She pulled the sheet over her head again. Charley was quiet for a long moment, then his voice was strangely intense. "Promise me you'll stay with my fa
mily the whole time you're here
and go home immediately after the funeral."
"That's exactly what I plan to do, but I'm not promising you anything. Look what happened to the last promise…
love, honor and cherish.
"
Charley gave a big sigh, but was silent. Amanda didn't look, didn't want to see if he was still there.
But the peaceful night she'd anticipated was ruined. She couldn't relax with Charley there.
And even though she
was sure he was
lying about Kimball and the potential danger to her, she couldn't dismiss a niggling worry. Her motorcycle had been sabotaged, and she almost died.
Somebody had tried to kill her.
Was she now in close proximity to her would-be killer?
She was almost asleep when the memory of that strange look that had crossed Charley's face so briefly brought her back to wide awake. Was Charley feeling guilt and remorse? He should be feeling guilty and remorseful about all the lies he'd told her concerning his family. If he'd really blackmailed Kimball, that
, too,
should be a source of guilt and remorse.
But they'd discussed both those things before, and he'd shown no hints of either emotion.
Was there something else?
With Charley, there was always something else.
She rolled over, fluffed the goose-down pillow and determined to go back to sleep. If Charley was keeping more secrets about his life's activities, she didn't want to know them.
Chapter Ten
Wrong, just wrong, Amanda thought as she squirmed uncomfortably on the first pew of the
Methodist C
hurch. Her mother-in-law sat beside her while her deceased husband lay in the coffin at the front of the church as well as stood beside it, peering in, criticizing what the undertaker had done with his body.
"Look at my hair. It's awful! I never wore my hair like that. And
make-up
? They put
make-up
on me? I hope you didn't pay these people to make me look like this, Amanda."
She glared at him, wishing she'd had him cremated. That would have solved the hair and make-up problems.
Things didn't improve as the pastor delivered the eulogy.
"Why'd he have to tell that schmaltzy story from when I was a kid? Makes it sound like pulling that cat out of that pond was the only good thing I ever did."
Probably was,
Amanda thought, making a note to tell Charley her thoughts later, including the cremation regret. For the time being, all she could do was scowl at him while Irene sobbed softly into a tissue. Herbert slipped a consoling arm about his wife's shoulder, his own eyes moist.
Finally the service ended, and Amanda started out of the church with the family while Charley entertained himself by telling her all the "secrets" of the people around them.
"Big bald guy over there, Hayden Marshall, drinks a couple of beers every Sunday morning before he goes to the Baptist
C
hurch with his wife. Can't blame him. Look at his wife. She never shuts up. That tall blond over there? She's not a natural blond. Want to know how I know?"
"Charley!" Amanda gasped involuntarily.
Irene slipped an arm around her waist. "I know, Amanda. I can't help calling to him myself sometimes. I keep expecting him to come around the corner, smiling, telling us it was all one of his practical jokes."
Amanda clenched her teeth and glowered at Charley.
"Hey, I was just going to tell you I dated a hairdresser who did her hair. What did you think I was going to say, Amanda?" Charley's laughter died abruptly. "It's Kimball. He's here."
In spite of her reassurances to herself that all this Kimball stuff was nonsense, Amanda tensed at the genuine fear in Charley's voice.
A tall man with immaculate brown hair, wearing an immaculate dark suit and an immaculate expression of condolence approached with his hand extended. "Herbert, Irene, I wanted to come by and pay my respects. I'm so sorry about your loss." He grasped each of their hands in turn. Both Herbert and Irene were polite but stilted in their responses.
The man was good-looking in a smooth, movie-star way, a way that would compel the attention of others from across the room. But up close, there was something disturbing in his eyes. They were large and brown and should have called up ima
ges of puppy dogs. I
nstead they sent a shiver down Amanda's spine. This man's gaze was not a warm brown. His eyes were cold and hard like a frozen pool in an underground cave where sunlight never had and never would reach.
The owner of those cold eyes reached for Amanda's hand. "And this must be Charley's widow. I'm Roland Kimball,
m
ayor of our little town." She reflexively drew back. Not that she really believed this small town official had murdered Charley. Certainly not that she believed he was a threat to her. It was just those eyes. If she touched him, she might be sucked into their frigid depths and never return.
"Yes," she said, forcing a smile and trying to act as if she weren't deliberately ignoring his outstretched hand. "I'm Charley's widow."
"Be careful!" Charley whispered.
"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Randolph. How long will you be staying in our little town?" His voice and his smile were warm and compelling. Only his eyes gave him away, turning his words into a veiled threat.
"Tell him you're leaving tomorrow!" Charley ordered.
She wanted to leave
r
ight now, this minute. Push through the crowd, get to her motorcycle and ride
away from this man
as fast as she could. "I'm not sure," she said defiantly. "I may stay several days with my…my husband's family. Get to know
everybody
." She emphasized the last word, returning his veiled threat…if, indeed, such a threat existed.
"She's going to be staying as long as we can keep her," Irene confirmed, smiling at Amanda.
"No!" Charley protested, waving his arms frantically. "You gotta get out o
f here! Go home! Buy a gun! Move in
with
The Judge
!"
"I hope to see you again while I'm here," Amanda said sweetly.
"I can't believe you said that!" Charley shrieked. "Are you nuts? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
"I'm sure that can be arranged." For a fleeting instant, Amanda thought Kimball was responding to Charley's question about getting herself killed. Of course he had replied to her comment that she hoped to see him again. Nevertheless, his words chilled her. Perhaps the meaning was the same as if he had replied to Charley.
Kimball continued to smile beneficently. "Good day, Irene, Herbert…
Mrs. Randolph
." He turned away, offering his immaculate condolences to other members of the family.
"That guy gives me the creeps," Irene said.
"Ah, you just don't like him cause he's rich," Herbert drawled.
"You don't like him, either."
"No, I reckon I don't," Herbert admitted.
"Why?" Amanda asked.
Herbert shrugged.
"I won't gossip at my son's funeral," Irene said primly, then added, "We'll talk later."
"Way to go, Amanda!" Charley exclaimed. "You want rid of me? You're never gonna get rid of me! I'm supposed to help you, but I can't help you when you won't listen to me. You're gonna die and be with me forever and we're both going to be stuck here. No white light. No forever after. What were you thinking, egging Kimball on like that, telling him you're staying here, that you'll see him again?"
Amanda wasn't sure of the answer to that question. Obstinacy, perhaps, thwarting Charlie's orders. A determination to prove that Charley was lying. Or maybe that Charley was telling the truth.
Somebody had tried to kill her. Now that she'd seen the Kimball character in the flesh, she wasn't so certain Charley had made up the whole story.
"Amanda!"
She whirled at the note of increased stress in Charley's voice.
"I…uh…you need to…" he stuttered, waving his hand vaguely toward the front of the church.
"Look, Herbert, there's Sunny and her mother," Irene said, and Amanda turned again, this time in the direction Irene was pointing.
Across the room, she met the wide gaze of a tall, slim woman with barely tamed red hair pulled back from a porcelain face. Beside her stood an older, slightly-stooped woman with short white hair who was also looking in Amanda's direction. The younger woman
seemed
vaguely familiar, but before Amanda could place her, she averted her gaze, spoke to the older woman, and both turned and walked out the door.
"That was nice of them to come," Herbert said.
"Who is she?" Amanda asked, as the woman disappeared into the crowd outside. "The woman with red hair."
"Sunny Donovan. She's a lawyer. Nice lady. Takes care of her mother, helps a lot of people around town. Helped Charley when he got in some trouble a few years ago."
Behind her, Charley groaned. Like he thought she'd be surprised to hear he'd been in trouble before they met? She'd have been surprised if he hadn't been.
"What kind of trouble?" she asked, more to make conversation than because she really cared about the answer. She was still trying to remember where she'd seen Sunny Donovan. Irene said the woman was a lawyer, so perhaps she'd met her through her father. Or maybe, judging from Charley's apparent desire that she not see Ms. Donovan, she and Charley had been involved
in more than
her helping him
with legal issues
. That wouldn't be surprising, either.
"Drugs," Irene said.
"It was just a little pot." Charley moved up beside Amanda. "No big deal. Let it go."
"He got in with a bad crowd," Irene continued.
Her husband snorted. "He started the bad crowd."
Charley grinned. "I always was a leader."
"Now, Herbert. Everybody does foolish things when they're young."
"Wasn't any younger than you and I were when we got married." Herbert's blue eyes twinkled as he spoke the words, and Amanda realized he was teasing his wife.
"And some would say that was a foolish thing," Irene replied, taking her husband's arm and gazing up at him fondly.
To the best of her knowledge, Amanda's parents had never teased each other, and she couldn't imagine her mother gazing at her father with such an open, loving expression.