We walked over to check on Violet’s activity room just before lunch. Construction was almost finished, and I loved seeing her vision come to life. Here was a big red soda fountain counter where we’d hand out ice cream, and the jukebox was already playing some fifties song I didn’t recognize. There were small tables and booths for residents to gather and an area at the end of the room with leather couches and a big open space in front of three TV screens. There would be virtual bowling and tennis. Fairfield Springs couldn’t have had a nicer gift. I wished Violet could’ve had some time in that room, the perfect place to have fun with her friends.

Rick and I spent our Saturday afternoon at an old country church thirty miles away, Rick clasping my hand as we sat to honor Audrey Marie Haynes Ledbetter. I hadn’t fully believed her tales of inherited fortune but the Haynes nieces and nephews decorated the tiny gravel parking lot with incongruous new Range Rovers, BMWs and Mercedes. They decorated the church pews with expensive custom suits and antique diamond jewelry.

I had never seen one of them at Fairfield Springs.

Kristin, my banker, arrived with her husband and sat next to me. “What a crowd, huh?” she whispered. “I should tell you right now, I’m related through the far more humble Ledbetters. My car is out there crying in embarrassment between a Jaguar and a Cadillac.”

I snickered and patted her arm. “I hear you. I’d wait until they’re all gone before walking to mine, except we’re in Rick’s car today. Although it is a few years too old for this crowd.” Rick smirked at me for a few seconds, then waved at Kris with a smile and reached across to take her hand for a quick shake.

The church was tiny. Its hardwood floors were carefully polished to a bright gleam, and the old-fashioned windows were a swirl of pale purple. Huge bronze stained glass lamps of green and deep purple dangled at the front of the sanctuary while the rest of it glowed with harsh modern fluorescence. The pews were padded with deep green velvet cushions. A green runner ran the length of the center aisle. The worn hymnals were purple.

Audrey’s family might not spend a lot of time in this, their ancestral church, but they knew the color scheme well. Almost all the massive floral arrangements were made of purple flowers, from gladiolas to tulips. Audrey’s casket was blanketed in green roses.

The service was a typical Southern Baptist one, with several hymns sung by the congregation. Most stood and sang along with no need to consult the lyrics. The preacher, who’d never met Audrey, praised her strong faith. He told us of a husband who’d left her widowed at forty-two and son and daughter who’d preceded her to Heaven.