor. “Did Richard

come in?”

“He’s still in the car taking phone calls.”

Linda said goodbye and made her way toward the garage.
Keep moving…keep moving and you don’t

have to think too much
. She stopped in the calamitous living room long enough to snag another box of

Kleenex — she alone had made a good dent in the pile — gave Max a scratch, then exited to the garage,

which was stacked so high with boxes of tile and two-by-fours, there was barely room for one vehicle. She

climbed behind the wheel of the minivan cluttered with soccer equipment and turned over the engine.

Sullivan’s leased car remained at the agency parking lot. Klo had confided they were so late on the

payments, it would be better to just let it revert to the dealership.

The investigative agency was just another huge knot she would have to unravel.

But it would have to wait.

She backed out of the garage and down the driveway. As Octavia had indicated, Richard sat next to the

curb in his big, gleaming Mercedes with his phone stuck to his head. A folder lay open on the steering

wheel. His attention was so rapt he didn’t notice her, and she decided not to disturb him. During the few

times she’d spent in Richard’s company, he’d always been nice enough to her, but she’d found him to have

a chilly disposition. Still, he accommodated her sister’s demands, which she knew were many, and the

account the ten thousand dollar check was written on had his name on it, too, so….

She drove straight to an ATM to deposit said check, on the one hand feeling shameful to be tending to

such tedious matters on the way to her husband’s funeral, but on the other hand knowing her ability to

write checks of her own today depended on it. When she pulled away, she conceded the relief of having

money in the bank was immense. Octavia could be a witch, but she had to hand it to her sister for sizing up

what she needed most at this moment.

She called her cell service provider and used the remaining credit limit on one charge card to have her

service reinstated — another big relief, especially when so many people were trying to reach her right now.

Sure enough, within a few minutes, her phone started beeping like crazy with undelivered voice messages.

At traffic lights she paged through and discarded most of them, saving a few to return later.

We’re so sorry to hear about Sullivan
.

When her mind threatened to go to that place she couldn’t bear to be, she turned up a radio station until

the music was too loud to think. It worked until she pulled into the parking lot of the funeral parlor to see