He prided himself on saying the right thing in delicate circumstances. “Not as pretty as you, honey.”

“There’s no fool like an old fool,” she retorted.

“I’m not old!” Better to protest age than whether or not he’d been unwise.

She laughed, opened a can of stewed tomatoes and dumped it into the pot. “Did this woman pay for the excavator?”

“Yes. I have the check for that and the cost of my services.” He pulled it out of his shirt pocket and placed it on the table.

“She wrote a check?” Cynthia left the stove, came to the table and examined it. “Hmm. Did you give her a discount?”

“No!” He had.

“Did you pay for flowers?”

“Yes. But we get a reduced rate from the florist.”

“Arthur.” Cynthia tapped her foot. “Where is the casket?”

“Mrs. Nyugen is grief-stricken and she wanted to pray for his soul in the proper surroundings—”

“You put him in the chapel? Why would you do that?” Cynthia threw her arms into the air in exaggerated exasperation. “That body’s been in the cold, heavy, damp ground for four years, and now it’s in the warm chapel? You know what could happen.” She stomped back to the stove and very, very vigorously whisked the marinara.

“It’s a magnificent casket, top of the line. You know, when the Nyugen family purchased it, we wondered if they felt guilty about leaving him here or if that kind of coffin was Vietnamese tradition.”

Cynthia slammed a lid on the sauce.

“Anyway, I cleaned the exterior and did repairs on the seals before I would let him in there.”

“Arthur William Earthman, you didn’t let him in there. He’s dead. You placed him in there. You could have placed him in the casket viewing room where the carpet isn’t new!”

When she called him by his full name, it was time to distract her. “It’s only for one night,” he said in his most soothing voice.

“Don’t use that undertaker tone with me!” She stirred pasta into the now boiling water.

He got up from the table, strolled over close behind her and rubbed her bottom. “Nothing excites me as much as watching you cook.”

“Yeah, well. Nothing excites me as much as watching you vacuum.”

“After dinner, I’ll vacuum the living room.”

“You must be feeling guilty.” Her voice was still sharp. “Anything else you want to confess?”

“No. I swear. That’s everything. Isn’t that enough?”

“Plenty. Here.” She handed him a full bowl of greens and a bottle of dressing. “Toss the salad.” She watched him toss, and she sounded more like his Cynthia when she said, “After dinner, when you vacuum—wear a frilly apron and I’ll make you the happiest man on earth.”