Catch them he did. But things didn’t turn out the way he’d expected. Billy had anticipated charges against Stratton, maybe immunity for Culver if he talked. Didn’t happen.

  Stratton, a widow with no children, put a bullet in his own head. Billy concluded that the man’s career was all he had and he had no intention of watching it fall apart. Since the shop owners had all confirmed that Stratton was the main one behind the strong-arming, Billy decided to make Eddie a deal. With twenty years of service in the job under his belt and no other black marks, Billy gave him a choice: resign and clean up his act, or be suspended and face charges.

  Smarter than he acted at times, Eddie had taken him up on resigning and cleaning up his act. So far, Billy was reasonably sure the man had stuck by their deal. But he hadn’t been happy about it. His luck with finding a new career hadn’t exactly panned out and he spent more time unemployed than employed. His grandfather had left him this old shack and the spot of land, which allowed him to squeeze by on little or no income. Once in a while, Billy called upon him for assistance and he always complained. In the end he did the job and did it well, and took the pay. But those rare occasions were their only interactions. Eddie had basically turned into a hermit.

  When they reached the shack, Eddie stepped in front of Billy and opened the door. He didn’t speak again until they were inside with the door was closed.

  Apparently, Eddie was between jobs again. His beard was full-grown and he looked as if he hadn’t seen a bathtub or a shower in at least a week.

  “What job?” he snapped.

  “A security assignment. I have someone I need you to watch.”

  Eddie grunted. “And why would I be interested?”

  “If you do this, we can call it even. You won’t owe me anything else. Clean slate.”

  The other man’s gaze narrowed. “How do I know this time will be any different from the other times I did you a favor?”

  “Did I ever tell you that we’d be even on any of the other assignments?”

  Eddie stood his shotgun against the wall. “What’s so different about this time?”

  “This time is personal.”

  Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m listening.”

  “I need you to watch after someone. Twenty-four/seven. If there’s trouble, you call me. Intervene if you have to. I want her protected at all costs.”

  “Her?”

  “Rowan DuPont.”

  A grin hitched up one side of his wooly face. “The undertaker’s daughter.” He laughed. “I guess she’s the undertaker now. I heard she brought some trouble with her from up in Nashville. I thought that was over.”

  Billy shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “She going to have a problem with me hanging around her all the time?”

  This was where things got tricky. “She can’t know.”

  A rusty laugh hitched out of his throat. “So, she doesn’t want protection, is that it?”

  Billy tamped down his frustration and dredged up a little more patience. “That’s it. You up for it or not?”

  “I’ll need expenses.”

  Billy nodded. “Fifty bucks a day.”

  Eddie shrugged. “A hundred works better. You did say day and night.”

  “A hundred.” Billy wasn’t going to haggle. He wanted Rowan protected and she wouldn’t let him do it.

  “Plus any expenses I incur beyond basic sustenance. I may need a rental car. I’ll have to swap out regularly to prevent her from getting suspicious.”

  “All right. Anything else?”

  “Depends how long this takes. I’ll let you know.”

  “Don’t push me, Eddie. I’m a nice guy but I have my limits.”

  He laughed more of that rusty sound. “You are a nice guy, Billy. Maybe too nice sometimes. I’ll make sure she’s safe. You know I’m good at that. When do you want me to start?”

  “Tonight. The sooner the better.”

  Eddie nodded. “Then we’ll be even.”

  “You do the job right and you have my word on it.”

  “I guess I’d better clean up. I imagine you can see yourself out, Chief.”

  Billy started to turn back to the door but hesitated. “I appreciate it, Eddie.”

  The other man grunted and gave a nod.

  Sometimes Billy wondered if he had done the right thing making Eddie give up his career, but in the end, he was good with his decision. Eddie had certainly been influenced by his older partner, but he was also an experienced lawman and a willing participant.

  A man had to own his deeds.

  Billy climbed into his truck and headed home.

  Rowan wouldn’t be happy if she found out what he’d done, but he could live with that. What he couldn’t live with was her getting hurt or worse.

  Rather than drive straight home, he went by the funeral home again. The lights were out this time. There had been a moment tonight when he’d felt her attraction to him. He’d wanted to lean across that narrow table and kiss her, but he didn’t want to rush whatever this was.

  She was too important to him to allow anything to ruin what they already had.

  There were other women he could ask out, but there was only one Rowan.

  Fifteen

  Monday, October 28

  Three days until Halloween.

  Charlotte had decorated the main entrance of DuPont Funeral Home with pumpkins, cornstalks, a couple of hay bales and pots of chrysanthemums. Across the street there were skeletons rising from the ground in the flower beds. All over town the holiday themes were happily displayed with eager mischief. After such a long, hot summer, folks were particularly glad to snuggle into fall, and gearing up for all the holidays was a good way to get into the spirit. On Thursday, one business and three residences would be awarded plaques for having the best Halloween decor.

  When Halloween arrived, Rowan would put out a bucket of candy next to the hearse for the kids who came by on their trick-or-treat trail. Her father had always made sure there was plenty of candy for all who dared come to the funeral home. She intended to carry on as many of his traditions as possible.

  She finished off her yogurt, drained her coffee cup and tidied up the kitchen before going downstairs. The nursing home had called and there would be a client arriving before noon. Charlotte would handle the intake and then Rowan would do the preparation and embalming. Since she had an errand or two she wanted to run this morning before meeting with the family of the new intake, she’d dressed in business attire just right for the season. Orange skirt and blouse with matching pumps.

  There was paperwork to be done first. As the month came to an end, there were reports and forms to prepare. Inventory to complete and orders to be placed. She had checked last year’s calendar and this was also the month that the heating units were to be serviced, as well as numerous other maintenance checklists to be covered. She’d added the list of items to her electronic calendar with reminders.

  On her way out, Rowan stopped at Charlotte’s office and let her know she would be back in a few hours. Freud plopped down on the rug next to Charlotte’s desk and curled up. She opened a drawer and retrieved a treat for him. The entire staff spoiled the dog. Rowan was glad. Things had been a little rocky for both her and Freud in the beginning.

  The morning air carried a crisp bite. Rowan shivered, wished she had grabbed a coat rather than just a sweater. But she refused to complain. After the summer they had endured, cold was good. If it snowed all winter she was not going to complain.

  The parking lot was empty as she climbed into her SUV. The Henegar crime scene had been released by the evidence techs, so Wanda had been allowed to return home. Rowan drove directly to the Henegar home. There was only one car in the drive and hopefully it belonged to Wanda, though by her own account she rarely drove. Rowan parked and exited the car. It was quiet. She hoped the new widow was home. Alone, preferably.

  Rowan knocked on the door and waited. Silence on the other side had her worrying her lip with her teeth. With the recent loss of a loved one, she could be taking care of any number of preparations. There was all sorts of paperwork and arrangements. Family to notify. A good funeral director was always happy to help, which gave Rowan the perfect excuse for showing up at her door.

  The door opened and Wanda Henegar looked as if she’d been expecting someone else—anyone besides the person she found at her door. She blinked, not quite quick enough to wipe her face clean of the surprise. She wore a plain white T-shirt and a pair of jeans. Her feet were bare.

  “You’re the undertaker’s daughter.” She shook her head. “I mean, the undertaker.”

  “I am.” Rowan smiled and thrust out her hand. “Rowan DuPont. I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Henegar. May I come in?”

  Wanda hesitated for five or so seconds, then said, “Sure. It’s a mess. I’m going through...things, Ms. DuPont.”

  “I understand completely. Please, call me Rowan.”

  Wanda backed up and Rowan stepped inside, then waited while she closed the door. When Wanda looked to her again, she said, “I know what a difficult time this can be. There are so many decisions to be made. So much to do and it’s just plain overwhelming.”

  “It is.” She glanced around, gestured to the living room. “Would you like to sit down? I just made a fresh pot of coffee.”

  “How kind of you. I hate to be a bother.”

  “No bother.” She took a big breath, as if her nerves had settled. “Cream or sugar?”

  “Black is fine.” Rowan didn’t really want any coffee but she would gladly take a cup if it bought her some extra time.

  “Have a seat and I’ll be right back.”

  She hurried toward the back of the house and Rowan turned all the way around, scrutinizing the room. A framed photograph of Wanda and her husband hung above the fireplace. A smaller framed photo of two young men—the twentysomething sons, she presumed—sat on the mantel. Alongside that photo was another of the older son with a woman and a small child. His family, Rowan supposed. The sofa and chair were well-worn. The television was a small box set, no doubt two decades old. A braided rug kept the wood floor from being completely bare.

  The decorating was minimal at best. There were no embellishments sitting around or hanging on the walls beyond the picture over the fireplace. No plaques or paintings or anything unnecessary. Rowan seated herself on the sofa. She thought of the woman in the other room. Her dark hair was long and straight. Hazel eyes were uninspired and weary. Of course, her husband had just been murdered. She wasn’t supposed to be bright-eyed and dressed to party.

  Rowan shivered, noted that the inside temperature seemed to be colder than the outside one, which hadn’t hit fifty yet. The curtain over one window shifted. Another look confirmed that the windows had been raised. No wonder it was so cool in here. To clear the air, she supposed. There wasn’t really a noticeable smell of death in Rowan’s opinion, but she imagined to someone who didn’t smell that particular odor every day, it was overpowering no matter how faint.

  Wanda reappeared, coffee mugs in each hand. “I like my coffee strong. I hope that’s okay with you.”

  “Strong is good.”

  “Sorry it’s kind of chilly in here. I needed to air the place out. I couldn’t bear the idea of...”

  Rowan nodded. “I understand.”

  Wanda placed a cup in front of Rowan and then sat down at the other end of the sofa. She stared at the vacant chair before picking up her coffee. The chair had been her husband’s, Rowan suspected, and she didn’t feel comfortable sitting there even with him dead.

  Rowan launched her prepared spiel. “I checked the files and I noticed that Mr. Henegar’s parents were both taken care of at DuPont, as was his first wife. Would you like me to put together a couple of options for his services? That way, you’ll be prepared when his body is released.”

  Wanda held the cup inches from her mouth, as if Rowan’s announcement had rendered her incapable of moving it the rest of the way, much less taking a sip. “I—I hadn’t really thought about it.” The cup shook and she quickly lowered it to rest against her thigh. “I was actually considering cremation.”

  Cremation was something DuPont rarely did but they were a full-service funeral home. The option was certainly available. “Then I’ll put together a preliminary agenda for a cremation and a small memorial service, if that’s what you have in mind.”

  She nodded slowly. “How much would that cost?”

  Billy had said there was a reasonably large insurance policy. Perhaps there were other considerations that warranted her need to be particularly thrifty with her husband’s final arrangements despite the insurance proceeds to come.

  Rowan gave her a ballpark figure. “That would include a memorial service in the chapel and memorial pamphlets in remembrance of Mr. Henegar.”

  “How much if we leave off the pamphlets?”

  “I’m sure we can find a number that will work for you, Mrs. Henegar. At DuPont we’re very flexible with our services.”

  “Wanda. Call me Wanda.”

  Rowan smiled. “Wanda. Do you have an urn you’d like to use or would you prefer we provide one?”

  “Is that extra, too?”

  “Yes, but not so much. We have a nice selection of very affordable urns. There’s also a box that is no additional cost.”

  “I’ll bring something.”

  “We’ll work with whatever you want to use.”

  She nodded. Looked away.

  “When we can firm up a schedule, would you like us to take care of the announcement in the paper and on the radio?” This was a service they always provided, but she was guessing Wanda wasn’t aware. According to Rowan’s research, both her parents and grandparents were still alive. She hadn’t lost any siblings. There was no reason for her to be experienced in the final arrangements of a loved one.

  Another blink of uncertainty as to how to answer. “I guess so.”

  Rowan sat her cup on the coffee table and reached into her bag. She rounded up a pad and pen. “I’ll need to ask you a few questions. We can start with Mr. Henegar’s full name. The full names of his parents and those of his sons.”

  By the time she had called off all the names, she’d sat her cup on the table at the end of the sofa and was wringing her hands in her lap.

  “Thank you, Wanda. This is painful, I know.”

  She nodded and stared at her hands.

  “Would you like to invite anyone in particular to participate in a eulogy? One or both of his sons? A close friend? A minister?”

  “His sons don’t like me very much. They’re not even speaking to me right now.”

  Interesting. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Oftentimes, a tragedy like this will temporarily fracture a family. I’m certain it’s not really personal, just an emotional reaction to their loss.”

  “Maybe so.” She answered without meeting Rowan’s gaze.

  “Do you need me to contact the insurance company?” This was also common practice.

  Her attention snapped to Rowan. “No. No. I’ve already taken care of that but they won’t pay out until after the body is released and I have a death certificate. Is that a problem? Can you still cremate him even if I can’t pay you until the insurance comes through?”

  “Of course, that’s absolutely doable. There won’t be any delays. I assure you.”

  Obviously, Henegar’s sons blamed her for some reason. This was why they weren’t here consoling their stepmother and helping to make arrangements for their father.

  “Good.” She nodded adamantly. “I want this over.”

  Her eyes widened and her breath caught as she realized what she’d said aloud.

  “No one enjoys this process,” Rowan offered in hopes of putting her at ease. “Most want it over as quickly as possible. It’s only natural.” Which was not necessarily true. There were many who wanted to prolong the process. Saying goodbye was too difficult, too painful. They wanted to hang on to their loved ones as long as possible. On the other hand, there were those who practically had to be dragged to the funeral home. Denial was a powerful emotion.

  “It sounds awful of me, but I just want to put this nightmare behind me.” Her hands relaxed, stopped twisting together and lay limply in her lap.

  “Completely understandable.” Now they were headed in the right direction.

  She shook her head. “It’s bad enough I have no place else to go and have to stay in this house after he was killed here.” She shuddered. “It still smells like death in here. I feel it in my lungs, hanging there.”

  “I have a solution for that.” Rowan jotted down the vinegar-and-baking-soda aromatic potion her father had sworn by and passed it to the woman. “That should take care of it.”

  “Thank you.” She stared at the words written on the paper.

  Rowan decided to push a button and see what reaction she got. “Should I coordinate a date for the memorial with the Thackerson family?”

  Her wide-eyed gaze snapped to Rowan’s.

  “The bodies should be released around the same time,” Rowan explained. “Winchester is a small town. I’m sure you have friends in common. We do have one viewing room large enough for a memorial service if we need to do them at the same time.”