“She must be having one of her good days,” I said, of the splendid Mrs. Larimer.

Joseph thrust out a sigh. He didn’t like me, I didn’t like him. But, of the two of us, he was the one trying to be polite. “Most likely,” he said, “she’ll overdo it and take to her bed for a week.”

Barbara looked strong to me, even confident. She was in her element, playing the hostess, and I felt a faint flicker of resentment. A fragmented memory flashed at the back of my mind, and for a millisecond, I knew I was seeing Barbara through my mother’s eyes.

I felt the faintest echo of envy.

Barbara worked her way around to me. The good political wife. Her china-blue eyes were clear as she looked steadily into my face.

“Perhaps you and your…sisters…would like to spend the night in the guesthouse,” she said. “Avoid the press a little longer.”

Something jammed up inside me at the brief hesitation before the word “sisters.” My mother’s helpless jealousy of this woman, I supposed—the contrast between Barbara Larimer’s life and hers must have been hard to take—along with an emotion singularly my own, though I couldn’t quite identify it.

“Thank you,” I said. “But we all have things we need to do back home.”

Jolie was in the process of moving. She was eager to be reunited with Sweetie and start her new job.

Greer was walking on eggshells with Alex, either waiting for the marriage to collapse or still hoping against hope that it wouldn’t really happen.

And I was going back to an empty apartment, over the biker bar I had just inherited. I’d been at Tucker’s long enough, and even though we’d had some serious medicinal sex, I’d merely been marking time. I was ready to get off the treadmill and face up to the rest of my life.

For a moment, Barbara looked as though she might say something more, try to persuade me to stay after all. In the end, though, she simply nodded, exchanged glances with Joseph and walked away.

I scanned the small, quiet crowd. Greer was hobnobbing with Clive and a well-dressed couple, a glass of champagne in hand. She looked elegant and fragile, and even though I knew her mourning was real, I also knew she was deliberately using it to grease the social wheels.

I definitely loved my sister, but there were times when I didn’t like her much, and that was one of them. Jolie appeared at my side. “We’re only putting off the inevitable, you know,” she said. “The reporters will follow us back to the mortuary when we go to pick up my car. If they can’t get answers there, they’ll probably follow us all the way home.”