wedding.”
“Tell me about this wedding.”
“Well, she’s got this guy from the senior center to sing ‘Oh, Promise Me.’ ”
“Mr. Carmichael?”
“That’s him.”
“I don’t believe it. She wanted to inflict him on my wedding,” Helen said. “He’s this horrible ice-cream tenor. We had a big fight about it.”
“You had a big fight about everything.”
“I couldn’t be perfect like you, Kathy. Mom hated my bridesmaid dresses.”
“Orange harem pants were unusual, Helen.”
“It beat baby pink formals.”
“That’s what Marcella, Mom’s maid of honor, is wearing.”
“Let me guess,” Helen said. “The reception is at the Knights of Columbus Hall. It’s a buffet with mostaccioli, roast beef on dollar rolls, and a sheet cake from Schnucks. The band is six guys in iridescent tuxes and one of them plays the accordion.”
“How did you know?” Kathy said.
“My mother is having my wedding.”
“Helen, I’m sorry you can’t come back for Mom’s wedding.”
“Kids shouldn’t go to their parent’s wedding. It’s unnatural,” Helen said. “I don’t know why she’s getting married, anyway. She said sex at her age was disgusting. What’s the point of getting married if you’re not having sex?”
“Our generation is obsessed with sex,” Kathy said. “The Victorians didn’t have our hang-ups. I just read this novel where the couple had a ‘white marriage.’ It meant no sex. It could be very romantic. It’s possible to marry for companionship.”
“She could get a cat,” Helen said.
“You forgot. Mom is allergic to cat hair.”
“Well, Lawn Boy Larry is hairless.”
“Helen!” Her sister laughed. Helen laughed. Then the two of them couldn’t stop laughing.
When she hung up, Helen realized she was crying. She was intensely lonely for her old, safe life. When she was an executive, the police never threatened her with jail.
But my old life was a prison, too, she thought. I served time in a boring job. I closed my eyes to an unfaithful mooch. I’m much happier in Florida, if I can stay out of jail.
But the police already have part of me. They took my DNA.
Next they’ll take me.
Chapter 12
It was a cold day for a funeral.
The temperature dropped to forty-eight degrees the morning of Kiki’s funeral. Lizard-blooded Floridians shivered. They’d become sun creatures who couldn’t take the cold. But it wasn’t the weather that gave Helen the shakes.
“I don’t want to go to Kiki’s funeral,” she said.
“You have to,” Millicent said. “I finally convinced Desiree I didn’t have anything to do with that awful ad, but I can’t go to the church. I’ll be a constant reminder. You were there on her wedding day, Helen. You should be at the funeral.”
“Millicent, Kiki hated me. She tried to get me fired the night she was killed. Desiree’s wedding was the worst day of her life. That poor bride doesn’t want to see me again.”
“She likes you. She asked if you were coming. You found her mother’s body. You have to go, Helen.”
“Really? Maybe we should ask Miss Manners: ‘What is the proper etiquette when one finds a body? Should one attend the funeral and the burial service?’ ”
“You don’t have to go to the cemetery. Just the church.” Millicent said it as if she were offering Helen a bonus.
“Isn’t this awfully quick for a funeral?”
“Her family pulled strings and got her autopsied fast,” Millicent said. “If they can push the medical examiner around, what do you think they’ll do to me? You have to go as the store’s representative. Look . . . I’ll pay you.”
“I should get combat pay,” Helen said.
“You should, but I can’t afford it.”
That’s when Helen said yes. Millicent hadn’t had a sale since Kiki’s death, and the cancellations were piling up. Her unstoppable energy had evaporated. Her supreme confidence was gone. Millicent was stoop shouldered with discouragement. Her white hair turned an odd, dispirited gray.
“The service is at eleven. It’s not like I’m overwhelmed with customers. I’ll give you the shop van.”
Normally, that would have been a perk. It was a long bus ride to the Coco Isle Cathedral in Sunnysea. Today Helen wasn’t sure she wanted to be driving anything with “Millicent’s Bridal Salon” on the sides. She hoped the van wouldn’t be keyed.
At the church, Helen parked at the farthest end of the lot, behind the Dumpster. It was one of the last spaces left. She panicked when she saw the hordes of reporters outside the church, but they were too busy interviewing the local celebrities. Helen slipped into the cathedral unnoticed.
Kiki had quite a turnout for her funeral. Give the public what they want and they’ll show up, Helen thought, then regretted her meanness. Kiki’s dead and I’m sorry. I’m also sorry I’ve been dragged into this mess.
Helen watched the people filing into the cathedral. Floridians laughed at the tourists for their garish vacation togs, but they looked just as silly in winter dress. We don’t waste money on cold weather clothes we’ll wear maybe one day a year, Helen thought.
She could smell the mothballs wafting on the wind. She could feel the locals’ resentment. They’d moved down here to get warm. They could have had these rotten temperatures up north.
You could tell when Floridians first arrived in the state by the cut of their winter coats. Helen saw lots of shoulder-padded eighties styles, a few straight-line seventies numbers, even some garish sixties coats. There was also that Florida phenomenon, flip-flops and fur, a fashion statement that said, “I’m wearing the coat because it’s cold, but I have on sandals because I’m in Florida.”
Helen found a seat in the back of the church, next to an older woman in an ancient pink-and-orange coat that went oddly with her dyed red hair.
Helen thought Kiki would have been disappointed by the shortage of hunky male mourners. Helen suspected the scattering of sleek women in their fifties probably served on charity boards with Kiki. A few well-dressed older men sat by Kiki’s ex-husband, Brendan. The wedding party was also near him. The bridesmaids’ short black dresses went better with cocktails than caskets.
The bride wore black: a dowdy high-collared dress and a mourning veil. Helen had seen pictures of the First Lady in a similar veil at John F. Kennedy’s funeral. Helen couldn’t see Desiree’s face behind her crepe curtain, but she could hardly walk up the aisle. Saturday she’d marched up that same aisle, furious at her mother. Today she seemed almost paralyzed by her grief. Desiree had to be helped by her friend Emily, flapping in black fringe, and Luke. She clung to her husband as if he might escape. Luke wore a dark suit and a stunned expression.
When Desiree saw the casket, her knees buckled and she wept bitterly. Helen wondered if she cried for her mother or for the maternal love she never had.
The casket stood in the center aisle, its dark polished wood covered with dozens of red roses. It looked beautiful, if coffins could be described that way. To Helen, it also looked sinister.
“She loved her mother so,” said the red-haired old woman at her side. She laid a soft, liver-spotted hand on Helen’s arm. “Look at those gorgeous roses. There must be ten dozen on that casket.”
Helen knew that wasn’t love. It was revenge. Kiki had sneered at roses as something for shopgirls, and now
