“You’re meddling.” Mims’s broad-faced grin looked innocent on first glance. It was only upon closer inspection that her steely determination could be seen in the tight lines radiating from her mouth. “The only way we’ll agree to letting Lola skip the fund-raiser, Sheriff, is if you agree to show up tonight.”
“It’s Saturday, Mims.” Drew glanced toward Lola’s front window. The curtains were closed. “And your event is at the only bar in town. Of course I’ll be there.”
Besides, Becky was sleeping over at her best friend’s house, and given Jane’s demand for custody, Drew could use a drink.
Chapter Two
Huddle up, gals.” Mims drew Bitsy and Clarice close on the sidewalk as the sheriff drove away. “Haven’t I been saying for years the sheriff is like a peach just waiting to ripen?”
Clarice and Bitsy nodded.
“Did you see the way Drew looked at Lola?” Mims lowered her voice in case one of Lola’s front windows was open.
“Yes,” Clarice said brightly. “And he didn’t arrest her.”
“He’s ready for love,” Bitsy said slowly.
“But she’s not ripe,” Clarice added with a toss of a silver braid. “Or ready.”
“Lola’s a caution,” Mims agreed, ready to put their efforts with Lola on hold so the group could devote all their energy to finding Edith a man. “Now, Edith—”
“Lola’s in shock.” Bitsy had a determined gleam in her eyes, holding to her poker pick. “It’s not a deal breaker. Did you see that look Drew gave her? It smoked nearly as much as the fire.”
Mims’s cell phone rang. She dug it from her hunting-vest pocket and read the display. “It’s Susie Taylor.” Drew’s mom.
“It’s a sign.” Clarice pounded her walking stick on the sidewalk, grinning. “You know how I love signs.”
“Let’s not get carried away with those signs of yours,” Bitsy cautioned in a soft voice. “You said a tie was a sign. And before that your sign had us trying to convince Wendy Adams that Harlen Martinez was the one for her.”
That had been a disaster.
Hoping their efforts with Edith would be more successful, Mims answered her phone.
* * *
After the bonfire, Lola expected the knock on her door.
She just didn’t expect Avery to be the knocker.
“Randy was unfaithful?” Avery wrapped her arms around Lola and squeezed like she could put the pieces of Lola’s life back together by sheer force of will. “Who was he sleeping with?”
“No idea.” Lola peeked past the cascade of Avery’s black silken hair to the empty curb. “No Widows Club? No sheriff?”
“Forget them.” Avery backed away from Lola just enough to study her face. “How badly is your heart broken?”
As the horror of betrayal and the fear of being arrested—or finagled into the Widows Club—burned out, Lola’s legs crumpled like charred logs. She would’ve fallen if not for Avery, who propped her up and hustled her to the brown leather couch.
It wasn’t the first time Avery had come to Lola’s rescue. That was how they’d met. Lola had been working on her first postmortem client at the mortuary, holding the heebie-jeebies at bay until she’d realized Mrs. Baumgart needed her nose hairs tweezed and she’d removed more than nose hair. She’d rushed out back and lost her breakfast in the trash, only to be found by Avery. She managed the movie theater, which shared an alley with the mortuary. She’d taken Lola into the theater office and given her a ginger ale and a pep talk about surviving in small towns.
Lola could use another pep talk about now.
“Tell me what you know.” Avery eyed Randy’s wet bar.
Lola collapsed sideways on a couch cushion as she recapped what she’d discovered.
In the ensuing silence, Lola’s gaze found their wedding picture on the wall. Her hair had been perfect. Her dress Vera Wang. She should have recognized the zit on her forehead as an omen. “I thought Randy loved me.”
Avery poked around the bar, grabbing hold of Randy’s unopened fifty-year-old bottle of whiskey. “He gave you a ring and his name.”
“And uprooted me from New York.” Lola wanted to curl into a tight ball and cry. But what good would that do? Randy would still be dead, still have been unfaithful, and she’d still be surrounded by his things.
His things.
She jolted upright. The deer head mounted above the redbrick fireplace. The branded beer mirror over the living room bar. The leather couch. The familiar decorations of the updated small Craftsman that had given her comfort after Randy’s death. They were…It was…
“I’m living in Randy’s bachelor pad.” A chill crept over Lola. “I need to redecorate.” Not move. Because Randy had taken out second mortgages on both houses, and his life insurance had gone to his mother. If Lola left now, she’d leave with nothing but debt.
“Haven’t I been telling you to redecorate for months?” Avery handed Lola a full shot glass. Randy’s expensive whiskey sat open on the bar.
Lola hesitated before accepting the shot. She wasn’t a drinker, and Randy had been saving that bottle.
“Yes, I opened the whiskey Randy paid five hundred dollars for.” Avery filled her glass to the rim, drinking it without so much as a wince.
“But—”
Avery narrowed her expertly lined eyes. “Is Randy going to complain?”
“No.”
“Would you rather the other woman drank it?”
“No!” It took Lola two burning swallows to get it all down. The whiskey didn’t fill the hole in her heart or the wound to her pride but it did give her a false jolt of courage. “Who was it, Avery? Who is the other woman?”
“I don’t know.” Her friend shrugged, staring at the bottom of her shot glass. “Does it matter?”
“Yes!” The need to know pressed a panic button inside of Lola, one she’d had no idea had been factory installed. “Why wasn’t I good enough for him?” Lola pressed a hand over her eyes and groaned. Despite her best efforts to the contrary, she was turning into her mother. Her slightly dramatic, slightly eccentric, slightly foolish mother, who’d often wailed the very same question during the first few months after Lola’s dad had left them.
“Forget about Randy. You’re coming to Shaw’s with me tonight.” Avery made her second whiskey disappear in one smooth swallow. “You could use a therapy session with a good bottle of wine.”
“Shaw’s doesn’t have good wine.” It had Widows Club fund-raisers. “Did Mims put you up to this?”
“No, but it’s been a long time since you left this man cave.” Avery sat next to her and poured them both another drink. “You need a new man.”
“I need to get rid of my old man first.” Lola downed the whiskey. It didn’t burn any less than the first time. Trust Randy to buy crappy, expensive liquor. But it served a purpose. She stood on steadier legs. “Randy goes. Starting now.” Lola marched toward the stairs.
On the second floor, Lola made it past another wedding picture and the king-size bed without choking up. She entered the walk-in closet, which was bigger than most bedrooms, big enough for two floor-to-ceiling shoe racks and two dressers. But not big enough to hide the truth of Randy’s infidelity.