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