She glanced at me like I was crazy. “Shoot no, she wasn’t. She had it good with Olaf. He worked, made good money. The house was paid for. She was the happy housewife. When he told her wanted out, she saw the gravy train leaving town.” She shook her head. “She was not happy in any way at all.”

The wheels were spinning in my head. “But I heard that she was the one who wanted the divorce and that Olaf wasn’t sure about it.”

She shook her head. Adamantly. “No way, no how. She promised him that things would change and I think, at first, maybe he thought about staying with her. But then nothing changed and he was still miserable and he told her they were done.” Olga smiled. “And Helen cried and cried and cried.”

I pressed my lips together and thought back to my conversation with Helen. That was a far different story than what she’d told me in the library.

“And he would’ve asked you out again, like I said,” Olga said, the mug gripped tightly in her hands. “But she just wouldn’t leave him alone.”

I swallowed. An uneasy feeling settled in my stomach. I’d been singularly unimpressed with my date with Olaf and had had no intentions of seeing him again. “What do you mean?” I asked. And then, for clarification, I added, “About Helen not leaving him alone?”

She frowned. “She wouldn’t give it up,” she said. “When they were going through the divorce, she’d ‘forget’ to show up at meetings with the lawyer. She’d ‘forget’ to sign papers that had to be signed. She’d call him over and pretend something needed fixing when all she wanted was to try and talk him out of it again. Anytime he tried to really separate from her, she used her tentacles to pull him back in.” She paused. “I know she did something after your date with him, but I can’t remember what. I know he was mad, though.” She shook her head and pursed her lips. “She just wouldn’t leave him alone. I’m not sure who you heard what from, but there was no way she wanted the divorce. Olaf did, plain and simple.”

So someone was lying. I just wasn’t sure who. Olaf certainly hadn’t seemed like the kind of person who had it in him to lie, but what did I know? I’d only spent a couple of hours with him. Olga was certainly biased in her opinion of Helen and toward her brother—and probably slightly insane—but that might’ve just been sibling favoritism. And I had yet to figure out Helen.

Which left me nowhere.

I set the mug down on the table. “So let me ask you this, then. Why did you think I killed your brother?”

A sheepish look crossed her face. “I was mad. You were an easy target.” She looked at me. “But I asked around a little. I don’t really think you did anything to Olaf.”

And yet she accused me several times before tackling me on the sidewalk. In the snow. Insanity was looking more and more plausible.

“Could Helen have done something to him?” I asked.

She stared into her coffee for a long moment, then turned her attention back to me. “I don’t think so.”

“But you said she was giving him such a hard time…”

“Oh, you bet she was,” she said, her brows furrowing together. “But he was her golden ticket. He took care of her. I think she thought he’d still come back to her. I know she still wanted him back. She was mad at him, but I don’t think she would’ve hurt him because that would’ve meant the end of her free ride.” She shook her head slowly. “As much as I’d like to blame her, I don’t think it was Helen.”

I shifted my weight, trying to get comfortable on her lopsided couch. “So then who?”

She thought hard for a moment. “I honestly don’t know anyone who would’ve wanted to hurt Olaf. It’s not like he had enemies or anything.”

Which made me think maybe Helen did actually have something to do with his death.

Olga glanced at the clock on the wall, a skinny clown whose arms moved in circles. “I don’t mean to be rude but I need to get downstairs. We have a viewing tonight and Mildred isn’t ready yet.”

“Mildred? Is that a co-worker of yours?”

Olga covered her mouth, snorting with laughter. “No.”

I nodded and stood. I didn’t think I wanted to know who Mildred was…or what she needed to do to get her ready.

“Thank you for the coffee,” I told her. “And for sharing your thoughts.”

Olga stood, too, and brushed at the lapels on her blazer. “I just want to know why.”

“And who,” I said.

She eyed me for a moment. “You really didn’t do it, did you? Tell me you didn’t do it.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t kill Olaf. I swear.”

She thought about that, then nodded. “Okay. I believe you.” Then something flashed through her eyes. “You have kids, right? I think I remember seeing them when we were, you know, fighting or whatever.”

“Yes,” I said, unsure why she was asking. If she was about to insinuate that one of them might be responsible for her brother’s death, I’d have definite confirmation of her insanity. “Four.”

“Well, I bet they have birthdays,” she said, smiling brightly.

I stared at her in confusion. How had we gone from discussing her brother’s death and personal life to my kids’ birthdays?

“So if you ever need a clown you should call me.” She wiggled her eyebrows and honked her nose, as if she was in full clown costume. “I’d be happy to do it. You know, to sort of make up for everything.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, nodding. “Um, thanks.”

The last thing I’d ever want to see was Olga, in my house, entertaining my kids, dressed as a clown. But, still. It was a nice gesture.

Sort of.

TWENTY

“It was like the circus,” I said to Jake.

We were sitting at the table, puzzle pieces scattered on the surface. It was after dinner and I’d pulled out a 300 piece puzzle, a Disneyland castle scene. The girls had helped us for all of five minutes before giving up and heading off to play Barbies instead. Emily was holed up in her room, chatting with Bailey on Skype and Will had disappeared to play Minecraft. For the first time that evening, we were alone and I was able to tell Jake about my conversation with Olga.

“A circus of dead people?” he asked.

I snapped together another edge piece. “Yeah, the mortuary thing is weird.”

“You don’t say,” he said, smiling. He craned his neck closer to the box, inspecting the picture. “Clowns and dead people are not my favorite things.”

“Especially when they are all looking at you,” I told him.

He raised his eyebrows and shifted his gaze to me. “There were dead people looking at you?”

I rolled my eyes. “No.”

He grinned.

“Anyway, you wouldn’t have lasted thirty seconds in her apartment.”

Jake wasn’t afraid of many things. He’d shown no fear in going up in the crawl space, nor in clearing out the army of spiders that had called our house their home. He didn’t mind confronting people when they needed to be confronted. He just didn’t show much fear of anything.

But he would squirm like a small child when he saw a clown. He’d cross the street to avoid them. He hated the county fair because they’d be there. Parades were dicey. Floppy shoes and red noses caused him to break out in a cold sweat.

He hated them.

“I wouldn’t trust anyone that decorates their apartment with clowns,” he said. He fit together a piece of the sky. “Or obviously dresses up as one.”

“Well, you have issues.”

He picked up a new piece and looked at me. “Everyone should have issues with clowns. They’re horrible. I honestly think there should be a law banning them.”

“I’m aware.You’ve mentioned this before. About a thousand times.”

“At minimum, there should be a fine,” he continued. “Put on a wig and some makeup, bam. Five hundred dollar fine. Ride a unicycle and juggle with face paint? Make it seven fifty. Multiple citations mean jail time. I should run for mayor and make it happen.”

“The mayor doesn’t make the laws, honey,” I said. I hunted for another castle wall piece and snapped it in place. “But I’d support you anyway. And your anti-clown platform.”