Tomb With a View

“Quinn?” Of course she was talking about Quinn. He was the only nice policeman boyfriend I’d ever had. Except that he wasn’t all that nice. At least not in the ways Ella defined the word. I didn’t realize I’d sat up like a shot until I already had my elbows on my desk. That’s when I also realized how uncomfortable Ella looked.

“I know it’s none of my business,” she said. The color that raced into her cheeks matched her beaded necklace. “Though really, I suppose it is. My business, I mean, because I mean, I really do think of you as one of my girls, Pepper. And you haven’t told me exactly what happened between you and Detective Harrison, but I know it’s something, and not something good. He hasn’t come around to see you here at work since you finished the restoration, and he usually stops in once in a while. He hasn’t called and left any messages. You haven’t said a word about him and . . . well . . . frankly, Pepper, you’ve been moping.”

“I haven’t. I never mope.” I had no choice but to challenge her because of course I’d been moping; only I thought I was only doing it at home where nobody would notice.

“You’ve been depressed.”

“That’s silly.” The denial tumbled out of my mouth at the same time I looked down at the new outfit I was wearing. Since I knew I wasn’t going to be out in the cemetery that day, I’d passed on the standard-issue khakis and polo shirt with the words GARDEN VIEW and STAFF embroidered over the heart in tasteful script. I was wearing an emerald green sleeveless front-zip cotton shirtdress with a waist-clinging belt and adorable Jimmy Choo snakeskin platform peep-toe sandals. They were gold. And did I mention adorable?

Yes, the outfit was new.

Yes, I’d bought it as well as the three other new outfits I’d worn to work in the past week in the hopes that a little shopping therapy would make me forget everything I wasn’t getting from Quinn.

No, I hadn’t thought anyone noticed.

I guess I was wrong.

I pushed away from my desk and dug my shoulders into the high back of my chair. “If you’re giving me this commemoration job because you think it’s going to help ease some kind of broken heart—”

“I figured you’d have some extra time on your hands.”

“And you think I’m crying into my pillow every night and this is somehow going to cheer me up. Number one, working with Marjorie isn’t going to cheer me up. In fact, one day with her and you’ll probably have to call Quinn yourself because there’s bound to be a homicide. Want to guess who’s going to be the victim? Number two, the whole crying into my pillow thing? Way overrated.” I ought to know, I’d been crying into my pillow each and every night for the last three weeks, and it hadn’t helped me feel one damned bit better.

Rather than think about it, I told Ella the same lie I’d been telling myself. “I don’t miss him, if that’s what you think. In fact, I’m glad he’s gone. And I’m not the least bit bored. I’ve got plenty to keep me busy.”

“Yes, of course you do. Like working on this commemoration.” Ella got up and bustled to the door. Something told me she figured if she stopped listening and just kept on talking, things would work out fine in the end. She should have known by now: they never do. “That’s one of the things I admire so much about you, Pepper. I know you’re not fond of Marjorie. But you’re still willing to work with her. That’s really wonderful. It’s so refreshing. And it’s exactly why you’re going to go over to the Garfield Memorial right now. That way you and Marjorie can talk, and you can get to know each other a little better.”

“But I don’t want to get to know her better.” Was that me whining? Absolutely! And I didn’t regret it one bit. The more Ella sounded so sure of herself, the more sure I was that I wanted nothing to do with her plan. “I just want to—”

“Be a team player! Of course you do. I knew that’s what you’d say. Because that’s one of the things you do best, Pepper. You help out when I need it. You step up to the plate. You pitch in and give everything you do your best shot.” She emphasized this last point by poking a fist into the air.

And I knew a losing cause when I saw one. I fished my purse out of my desk drawer, flung it over my shoulder, and headed for the door.

“That’s my girl.” Beaming, Ella opened my office door and led the way out into the corridor. We were nearly in the reception area when we heard the most awful noise. It sounded like a cat with its tail in the spokes of a twelve-speed mountain bike.

Ella and I exchanged dumbfounded looks. Side by side, we hurried into the reception area.

We found Jennine, the woman who welcomed clients and answered the phones, standing over a tiny woman in khaki pants and one of those tastefully embroidered polo shirts I mentioned earlier, only hers said VOLUNTEER on it. The woman’s head was in her hands and she was sobbing so violently, her shoulders were shaking.

Things got even stranger when the bawler had to come up for air and we saw that it was—