Sophia had been grateful for Agent Freeman’s understanding and advice. She’d resolved to take advantage of it. But the depression that set in the following week proved so debilitating she could hardly get out of bed. She would force herself to get up and fix Alexa breakfast, then crawl back under the covers and sleep until Alexa came home.

At least her daughter talked about school as if it was going well. Considering how cruel kids could be, that came as an unexpected relief. Alexa insisted she was being treated kindly and that her friends rallied around her whenever she wasn’t. She seemed to be making the difficult adjustment. But the worry in her eyes whenever she took in Sophia’s bedraggled appearance spoke volumes. It said: You’re all I have left and I’m terrified I can’t rely on you. Look at you! I’ve never seen you like this. Maybe it even said: I guess Dad was right.

Sophia could remember all the times Skip had told her she was a bitter disappointment. Part of her believed she deserved to hear it. Perhaps that was what had stolen the fight out of her; she’d essentially defeated herself by giving him so much ammunition. But, regardless of the reason for her depression, she wasn’t going to the gym anymore. She couldn’t bring herself to clean the house. She couldn’t even face showering on a regular basis or brushing her teeth.

Although she scolded herself whenever she was awake, pleaded with herself to do better—for Alexa’s sake—she fell further and further into despair and self-loathing, and that made the craving for alcohol worse. She hadn’t succumbed, but only because there was no alcohol in the house, and she wouldn’t go out for fear of running into yet another Whiskey Creek citizen her husband had defrauded.

Soon they had very little food in their cupboards and were surviving on canned soup. But no one knew that the “Queen of Whiskey Creek” had fallen quite so far, because no one came to check on her. Although she didn’t normally get a lot of visitors, there’d always been the domestic help. Now even they weren’t coming since she’d had to let them all go.

Sharon had been her only visitor, and she didn’t come because she was concerned. She came to collect Alexa that first weekend after the funeral. Fortunately, Sophia hadn’t looked quite as bad then. Still, while waiting for Alexa to finish gathering her things, Sharon had stood in Sophia’s doorway, shaking her head in disgust.

“This can’t continue, Sophia,” she’d said, her voice harsh and low.

Sophia had ignored her. She’d just been grateful Alexa had a safe place to go for a couple of days, so she wouldn’t have to get out of bed at all. Part of her hoped Sharon would come back and take Alexa this weekend, too. If so, it might be possible to get a bottle of gin or tequila—anything. She could walk over to the liquor store late at night....

But when Friday rolled around again, Sharon didn’t come. She didn’t come the next day or the day after that, either. Alexa told her Grandma and Grandpa were putting their house up for sale and moving into a condo in a retirement village at Rancho Murieta fifty minutes away, so Sophia figured they were busy dealing with their own disappointments and concerns. Maybe they were being hounded by bill collectors, too. Although Sophia rarely answered the home phone—her cell had probably died; she didn’t even know where it was—she could hear voices on the answering machine in Skip’s office when someone left a message. Apparently, her late husband had been several payments behind on everything, including the mortgage.

That wasn’t good news. It shortened the time she and Alexa would be able to live in the house and Sophia had no idea where they’d go.

“Mom?”

She had to fight to drag herself out of the black abyss. She was pretty sure this was a Wednesday but maybe not. “Yes?”

“We’re out of food.”

“I’ll get some,” she mumbled.

“When?”

“Soon.”

“You always say that.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Why not now?” Alexa asked.

“I don’t feel well.”

“You’ve been sick for two weeks.”

“I’ll be okay soon. Have some more soup.”

Her daughter let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m tired of bean with bacon.”

“It’s better than going hungry, isn’t it?”

Alexa didn’t answer. She’d obviously heard the irritation in Sophia’s voice. “Will you let me go?”

“By yourself? It’s too far to walk.”

“Nature’s Way might be too far, but Mel’s Quickie Grocery isn’t.”

Sophia didn’t have the energy for this conversation. “They don’t have much.”

“They have more than we do! I could get bread, milk, cereal, cheese...”

She was so adamant. Why not let her go? Whiskey Creek was as safe a place as any. And Sophia wanted to be left alone. “Fine. But hurry back.”

“What money should I use?”

Money. God, just that word made Sophia freeze in terror. Soon they wouldn’t have a dime....

Alexa clasped her by the shoulder. “Mom? Did you hear me? Should I get your purse?”

Dragging her brain back to the problem at hand, Sophia thought of what she had in her wallet. Since she couldn’t use her bank accounts, she’d cashed the check Gail had given her. But the gardener, the young man who washed Skip’s cars and Marta, the once-a-month housecleaner—they’d all needed to be paid. Once Sophia had seen to that, there hadn’t been much left—maybe fifteen hundred dollars.

Knowing it wouldn’t last forever made the anvil of worry sitting on her chest feel even heavier, as if it would crush her.

“Take a hundred from my purse.” She rolled over because she couldn’t bear to face what her daughter had to be thinking.

Once Alexa was gone, silence fell, allowing Sophia to drift in and out of sleep. Then the phone rang, but instead of leaving a message, whoever it was hung up and called back, over and over again.

“Alexa?” Sophia wanted her daughter to put a stop to the noise. But then she remembered that Alexa wasn’t home.

Rousing herself enough to move, she crawled across the bed to Skip’s side and grabbed the handset from its base. She intended to set it down and ignore it, but the thought that her daughter might need help made her bring it to her ear.

“Hello?” God, she sounded drunk even though she hadn’t had so much as a drop.

“Mrs. DeBussi?”

“Yes?” It was the piercing voice of Clarence Halloway, the undertaker who’d handled Skip’s funeral.

“I haven’t received a check from you for your husband’s service,” he said. “Can you tell me when I might expect to be paid? Or do you plan on ripping me off like you did everyone else in town?”

She managed to shove herself into a sitting position. “Ripping you off! It’s Dale and Sharon who owe you. They made the arrangements.” She hadn’t wanted that expensive casket and headstone, or all those flowers. She’d wanted to have Skip cremated and be done with it, but her in-laws had taken over, and she’d let them because she didn’t have any money to insist one way or the other.

“I called them. They told me it’s your responsibility. I guess Gail DeMarco-O’Neal gave you some money while she was here? Sharon said that was supposed to cover Mr. DeBussi’s burial costs.”

What? Anger flooded Sophia’s system. She should never have told her in-laws about that kind gesture. Gail hadn’t given her that money for any such purpose. It wasn’t enough, anyway. Skip’s parents were the ones who’d ordered everything. Sophia had been shocked by how much they were willing to spend, considering he’d cost them their life’s savings, but she’d chalked it up to habit and that fierce DeBussi pride. They could never be honest about anything. Appearances were all that mattered. Perhaps she’d been guilty of the same thing earlier in her life. But she hadn’t been guilty of racking up nearly $15,000 in funeral expenses!