“I’m afraid most of Gail’s money is gone, Mr. Halloway,” she said. “I—I had to pay the people who were working for me. And what’s left is all I’ve got to take care of Alexa until...until I find a job.”

“I have a family to support, too,” he pressed. “I told you in the beginning I wouldn’t perform the service unless you paid me in advance.”

“Exactly. And you didn’t change your mind until Skip’s parents got involved. You were dealing with them.”

“They’ve been part of the community for so long I never dreamed they’d do this to me, but it seems Skip inherited his dishonesty from them.”

Sophia didn’t want to be seen as a crook. She supposed it was a good sign that she still cared enough for that to bother her. But he was just one of many who were clamoring for money. She couldn’t possibly satisfy them all. “I’m sorry, I really am, but...I can’t help you.”

“I don’t feel it’s fair for me to take the loss,” he said. “I buried your husband, didn’t I? Now I’d like to stop by and pick up at least a partial payment.”

She had so little left. But how could she say no? It wasn’t fair that he shouldn’t get paid for the funeral. She didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else getting hurt.

“I can give you a hundred bucks,” she told him.

“That’s better than nothing. I’ll be right over,” he said and hung up.

With a sigh, she slumped onto the pillows. She had such a blinding headache, couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten and was beginning to feel dehydrated.

She hoped Alexa would get home in time to handle Clarence, but the doorbell rang while her daughter was still gone. Summoning what remained of her strength, Sophia managed to get up and force her leaden feet to move. She pulled on a robe, collected the money from her purse on the kitchen counter where Alexa had put it, and went to the door.

The undertaker raised his eyebrows when he saw her, but he glanced away and took the money. “I’ll come by next month,” he said tersely and turned to leave without another word.

Sophia stood in the doorway, watching until she couldn’t see his black Cadillac anymore. Next month? Fine. That sounded like an eternity from now. She had no idea how she’d survive until then—and part of her hoped she wouldn’t.

“What are you looking at?”

Eve Harmon glanced over as Cheyenne Amos came to stand next to her at the window. Since Chey had married Dylan, she didn’t usually work late at the B and B, not like she used to. When she’d been living with her sick mother and troubled sister, she’d taken advantage of any reason to stay out of the house.

“I thought you’d gone home,” Eve told her.

“I wanted to finish the new brunch menus.”

“Dylan must be working overtime at the body shop.”

“Aaron’s closing tonight. Dylan’s at the house, making dinner.”

“God, he cooks, too?” Eve grinned. She often teased Cheyenne about her sexy husband. She was happy for her best friend—she’d never seen Cheyenne happier—but she couldn’t help feeling left out, maybe even a trifle jealous. She’d never believed she needed a man in order to be fulfilled, but with so many of her friends marrying, she wished she could find someone to share her life with.

“It’ll be steak,” Cheyenne said. “That’s what he makes whenever he cooks.”

“There could be worse foods.” Eve almost said something about inviting her over next time Dylan’s brother, Aaron, would be there. She’d thought of mentioning it before. But Aaron had anger management issues. As gorgeous as he was, she’d be stupid to get involved with him, especially when Cheyenne’s sister had already traveled down that road and it had ended in a broken heart.

“True,” Cheyenne agreed.

Eve felt her smile wilt as she returned her attention to the scene outside the window.

Cheyenne looked out, trying to follow Eve’s gaze, but the lonely figure Eve had noticed a few minutes earlier was sitting too far to the right, in the shadow of a large headstone.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Cheyenne said. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of Little Mary again.”

Six-year-old Mary Margaret had been strangled in the basement over a century ago. She was their resident ghost—maybe. Eve wasn’t convinced that Mary hadn’t moved on. “Not this time.” She pointed to the newest plot in the Whiskey Creek cemetery. “Alexa DeBussi is out there.”

Cheyenne frowned as she finally located the young teen, who had a grocery bag at her side. “Poor girl.”

It was obvious that Sophia’s daughter was crying as she sat there, huddled against her father’s headstone.

“I wonder if Sophia knows she’s here,” Cheyenne said.

“I haven’t seen Sophia for the past couple of weeks. Have you?” Eve had placed a few calls to Sophia’s cell phone, including the one in which she mentioned the job Ted had available, but they hadn’t been returned.

Cheyenne shook her head. “No. I sent flowers since I couldn’t attend the funeral. And I’ve stopped by twice, but no one answered the door.”

The fact that Cheyenne hadn’t been able to come to the funeral reminded Eve of Wyatt. “How’s your nephew doing?” she asked. Cheyenne’s sister had the cutest little boy. He meant everything to his mother. He meant a great deal to Cheyenne, too, which was why she and Dylan had been at the hospital in Fresno, where Presley lived, instead of at the funeral.

“He’s fine now. The pneumonia’s gone. Thank goodness. I can’t imagine what Presley would do if anything happened to him.”

“Do you think his father will ever be part of his life?”

“I doubt it. How could she ever find him? You know he was just some loser she met in Arizona,” Cheyenne said.

“It’s just sad to think the guy’s walking around out there and he doesn’t even know he’s a father.”

“I don’t think he’d be the type of guy we’d want in Wyatt’s life, anyway.”

Pulling her sweater closer around her—it felt as if the weather was about to turn—Eve shifted her attention back to Alexa, whose mother was only sort of their friend. Half the members of their group seemed to have forgiven Sophia for her past. But others, like Ted, definitely had not. Eve wasn’t sure how she felt. She had bad memories of various catfights and backbiting incidents instigated by Sophia, but she hated to be the kind of person who harbored resentments. “What should we do about her?” She indicated Alexa. “We can’t leave her out there alone.”

“Maybe she needs time to grieve,” Cheyenne said. “I know she was close to Skip.”

“Death is so hard.”

“Sometimes.” Cheyenne’s voice was thoughtful when she made that comment. The woman who’d raised her had also been laid to rest in that cemetery, but her death had been more of a release than anything else.

“Maybe I’ll walk down and say hello, see how she’s doing,” Eve said. “You head on home to Dylan. You wouldn’t want him to burn your steak.”

“He doesn’t burn meat. He barely cooks it,” she said with a chuckle. “But it’s so tender it melts in your mouth.”

Once again Eve suffered a twinge of jealousy. “You’re lucky to have someone who loves you so much.”

Cheyenne touched her arm. “You’re thinking about getting older, aren’t you?”

“I’m thirty-four, Chey. And I want kids.”

“It’ll happen.”

“Here in Whiskey Creek?” Eve gave her a doubtful look. “I know all the eligible men. Just about the only guy I haven’t seriously considered is Aaron. Dylan’s other brothers are too young for me.” She laughed as if it was a joke, but she was secretly wondering how Cheyenne would react.

“I love Aaron, but...you don’t want to get involved with him,” she said.

Eve forced a smile. “Of course not.” She jerked her head toward the window. “I’d better go.”

“Would you like me to go down with you?”

“No need to overwhelm her. One adult she hardly knows is enough.”