The fact that Jaycee has completely dropped out of sight since last week would seem to back that theory. She has yet to resurface in the blogosphere—though as Landry told Bruce, that’s not necessarily unusual. She’s never been as vocal, or as regular, a presence as most of the others.

Still, you’d think she’d want to at least respond to Elena’s update about Meredith’s funeral . . .

Unless she was there herself.

Every time she allows her thoughts to go there, Landry is tempted to cancel the weekend after all. But she won’t let herself do that. The three of them need to be together this weekend—in person. Now, more than ever.

For Elena, the week held yet another unexpected loss.

On Tuesday night she called Landry to report that Tony Kerwin, the guy who had been harassing her last weekend, had dropped dead of a massive heart attack.

“A heart attack? How old was he? I thought he was your age.” Landry’s father died the same way, but he was in his late seventies, overweight, and had been battling heart disease for years, thanks to a fondness for anything deep-fried and smothered in southern gravy.

“Tony was my age,” Elena told her. “It was one of those fluke things. He never showed up for work on Monday—which I’ll admit made me very happy because I was dreading seeing him, and of course I had no idea anything was wrong. But then today when he didn’t come in and didn’t call in, I guess someone reported it and the police got the landlord to let them into his apartment. They found him dead on the kitchen floor.”

“Oh my God, Elena, I’m so sorry. You must be . . .”

Sad? Guilty? Relieved?

“I don’t know how I feel,” Elena admitted. “Right now I can’t seem to get past the irony that I couldn’t stand the guy, and he got to take the easy way out.”

“Out of the problems you were having with him?” Landry was incredulous.

“That too, but I meant he took the easy way out of life in general.”

“He didn’t exactly choose to take it, Elena.”

“No, I know, but still . . . he didn’t have to suffer. One minute he was alive, the next—bam. Never even knew what hit him. Easy way out,” she repeated yet again.

Uttered by anyone else, under any other circumstances, the candid comment might have seemed inappropriate. And maybe it was, in a sense. But Landry understood exactly where Elena was coming from.

In the grand scheme of things—particularly in their cancer-riddled, murder-tainted corner of the world—dropping dead of a massive heart attack, while tragic, might be seen as a blessing. There are worse ways to go. Two years ago the doctors assured Landry and her mother that Daddy never suffered a moment’s pain, most likely death was instantaneous.

“It’s the way he’d have wanted it.” Mom literally wept on Landry’s shoulder, tears of grief and of gratitude. “He never could have endured knowing that he’d have to leave us. He wouldn’t have wanted to know that the last time we saw each other was good-bye forever.”

No. That would have been torturous for him.

“Are you sure it was a heart attack?” Landry asked Elena—not doubting it, yet not quite able to grasp that something like that could strike someone so young.

“Well, I’m no coroner, but that’s what I heard—that it was natural causes. Crazy at his age but he was a fitness freak, so who knows? He probably worked out too hard that morning, or maybe he had an undiagnosed heart condition or something.”

Landry suggested that they postpone the weekend get-together in light of Tony’s death, but Elena wouldn’t hear of it.

“No way. No reason to do that. It’s not like he and I were— Look, you know how I felt about him. I couldn’t stand the guy. Do I feel bad about the way I talked about him? Kind of, but it’s not like he didn’t deserve it.”

Again, she had a point. Still, it seemed a little coldhearted . . .

No. Coldhearted—that’s Jenna Coeur.

Not Elena.

Elena was tormented by Tony; she considered him a stalker, and maybe that wasn’t far off the mark. Landry herself had heard his obnoxious telephone message.

It’s tragic whenever someone dies before his—or her—time, but that doesn’t erase earthly transgressions or inspire instant forgiveness in those who were wronged by the dearly departed.

“I need this now more than ever,” Elena went on, chattering a mile a minute as always, “and I know Kay does, too. We’ve already got plane tickets—which are nonrefundable, by the way. There’s no reason to cancel. The wake is on Thursday. I’ll go pay my respects to Tony, teach my last class on Friday, and fly down there on Saturday morning.”

So it was settled.

And right now, Landry thought, she only wants—needs—to reconnect with the only people in the world who understand what she’s going through.

As long as Meredith’s murderer doesn’t pop up as a surprise guest, everything will be fine.

Which, she’s convinced herself—mostly—would be all but impossible.

Then again . . .

Anyone could probably find out where I live, if they really wanted to.

Point Clear is a small town populated by friendly southerners. In order to find Landry, an outsider would only have to mention her first name to anyone here, or even up the road in Fairhope. The well-meaning locals would direct her right to the Wells doorstep, where . . .

Well, what would he—or perhaps more likely she—do?

Ring the bell? Ask to come in?

Try to break in? The house has a sophisticated alarm system. There’s no way she’d get past it. If she tried, the police would be summoned and be there in a flash.

Or Bruce. She could call him. He has a pistol permit, as he reminded her when she hired him.

“If you need me,” he said, “I can come this weekend.”

Yeah, it would be fun to explain to her houseguests—and her kids—why the strange man with the gun is lurking around the house.

Everything is going to be fine, just like she assured Rob when she left him at the airport.

And now it’s time to turn around and go back to pick up the others. Elena and Kay are connecting from Boston and Indianapolis on the same flight from Atlanta.

Landry puts the clippers into the back pocket of her shorts, picks up the two buckets of roses, and heads inside. She has a little over half an hour to arrange the flowers in vases and finish making the house—and herself—presentable for her guests.

Elena is sitting in a middle seat toward the back of the plane when she sees Kay board at last.

Good. She had expected Kay to miss the connection. The inbound flight from Indianapolis to Atlanta was late, and Kay is cutting it close. The flight attendant closes the door right behind her.

Elena watches her walk down the aisle, looking nervous. Kay keeps glancing over her shoulder, as if someone is going to chase her down and order her off the plane or something.

It’s probably because she’s not used to flying. She’d confessed earlier that she’s only been on planes a couple of times in her life, and not in many years.

Elena tried to prepare her, sending her an e-mail with instructions about how to get through airport security without incident: wear shoes that are easy to take off, have nothing in her pockets, make sure her laptop went through the scanners in its own bin, no liquids in her carry-on but instead placed inside a quart-sized clear plastic bag in containers that are three ounces or less . . .

There are so many rules now, Kay wrote back anxiously.

Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.

If only they could sit together, Elena thought, but there were only single seats left by the time they booked their tickets.

Too bad Kay didn’t get into Atlanta soon enough to join her at the airport bar. After a couple of Bloody Marys, she’d be feeling no pain.

“Kay!” Elena calls as she walks right past without spotting her. “Kay!”