A picture flitted through Jamie’s mind. Conrad had taken her and Gracie to a McDonald’s in a different part of Dallas. He was, or had been, tall, dark haired, blue eyed, handsome, and when he walked into a room or even a McDonald’s all the women in the place eyed him. When he flashed a bright smile, they would stumble around at the privilege of being in his presence—just like she did when they’d met at the teachers’ party that year.

“Mama, can I have a big hamburger instead of the little kids’ meal?” Gracie asked. “I’m really, really hungry.”

“Of course,” Jamie answered. She dreaded going back to her house. Family pictures were everywhere—from a collage on the wall behind the sofa to the credenza in the foyer. One of the two of them on their wedding day was on one nightstand, and on the other side was the three of them in the hospital the day Gracie was born.

Seven years of her life, and it was all a deception. She was mentally throwing pictures at the walls when she reached McDonald’s and pulled into a parking spot. She put her head on the steering wheel and groaned.

“What now? He can’t be killed twice,” Rita said.

“Pictures. Finances. Life. All of it. But I’m too mad to talk about that right now.”

Amanda sat in the passenger seat of the small Chevrolet truck, seat belt around her bulging stomach, crying into tissues that she kept tossing behind her when they were too soggy to use anymore.

“This is a nightmare, Aunt Ellie. I’m going to wake up and Conrad will arrive tomorrow and we’ll go to the cabin for our summer vacation,” Amanda said between sobs. “This cannot be happening. What about our baby and . . . oh, my God, what am I going to do?”

Her aunt Ellie kept one hand on the steering wheel and shook a long, bony finger at her with the other one. “You are going to shut up that carryin’ on and get a hold of yourself, girl. You will do exactly what you’ve been doing the past six months—live in your apartment, help me run the store—and in two months you will have a baby. You were a single mother anyway. He was only home a few days a month.”

“Do you think he was really already married to those other two women?” she finally asked.

“Yes, I do.” Ellie pushed back a strand of salt-and-pepper hair behind her ear. “Why would they attend the funeral and why would they lie? Be thankful you didn’t have to pay for that ceremony. I bet the casket alone cost a fortune.”

“Do you think”—Amanda hesitated, not wanting to even utter the words—“that he slept with them when he wasn’t with me?”

“Most likely,” Aunt Ellie said.

“You aren’t any help at all.” Amanda pouted. “He might have married them, but there are divorce papers somewhere. They will show up, I’m positive of it.”

“You are acting like a dramatic teenager. Shit happens. Men are sometimes bastards. You had six months of bliss. Count that a blessing and be glad that someone shot that fool, because I would be tempted to get the pistol out of my purse and do it if they hadn’t,” Ellie scolded. “You were going to leave tomorrow for your vacation time. I suggest you take the week off and get yourself together.”

“I hate those other two,” she said.

“I don’t expect there’s much love in their hearts for you, either.” Aunt Ellie turned north on Highway 287 toward Wichita Falls. “Put the seat back and rest your eyes. I’ll wake you when we reach the city limits. Wanda will have closed the store by the time we get there, so I’ll take you straight to your apartment,” Ellie said.

Amanda obeyed her aunt’s orders, but she couldn’t sleep. Conrad was dead. Really dead. She’d seen the article about his death in the Dallas newspaper yesterday and laughed at first, thinking she would tease Conrad about there being two of him.

What appeared to be a robbery had gone bad in a well-known flower shop in Dallas. Conrad Steele had been fatally shot. The owner described two people who came into the store wearing masks. He’d given them the money without an argument, but then they’d both turned their guns on Conrad. One blew his face off with a shotgun and the other shot him in the groin with a pistol before they ran out of the store and sped away in a black late-model SUV.

She’d called the Dallas police station and talked to a detective, who verified that Conrad Steele was dead. She wanted to go see the body, but he told her that the family had decided on a closed casket under the circumstances. Kate Steele, a member of the family, was taking care of the arrangements. He was kind enough to give her the name of the funeral home and the time.

That was yesterday, and she had barely had time to buy a decent black dress and make arrangements for their part-time help to run Ellie’s Boutique so that she could go to the funeral. It was all so surreal—no one buried a person that fast. Three days was the minimum. Conrad had been shot on Thursday afternoon, and he was already in the ground and it was only Saturday. There’d been no wake, no family night for friends to come and console her for her loss, not even a church luncheon after the funeral—nothing but a short graveside service. There was no closure in that.

Amanda needed something to hang on to, anything at all to replace the fact that Conrad had three wives—at the same damn time!

CHAPTER TWO

Emotions should have been swirling around Kate on Sunday afternoon when she opened the door into Conrad’s bedroom. She expected the memories to bring back something—anything. Something in the room should cause a flutter of love, anger, sadness. But there was nothing.

She’d been depressed when she met Conrad, and he’d made her happy for the six months they’d dated and for nearly a year following their marriage. Surely she could latch on to one happy memory. But any happiness had been drowned the day that she lost their baby and the doctors said she’d never have any more children. Depression had set in, and Conrad began to hound her for a divorce and his money. Anger joined depression when he became mentally abusive.

Now he was dead, and she should feel something . . . relief? Even if he had been nothing more than a con artist who had lived in her house a couple of days a month for more than a decade, he was still her legal husband. She dug deep into her heart, but there was nothing—she would have had a bigger rush of emotion if one of the janitors at the oil company had died.

Teresa pushed past her into the room. “I told you that you should have divorced him years ago. Now you have to deal with all this, plus his business affairs. Thank God you can use the company’s legal department or you’d be out thousands in lawyer fees.”

“Let’s just get this packing done with,” Kate said.

“At least it’s over.” Teresa went to the dresser and picked up a man’s wedding band. “What’s this all about?”

“He took it off years ago. I’m surprised he didn’t hock the damn thing.” Kate took it from her mother and tossed it into the bottom of the black garbage bag she’d brought with her.

“You could get something for that in a pawn shop,” Teresa said.

Kate shook her head and opened the first drawer. Without checking pockets or even going through pajama pants, shirts, and the rest of his things, she threw them into the bag with the wedding ring. Then she slid open the closet doors. He used to have a packed closet, but now there were only a few suits, dress shirts, and slacks in front of her.

“I told you not to buy all those fancy things for him when you were first married,” Teresa said. “Now they are hanging in one of those other women’s closets. They’ll take them to a consignment shop and make a fortune on them.”

“I don’t care if they burn them and dance naked around the flames. I just want this thing settled. I never want to see those women again.” Kate shoved it all into the bag.

“Well, this isn’t going to take long.” Teresa reached for a box on the shelf. “Are you even going to look in this or do we just put it in the bag, too?”

More to appease her mother than anything else, Kate flipped the lid off onto the bed. His last five years’ tax returns were there, but no will, which might have simplified things. The deed to the cabin he owned up by Lake Kemp, along with the taxes and insurance papers concerning the cabin, were tucked into a big manila envelope. She flipped through the federal business—no dependents, married but filing separate, with her listed as his spouse, and very little return for any of the five years. They’d been prepared by an accountant whose card was stapled to the front of each copy.