The older women, Lucy had noticed, never seemed as distressed. They rarely cried but sat silently through the service, gathering in small groups afterward to comfort each other. When it was time to speak with the bereaved they knew what to say, while Lucy and her friends could only babble clichés such as “Call me if there’s anything I can do.”

She had always admired the acceptance and assurance of these women; she had hoped that in time she would grow to be like them.

She thought of her mother. Her mother had never accepted death the way these women did. Although she was in her sixties, the death of her husband had left her as raw and hurt as if she were a young bride. Her mother had never developed the self-protective detachment so many older women grew.

Lucy wondered what life held for her and how she would cope. Would she maintain her naivete and her vulnerability, as her mother had, or would she turn into someone as wise but as cynical as Miss Tilley?

“We’ve been keeping an eye on you, Lucy.” Miss Tilley interrupted her thoughts.

“Yes, you seem . . . well, interesting,” agreed Mrs. Miller. “You’re not afraid to get involved.”

“My husband wouldn’t agree with you,” observed Lucy. “He’s always telling me to mind my own business.”

“Oh, husbands,” Miss Tilley said dismissively.

“I’m afraid I’d better be getting back to mine. He’s watching the kids today.” She stood up reluctantly and said her good-byes. But as she drove home she kept thinking of the two old women.

Pulling into the driveway, Lucy was surprised not to see any sign of the kids. Maybe Bill had gotten a video for them, but she thought they really ought to be outside on such a nice day. As she opened the front door, she didn’t hear the TV, and she was surprised when Bill met her in the kitchen.

“Where are the kids?” she asked him.

“Your friend Sue took them over to the new playground in Gardner.”

“She did? Why’d she do that?”

“Well, she’s your best friend, and she thought you might enjoy a little time alone with your husband.”

“I don’t suppose you had anything to do with that,” Lucy said, smiling.

“I might have,” said Bill, slipping his arms around her waist.

Lucy raised her face to his and was rewarded with a long, loving kiss.

“Oh, Bill,” said Lucy. “If I let you have your way with me, will you respect me afterwards?”

“I hope not,” said Bill, leading her upstairs.

VALENTINE MURDER

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VALENTINE MURDER

Once upon a time there was a poor kitchen maid named Cinderella . . .