A Fatal Romance. June Shaw

woman who’d just lost a spouse. Actually, lost him twice. “Sunny can’t help singing when she’s afraid. And that includes anything dealing with sex, courtesy of her ex-husband.”

      “What does sex have to do with Zane?” The wife’s cheeks flamed.

      Should I tell her about his privates possibly being in my pocket? Second thoughts said not to. “Who knows? But you don’t need to worry. I certainly wasn’t having an affair with your husband,” I said, quieting my song to a hum.

      “Just the thought of sex makes her sing,” my sister explained. “Maybe it’s a good thing she doesn’t think of it often.”

      The widow shook her finger. “Zane was always faithful to me.”

      “I’m sure he was,” I said, working to get my singing instincts under control. Nodding toward the carpet, I spoke without a hint of a tune. “I’d really like to help you get those pieces of him out of the rug. If we can just find an empty vacuum bag, I’ll—”

      “Go! Get away!”

      I stomped out of the church into muggy spring air. Eve clopped behind me toward her Lexus in the parking lot.

      “You told me they were fine people,” I said.

      “They are. At least he is. Or was.” Eve shook her head, making sunshine spread golden highlights over her flame-red waves. Her clear blue eyes sparkled. I was glad few people could tell us apart. “I only met his wife that day I laid their pavers, and Zane stayed and helped a little. When she got home, he introduced us. She seemed pleasant.”

      “I guess you never know.”

      “Good grief, Sunny. You kept singing after she spilled her husband.”

      I lowered my face toward the chipped sidewalk.

      Eve touched my arm. “I know, but maybe you can try harder.”

      I nodded. She knew how long I’d fought to stop the songs that began when a major tragedy threw my life into an unending tailspin. Junior high had been especially painful.

      At the next corner, we waited for a truck to pass. I checked my sleeve in the sunshine, relieved that if any ashes had been there, the breeze had blown them off to a better place. “There weren’t many people in church.”

      Eve frowned. She started across the street. “They’ve lived here less than three years and don’t have much family. Zane’s job kept him out of town a lot. When he joined our line-dance class, he said his wife was shy and didn’t like to dance anyway.”

      “I don’t think she’s shy. I think she was involved in his death.”

      “What?” Eve stopped. “The man drowned. It was an accident.”

      I spread my hands. “In his own yard? Why didn’t he fall in that pond before now?”

      “Because this week he tripped on a cypress knee near the job we did in their yard and knocked his head on the tree and fell in. He couldn’t swim. And you don’t even know his wife.”

      No, neither she nor her husband had been home when we created that seating area in their yard. I tugged on Eve’s arm to get her across the street so oncoming cars waiting for us could turn.

      She kept talking. “Darn it, Daria Snelling might not be the sweetest person right after her husband’s ashes flew to the heavens, but that doesn’t make her a killer.”

      “Eve, you know I have good instincts about people. And covers on burial urns are sealed. They aren’t supposed to come off.” I created a mental picture of what happened. “Besides, she was walking along carpet. There weren’t any bumps for her to trip over.”

      My twin’s face pinched up. Not a pretty picture. “How do you know that?”

      “Her shoes. When the organ music started and everyone turned to look back, I noticed her shoes.”

      “I can’t believe this, Sunny. You aren’t usually that shallow.” She stomped off ahead of me.

      I strolled faster behind. “You know I can’t even pronounce the brands of expensive shoes. I saw she was tiny but looked extra tall, so I glanced at her shoes. Her heels must be four inches. That’s really showy for a grieving widow.”

      “Wearing stilettos make her a murderer?”

      “And a bright red dress. Red?” I caught up with Eve. “I think she wanted to dump her husband so his remains couldn’t all be buried together.”

      She threw up her palms. “You are so sick. The man was my friend.”

      “Geez, you worked for him briefly and saw him a couple of times in dance class.”

      “That doesn’t give you the right to cut down his family.”

      “And if you hadn’t made that dig about my unhappiness with sex, his wife wouldn’t have gotten so upset.”

      Eve knew my limited experience with sex had come with Kev soon after our marriage. If I’d known how unpleasant one man could make the quick chore, I would have started chuckling in bed much sooner. Eve and I were both divorced—she, three times, her choice—and her admiring exes still showered her with gifts. Kevin left me with little and did so after my spontaneous laughter about frightening things escalated to include sex. But he made the intimacy so unpleasant I had begun to dread it.

      Watching my sister, I saw myself a little slimmer, wearing dressier clothes and an unpleasant grimace. At thirty-eight, she was fairly attractive in a black knit top and skirt, emerald green jacket, and spike heels. I wore low heels and tan slacks with a white shirt and my favorite jacket, a rust-colored silk. With a pocket that now held parts of Zane Snelling.

      “Sis,” I said, “do you see any ashes in my hair? Or on my sleeve or other places on my clothes?”

      She did a quick inspection of my hair and looked longer at my clothes, while I did the same to her. “I don’t see anything anymore.” She checked inside my pocket. “Except in there.”

      “You’re clean,” I said, voice dull from knowing I still wore parts of a man. I slid my jacket off and carefully folded it, not letting anything escape.

      Eve wrenched her car door open and flung herself inside. I slid onto the passenger seat. “Buckle up.” She waited until I did before pulling onto the street.

      “Do you want to go out for lunch?” I asked.

      “My stomach’s too upset. I’m going to change clothes and hit the gym.”

      Positive news came to mind. “Anna Tabor wants us to give her a price to replace the picture window in her den with a glass block one.” It wasn’t much of a job, but we were still pleased with every one that came in.

      “Why does she want that?”

      “She said it would be unusual and attractive. I’ll do the estimate this evening.”

      “Okay. I’ll check your work tomorrow, and we’ll schedule her in.”

      I nodded. Our deceased father had been an excellent carpenter who made us enjoy working with our hands. We’d done quite a bit of work with him and liked changing the design of some of his jobs. Ever since I convinced Eve to join me to start Twin Sisters Remodeling & Repairs months ago, we were gradually building up our name and earning people’s trust. We were both strong and knew how to use subcontractors and power tools. So far my estimates all turned out correct. Still, being dyslexic made me want all written work and numbers double-checked. Early struggles and some teachers’ hurtful comments made me still doubt myself.

      Most of the sugar cane stalks in fields Eve drove past stood three feet tall. On the opposite side of the highway, the brown bayou lazed along, shielding gators, turtles, catfish, and other water creatures. We sped by shotgun houses dotted between brick homes in our small town of Sugar Ledge and entered our subdivision. Houses were brick and stucco and most