twenty-seven

On the morning of Dan’s funeral, I woke up with a mild headache. While Nigel called down to room service for breakfast, I pulled back the heavy brocade drapes. The view that met me was bleak. Heavy gray clouds blanketed the sky. Fat drops of rain splattered down in a haphazard path. I slid open the window as far as it would go and was rewarded with a face full of unseasonably warm, muggy air. I quickly slid the glass back into place. Thinking of the only black dress I’d packed, I scowled. The wool sheath was definitely funeral-appropriate; unfortunately, it was also intended for much cooler temperatures.

Nigel finished placing our order and hung up the phone. “Quick question,” I said as I hunted for Skippy’s leash. “Would you happen to know Miss Manners’ thoughts on wearing panty hose to a funeral?”

Nigel leaned back against the headboard and regarded me curiously. “That is so weird,” he said as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I was just going to ask you the same question.”

“Really?” I said as I continued my search.

“Yes,” he said. “As you know, the fishnet does wonders for my legs …”

“They do indeed,” I agreed after a search under the bed proved futile.

“But the black sheer might be a bit more …” He paused.

“Appropriate?” I offered as I began to pull up the cushions on the chairs.

Nigel snapped his fingers. “That’s it. Appropriate. Why were you asking?”

“Oh, for the same reason,” I said as I moved my search to the bathroom.

“What are you looking for?” Nigel called out.

“Skippy’s leash.”

“Try the tub,” he suggested.

I did as instructed, and sure enough there it was. I came out of the bathroom and held it up. “You were right,” I said.

“I usually am.”

“Why the tub, I wonder?” I said as I hooked the leash to Skippy’s collar.

“We’re slowly working up to a bubbly bath,” Nigel said as he got off the bed. “Here, give him to me,” he said. “I’ll take him. It’s disgusting out.”

I smiled my thanks. Once they left, I flopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. My mood began to match the weather. I had a grim suspicion that it was only a matter of time before Harper was considered a “person of interest.” Now that the higher-ups started to clamor for an arrest, I knew from experience that one was usually made. And that experience also told me that the right person wasn’t always arrested.

I was still frowning at the ceiling when Nigel and Skippy returned. They both shook the damp from their respective coats. Skippy then jumped up and joined me on the bed, laying his large wet head across my stomach. Nigel plopped down on my other side and stared at the ceiling with me. “Bloody Mary for your thoughts,” he said.

“I thought the saying was penny for your thoughts.”

“Do you want a penny?” he asked.

“Not particularly,” I admitted.

“Thus the Bloody Mary.”

“I see your point,” I said.

“I thought you might,” said Nigel. “So what’s wrong? Are you still trying to decipher Miss Manners’ stance on panty hose? If you’d rather, I’ll wear pants and you can wear the hose.”

“You’re sweet, but I’m worried about Harper,” I said as I played with Skippy’s ears. “Marcy is getting pressure to make an arrest. Brian already thinks that Harper’s guilty. I just have a bad feeling.”

Nigel reached down and grabbed my hand. Linking his fingers with mine, he gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “I know you do,” he said. “But all we can do is try to find out what really happened and be there for Harper.”

I let out a sigh. “God, I just wish, for Harper’s sake, that this day was over. She has to bury her husband, a man who was apparently cheating on her, and who was murdered, but she also has to deal with Dan’s mother, Cindy. I’m not sure which of the three is worse.”

“Is Dan’s mother that bad?” Nigel asked.

“She’s horrible,” I said. “She’s a narcissistic, snobby, overbearing social climber.”

“She sounds like she’d get along with my Aunt Olive,” Nigel said.

I laughed. “Trust me. Cindy would eat Aunt Olive for breakfast.”

Nigel let out a low whistle. “Wow. Is it bad that I’m looking forward to meeting this woman?”

“It’s your funeral,” I said with a shrug.

Nigel leaned over and lightly kissed me. “Actually, it’s Dan’s, but I get your point.”