Lola stared at Scotty’s face—his soft chin and plump cheeks, the spidery lines on his face that told of the head trauma that had killed him. Her nose burned, not from a chemical reaction but from grief. Scotty had many of the same wounds Randy had had. She could see where Augie had built up his nose and forehead. He’d also applied wax to Scotty’s fingers, filling in the cuts and scrapes.
A year ago, she’d insisted upon preparing Randy for his funeral. Lola should have made her husband up like a clown and dressed him in his Playboy T-shirt and silk heart boxers.
But this wasn’t her philandering husband. This was Scotty Eastlake, who by all accounts had been a devoted husband and father. A man who’d left behind a widow, a woman who’d stare at the ceiling through the long lonely nights ahead and try to imagine a future without her spouse.
Lola ran her hand through Scotty’s thinning brown hair. Unlike her living clients, his scalp didn’t give beneath her fingers. She leaned closer, gauging his skin tone. He wasn’t as tan as Augie, but he’d seen more sun this season than she had. He’d lived his life, while she’d wasted hers on Randy.
Lola scanned Scotty’s file. “You pitched in your softball league.” Another reason for the tan. “And served overseas. Thank you for your service.”
She poured herself a generous cup of coffee and turned on music she thought Scotty would like—classic country. While Lola assembled her supplies, a singer crooned about a sheriff who was too good to be true.
Amen, sister.
There had to be a psychological explanation for the howdy-do the sheriff suddenly inspired in her. She’d felt it only after Randy’s indiscretion had come to light. Surely the reason she was out of kilter where Drew was concerned was because she’d been betrayed and he stood for justice.
None of which mattered at the moment. Scotty needed her attention.
“You were a house painter.” Lola plugged in the makeup sprayer. “You’ll appreciate this.”
There was a scuffle outside, a stumbling on the stairs.
“You can’t go in there, Mrs. Eastlake.” Augie, who never raised his voice, was practically shouting. “I told you your husband would be ready for a private viewing tomorrow.”
Naked, scarred, skin translucent, Scotty was in no condition for his grieving widow to see him.
Lola ran out the door and shut it behind her.
Augie stood midstair, his arms locked to either wall. A woman was poised on the stairwell above him. She had red-rimmed eyes and shoulder-length mousy brown hair in need of a good cut and color. She’d been in the coffee shop earlier. Mrs. Eastlake. Lola hadn’t known.
When Scotty’s wife saw Lola, she sobbed. “He’s in there? My Scotty?”
At the door above, a shapely teenage girl with straight brown hair stared at her mother in horror.
This was Scotty’s family. Lola was determined they not see him in his current state.
“Mrs. Eastlake.” Lola peeled off her plastic gloves and tossed them to the landing behind her. “I’m so glad you’re here. I need your advice.”
“You need me?” Mrs. Eastlake whispered.
“Yes,” Lola fibbed. When Randy died, she would’ve been lost without purpose, which was why Augie had allowed her to do Randy’s final preparations.
Above them, the teen’s upper lip trembled.
“Let’s go to the lobby.” Lola kept her tone light. The lobby had a view of the garden out front with its cheerful tulips and the towering, snowy Saddle Horn in the distance. Beauty could sometimes ease grief.
The Eastlakes turned around.
Augie mouthed his thanks as Lola passed.
The lobby was 1950s chic, meaning the Bruces were lucky that mid-century modern was back in style, because the place hadn’t been redecorated since the mid-century. Lola sat in a chair with wooden arms and green burlap cushions, inviting Mrs. Eastlake and her daughter to sit on the matching couch. Augie walked to his office, giving them some privacy.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Lola found herself reaching for Mrs. Eastlake’s hand the same way Bitsy had reached for hers in the coffee shop earlier. “I lost my husband a year ago.”
Mrs. Eastlake gave a brief nod. Her daughter bowed her head, face crumpling into a scowl that couldn’t stop tears from falling.
“I didn’t tell Scotty I loved him.” Mrs. Eastlake squeezed Lola’s fingers until bone met bone. “We argued in the morning about me always having to do the housework alone.” Her voice echoed through the funeral parlor, amplifying the off-key sound of her pain. “Scotty went off to work, and I didn’t say I loved him.” She drew a shuddering breath. “I saw you in the coffee shop earlier. I know he’s downstairs, and I want to see him. I have to tell him I love him.”
Lola understood regrets, but more than anything, she understood the shock of the dead for those unaccustomed to their appearance. Redirection was called for. “How long were you married?”
“Twenty years.” Mrs. Eastlake released Lola to clutch a pendant hanging from a gold chain, hidden beneath her blouse. “We went to school together from kindergarten through high school.” Her gaze drifted toward the stairs. “Do you think Scotty knew I loved him?”
“He knew,” Lola said with certainty. “You can’t have been married that long and not know that.” You could be married one year and be clueless, but not twenty. No way. “Was your necklace a gift from Scotty?”
Mrs. Eastlake nodded. “He gave it to me a few years ago at Christmas.” She lifted the heart-shaped, ruby-studded pendant for Lola to admire and then clasped it again as if afraid she’d lose it. “I told him it was too extravagant. I mean, we were making payments on it until this last holiday. But he said I could pass it down to Aubrey one day, and…” She choked up, releasing the pendant to wrap an arm around her daughter. “And…he said I was worth it.”
Her daughter buried her face in Mrs. Eastlake’s shoulder. The sound of a country song drifted up to them, barely audible above the girl’s sobs.
“Scotty volunteered everywhere.” The widow’s voice cracked. “He was never home. With all the good works he did, I shouldn’t have complained about the dishes.” Her expression turned haunted. She looked at Lola but she didn’t seem to see her. “I need to apologize.”
“And you will.” Lola wished Scotty’s widow had come in later that afternoon. Then perhaps Lola could have given the woman the peace she so desperately needed. “If you bring me his suit, you can see him this evening.”
“Mom, no. Don’t.” Mascara smudged the teen’s big brown eyes. “You’ll be talking to a corpse, not Dad.”
“Aubrey.” Mrs. Eastlake’s voice strengthened as she gently chastised her daughter. “Every part of your father is dear to me.”
Aubrey sobbed.
A door opened and closed behind Lola.
“Everyone grieves differently.” Lola spoke directly to Scotty’s daughter. “If it makes your mother feel better to talk to your father in person, when he’s ready, she should.” Lola tapped a spot over her heart. “And if she talks to him through things he gave her, like that necklace, that’s okay too.”
Tears smudged more of Aubrey’s makeup.
“I promise I’ll let you know when Scotty’s ready to hear your apology.” At the sound of approaching footsteps, Lola looked up, expecting to see Augie ready to usher Scotty’s family out.
It was Drew.
“Sheriff.” Mrs. Eastlake held out a hand to him.
He took that hand, drew Mrs. Eastlake to her feet, and hugged her. He hugged her tight, as if he was grieving too.
Drew hadn’t given Lola a hug when Randy had died. His dispatcher had called Lola and told her to get to the hospital in Greeley. When she’d arrived, she’d wanted to rush into Randy’s room. Instead, the sheriff had blocked her path.
“His head injuries are severe,” Drew had said, trying to prepare Lola.
She’d wondered later whether the sheriff had been trying to tell her Randy was brain-dead or whether he’d been t
rying to prepare her for the stained sheet they’d put over half of Randy’s face. A hug that day would’ve been nice.
The Widows Club board entered with Edith and surrounded the Eastlake women.
Lola drifted across the room, giving the Sunshine natives space.
Drew followed her. “Do you know when Norma can see Scotty? I want to be here for her.”
Lola didn’t like putting a time on her preparations. It wasn’t like Scotty was getting an updo for a wedding. She didn’t know how long it was going to take. Those scars…
Mrs. Eastlake was waiting for Lola’s answer. Lola took a breath and stitched together a smile for Scotty’s wife. “Mrs. Eastlake, do you remember when you and Scotty were first dating?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Edith’s voice echoed off the green marble floors and the wall display of urns and headstones.
Mims shushed her.
“Who can remember first dates?” Mrs. Eastlake brought her daughter close with one hand and held her pendant with the other. “That was two decades and three children ago.”
Lola remembered her first dates with Randy. That spark of anticipation that wouldn’t let her sit still. That bubble of joy that had kept a smile on her face all day long. It’d taken her forever to get dressed. “I bet you both spent a little extra time getting ready. Pressed clothes. Fresh makeup.”
“He’d always shave.” Mrs. Eastlake kissed her daughter’s forehead. “He grew a thick five-o’clock shadow.”
Lola nodded encouragingly. “And you probably spent extra time preparing to get married.”
“I was in the salon for hours with all my bridesmaids.” The newest widow in the room blew out a breath. “I think I understand what you’re trying to say.”
Lola nodded again. “While I get Scotty ready, you should clean up too.” Mrs. Eastlake’s jeans and mint-green blouse looked slept in. “Call Barbara Hadley. She’ll come in on a Sunday for you and do your hair. And if she’s busy, you can call me. I’ll do your hair and makeup.”
Lola prepping the living to see the dead? That was a first.
Mrs. Eastlake caught Lola’s reflection in the window as she fought tears. “The last time I saw him, I was in my bathrobe.”
“A woman should always look her best,” Edith said confidently, as if she hadn’t looked like roadkill just last night.
Mims elbowed Edith aside and led Mrs. Eastlake toward the door. “Why don’t we follow you home and pick up Scotty’s suit?”
“I’ll drive,” Clarice offered cheerfully.
The Eastlakes exited with two of the Widows Club board members and Edith, leaving Bitsy behind with Drew and Lola. Sunlight cast Drew in a golden glow, softening the bump on his nose and that little scar cresting his cheek.
“That was nice,” Drew said in his detached cop voice with a not-so-detached look in his eyes as he stared at Lola.
Bitsy joined them, her short blond hair as smooth as her voice. “You know, when spouses die…” Bitsy nodded to Lola. “Or become dead to us because of a bitter divorce…” She nodded to Drew. “Well, there’s just so much emotion, it needs an outlet.”
Uh-oh. Lola crossed her arms over her chest. “Is this an intervention for my window display?”
“It should be,” Drew muttered.
“Now, now,” Bitsy said before Lola could retort. “I understand needing a vent for wounded emotions, and so does Drew. After my first husband died, I didn’t say a kind word to anyone for weeks. I felt wretched, and I acted wretched. People in town had to put up with me until I found a proper outlet for my grief.”
“You were out of line?” Lola was dumbfounded.
“Yes.” Bitsy gave Drew an expectant look.
He cleared his throat and reluctantly admitted, “After Jane left, I drank myself under the table at Shaw’s every Saturday night for a month. People in town put up with me too until I realized what a blessing Becky was.”
Lola narrowed her eyes. “So this means you’ll lay off my window display?”
Drew shook his head.
“We’re saying you need a different outlet, Lola,” Bitsy said kindly, but the cat was out of the bag. This was an intervention. “And I have just the thing. The intersection at the interstate. No one else should lose their lives there. You and Norma Eastlake can channel your grief and be the voices for change.”
“Great idea,” Drew said.
Lola stared out the big plate-glass windows, feeling pressure to conform. “I’m not going to lie—I wish someone would take up that cause.” Crimson tulips waved in the breeze, reminding Lola of the ruby earring and her betrayed and broken heart. “But I don’t think anyone’s going to fix that intersection because I ask for it.”
Drew and Bitsy exchanged glances, perhaps telegraphing their thoughts for another round of arguments.
Lola didn’t have time to argue, not if Mrs. Eastlake was going to see her husband later that day. “Excuse me. There’s a gentleman waiting for me downstairs.”
* * *
“You should model in our fashion show,” Clarice said to Edith on the drive from the mortuary to the Eastlake house.
Mims couldn’t believe it. “Isn’t there a rule against that?” she muttered from the passenger seat.
“Nope.” Clarice banked around a corner too hard. The tail end of the minivan slid. Clarice seemed unconcerned. She gave Mims an uncharacteristically sly glance. “We get a lot of men in the audience at the fashion show.”
Suddenly, Mims felt less alone in her quest to match Edith. After that uncomfortable breakfast at the Saddle Horn, it seemed she had Clarice’s full commitment.
“I could rock a bathing suit.” Edith’s voice plucked at Mims’s nerves like a defective duck call on the first day of hunting season.
“Our models wear dresses.” Mims ground her teeth. She was beginning to sound as uppity as Barbara Hadley. “We have a connection at a department store in Greeley. They loan us dresses.” All models and attendees received coupons to shop there.
“We broke from tradition this year.” Clarice raced toward a stop sign, bringing them to a jerking halt just in time. “Some women are wearing pantsuits.”
“We could bend the rules for bathing suits,” Edith persisted.
“It’s hard not to admire your determination, Edith.” Clarice slowed as they neared their destination.
The paint on the Eastlake house was a fresh blue. The yard was overgrown and needed mowing. Mims made a mental note to find volunteers to help them care for their home over the next few weeks.
“Charlie loved my curves.” Edith’s tone dared anyone to argue.
Why wasn’t Clarice speeding up to the curb? They crawled toward the house.
“To honor Charlie, I should share my body with the world.” Edith wasn’t giving up. “Besides, I’ve got the best assets on the Widows Club board.”
“You’re not on the board,” Mims snapped.
Edith raised her voice. “Bitsy’s too skinny. Clarice sags from years without a bra. And Mims has no waistline.”
There was the pot calling the kettle black. Edith and Mims had the same body type.
The minivan jerked to a halt.
“Edith, you can model,” Mims said through stiff lips, racking her brain for available men to invite to the fashion show. “But only if you wear a dress.”
The back seat reverberated with bikini protests.
“On the one hand, I admire her courage.” Clarice rammed the minivan into park and stared at Mims. “On the other, she disregards the rules. What a dilemma.”
“There is no dilemma,” Mims said firmly over Edith harping about assets, rights, and honor.
“She’s like a teenager, isn’t she?” Clarice took out her hearing aids. “I knew I should have left these at home today.”
Chapter Eleven
After Lola was done with Scotty, she had an extra few hours before Mrs. Eastlake was due to return. Knowing Avery would be swamped, she rushed into the Grand mov
ie theater without buying a ticket.
The noise from excited kids was nearly deafening. But that was balanced by the enticing scent of fresh popcorn.
Avery was behind the snack counter, ringing up customers faster than any of the teenage employees—none of whom were on duty. The line was twelve deep and growing.
“I can help.” Lola moved behind the counter and washed her hands, knowing the routine. “Who’s going to order a bucket?” Lola counted orders. “How many with butter?” She began filling popcorn and setting the buckets on the counter. When she finished, she looked up again. “How many child trays?”
The cardboard boxes were already made. All Lola had to do was fill half with popcorn and place a piece of candy on top. Avery would add the small drink.
Lola lowered her voice. “Randy’s love nest was in the garage apartment at the farmhouse. And…” She dropped her words to a whisper. “I found his lover’s jewelry.”
Avery did a double take. The soda she was filling overflowed. “Are you kidding me?”
Lola shook her head. “Anyone want a small bag of popcorn?” Lola looked up to find Drew, Becky, and Wendy at the head of the line. They looked like a family. Her heart panged with envy. “Hey, guys.” She directed her greeting to Becky, who wore a green T-shirt, jean shorts, and a pair of white sneakers, not a trace of dripped whip in sight.
Drew motioned Lola to step aside. “You haven’t taken down Randy and his—”
“Lover?” Lola said provocatively.
Although she hadn’t raised her voice, heads turned, including Wendy’s.
Drew moved farther away from the snack-bar line and motioned for Lola to move with him.
“I just got done with Scotty.” Lola followed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I haven’t been home yet. Besides, I told you—”
“Ramona Everly will continue to call until—”
“Ramona Everly doesn’t know how to keep her nose in her own business,” Avery snapped without taking her eyes off the soda cups she was filling. “And she’s ungrateful. Lola mows that lawn of hers every weekend.”
Can't Hurry Love Page 10
