As he turned to go, Murphy caught a peek in the room and saw why. Leary was seated in an old rocker by the window with her little girl in her arms. The two of them were rocking together, heads close, arms wrapped around each other, Leary humming quietly. The little girl was sobbing herself to sleep. Murphy backed right out and got himself some food he didn't want.

It took Leary more than half an hour to come out of that bedroom. Murphy and Micklind waited in the kitchen with Mattie and her husband, who spent the time wasting their curiosity on Micklind.

"How's my baby?" Mattie asked when Leary showed up.

Timmie looked older than death. "She's had better days."

"At least he didn't do this to himself," Walter said in that quiet voice of his.

"Yeah," Timmie retorted, "but somebody did."

Which was about when she noticed that Murphy was standing not ten feet away, munching on coffee cake. "Where were you last night?" she demanded. "I kept expecting you to walk in right behind Cindy."

"I missed this one, I'm afraid. You okay?"

She grimaced. "Oh, sure. I love funerals. I was just saying the other day that I was still short one for my quota. These things happen in threes, ya know. Guess the town is safe for a while."

"That's where I recognized her from," Micklind said to himself with a little nod. "I kept seeing her at funerals. I wondered."

"Who?" Murphy asked.

"Has to be Cindy," Mattie retorted.

Timmie's grin was halfhearted at best. "I can't tell you how grateful I am you took us in, Walter. It saved me from hearing how hard it was on her when her husband died."

"Even though he didn't kill himself," Mattie added.

Timmie raised a finger. "He didn't look like he killed himself. Even she should be able to get that distinction."

"She has a dead husband, too?" Micklind asked. "What is this, an epidemic?"

"Come to think of it, he was murdered, too," Timmie said, but held her hand up the minute Micklind started looking interested. "It was investigated three years ago. You might have known him. He was a Chicago cop, died on duty. Named John Dunn?"

Micklind considered it. "Three years ago?" he asked, then shook his head. "Doesn't ring a bell. Says something about this job that I can't remember a copper I taped my badge for, doesn't it?"

"If he was anything like Cindy, he probably wasn't that great a cop," Timmie said.

Mattie harrumphed. "Probably shot hisself by accident."

"Mattie Lou Washington Wilson," Walter chastised in his soft voice. "Cindy is your friend."

Timmie felt properly chastised. Mattie flashed her husband a grin the size of a dinner plate. "Which is why nobody but me can talk 'bout her that way."

Walter's chagrined smile said it all.

"Would you mind answering some questions about what happened last night?" Micklind asked Timmie, his voice almost as quiet as Walter's.

Timmie leaned against the counter next to Mattie as if settling in. "I can't say I'd be happy to, but I will."

"Have you had a chance to think about it?"

"Hard to do anything else."

"Y'all want us to leave you alone?" Walter asked.

"She does not," Mattie said, wrapping a protective arm around Timmie's shoulder.

Timmie smiled and rubbed at her chest. "Doesn't matter. This is all gonna have to be said sooner or later."

Micklind didn't bother with tact. "Do you think your husband was just at the wrong place at the wrong time?" he asked.

Timmie sipped her coffee. She looked tired, Murphy thought. Wrung out and hung to dry. But at least the life in her eyes didn't look like it was going to blink out. This was going to be tough, but it wasn't going to break her like that call about her father almost had.

"They doing Jason's autopsy this morning?" she asked.

Micklind nodded. "The St. Charles ME's doing it."

She nodded, contemplated her coffee. "Good. Conrad's already been helping me." Then she just stopped. "God, Jason would be so furious at the mess. He was such a tidy man."

"Do you know why he was at the house?"

"Last night? No. He was in town to see Meghan. To harass me. He'd already served me with one court order."

"Two," Mattie offered. "Remember?"

Timmie's smile was sad. "No, hon. I lied to you guys about that. It was an easy reason to give you for why I was so nuts."

Mattie frowned. "But we all thought—"

"We'll talk about it later, Mattie. Okay?"

Mattie just patted and hushed, probably like she had to Timmie's little girl.

"If he wasn't supposed to be at your house," Micklind said, "could you have been the target and he just got in the way?"

Murphy saw Timmie suck in a breath and Mattie squeeze more tightly.

"Or maybe they set Jason up, knowing you'd be at work," Mattie offered. "Then maybe they'd try and pin it on you."

For a few seconds, there was dead silence in the kitchen. Then, unbelievably, Timmie shook her head. "See, that's where I'm having trouble with all this."

"What do you mean?"

She just sat there for a second, focused on her coffee as if divining answers in it. "Well, if I'd kept my mouth shut about Jason's left hand, everybody else would have closed it as a suicide. Am I right?"

Micklind nodded. Murphy just waited her out.

"Then, why do it that way? Everybody in town knows I hated the guy. Heck, I publicly expressed my desire to kill him... to a cop, no less. Why not make it look like murder and pin it on me?"

"Because nine out of ten women in that situation probably would have just kept their mouths shut," Micklind said. "If you'd followed suit, whoever did this would have had you in the ten ring on the blackmail target."

"But everybody knows about the deaths at the hospital now."

"They don't know who's doing it."

Timmie leaned against Mattie as if her friend could shield her. "What if I said I didn't want to know, either?" she asked miserably.

Micklind offered no comfort. "I think it's too late. Whoever's doing this is feeling cornered, and you're the one they're coming after."

Chapter 24

Timmie had definitely had enough of funerals.

Especially when it was her turn to ride in the limo with the in-laws she hadn't seen in almost five years. It probably could have been a lot worse. Jason's parents were so shaken by the death of their only child that they couldn't find it in their hearts to lay blame anywhere near Timmie's feet. They also clung to their granddaughter with a sort of fragile desperation that actually helped Meghan get through it.

The SSS had all caravaned up to be there. Murphy was there along with Micklind as the line of mourners who owed or loved Jason's parents trudged through the slush to the stone building Catholic Cemeteries used for their grave-site services in St. Louis. No more standing out in the biting wind, staring at your loved one's mortal remains perched over a rectangle of empty air. No long wait while the casket creaked its way into the ground. No chance for the bereaved to fling themselves into the grave, alongside the loved one. Evidently the archdiocese had decided that the pile of fresh dirt next to the flapping tents was just a little too real for a grieving family.