Chapter Fifteen

    Sometimes, money really did talk.  A couple of calls were made, and Craig’s service was scheduled for the following afternoon. It was to be held at a small private chapel on the grounds of an exclusive school, meaning there would be little chance of too many prying eyes. Honey did inform the police, and Ford called Craig’s business acquaintances and friends. It was surprisingly easy to organise, and over breakfast the next morning, Honey admitted to Diana that going through the photos and DVDs had reminded her that there had been good times. They’d even found a couple of photos of Craig with his parents when he was young. The images had reduced Honey to tears, and she just hoped Craig would approve of what she’d done. 
In a way the task, which had started as one of obligation, had been cathartic. After she had set aside what she would use and packed the remainder back into albums and boxes, Honey had finally crawled into bed. There, lying still, in the almost darkness, her thoughts had sifted through her years with Craig. Images and conversations, laughter and passion, truths and lies, all ran across the stage of her mind. Grief caught at the edges of her consciousness and the tears came—freely—and, for the first time since his death, Honey allowed herself to truly cry for the man she had loved and shared her life with, relieved to know that it had been real, after all.
    
    The following morning, as the time to leave approached, Diana knocked lightly on her friend’s bedroom door. “Almost ready?” she asked as Honey invited her in.
    “I feel like a fraud,” Honey said sadly, eyeing her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was pulled back into a loose chignon. She wore a simple black sheath dress that fell just below her knees, court shoes and small white gold earrings with a matching necklace. “It’s like I’m screaming: Look at me—the widow Houghton.”
    Diana came to stand beside her and wrapped an arm around her slender friend. “How should you look?” she queried gently.
    Honey shrugged. “Sorry. I know I’m being ridiculous. How I look couldn’t matter less. Craig is dead and this is goodbye, and he deserves to have someone who truly loved him, mourn him and…” In spite of her late night tears, Honey knew she didn’t feel the depth of grief of the truly bereaved and wished in some strange way that her pain were more intense.
    Tightening her grip, Diana held her friend close. “You did love him. And even when things were falling apart you weren’t lashing out at one another.”
    “We weren’t hugging and kissing either.”
    “You’d grown apart and you were getting a divorce. It was no one’s fault. It happens. Honey, it’s awful that Craig’s dead and even worse that someone took his life, but never forget that there was a time when you were really happy together. And from what Ford’s told you, Craig wanted you to be happy. You can honour that wish.”
    “Oh, Di.” Honey let the tears fall. “What would I do without you?”
    “You won’t ever have to find out,” Diana returned. 
    “Okay.” Honey straightened her shoulders. “Time to pull myself together and remember that this is about Craig and not about me. Let’s go.”
    Arm in arm, the two women left the room and headed downstairs.


    An exclusive boys’ school on a Sunday was the perfect place for a private service.  Ford, Cilla and several Wheeler International employees had contacted friends, family and business associates, the latter at Dan’s suggestion. He’d informed Honey that although he understood the need for a private goodbye, it was important the killer have the opportunity to attend the memorial. It made sense, but it added to Honey’s feeling of unease.
    To her, there was always something vaguely staged about funerals. All of these people linked in some way by the fact that another human being had ceased to exist.  A sea of black and muted dark colours—clinging to a tradition that signified what? Respect? Loss? Sometimes it didn’t feel real or right, yet she was afraid to abandon it. Afraid to admit that before donning the black sheath she wore, she’d put on a dress of soft peach that floated around her—light and inconsequential—and Craig’s favourite. She hadn’t worn it for years and truthfully, she’d never really liked it all that much. The colour washed her out a little, but Craig had liked it and she wondered why it wasn’t more appropriate to wear something the person you were supposed to be honouring loved rather than a generic representation of grief.
    Diana’s gentle pull on her arm brought her back to the here and now, and she knew she had been using the superficial to distract her—again. Jim, who had driven her and Diana to the service, had gone to speak to her father, and she watched the two of them together—these strong redheaded men—and felt a rush of gratitude for them; a relief that they were both alive and well.
    Her mother was still in Europe, though she had phoned the previous evening and been as supportive as she knew how. Honey had assured her that leaving her ill friend was unnecessary. She could do more for the living than she could for the dead. The very fact that Madeleine Hart Wheeler was in Paris helping to care for someone made Honey happy—in a strange sort of way.
    Glancing around, she saw Neil and Kayla Richter and wondered, not for the first time, if this beautiful creature was the woman who had captured Craig’s heart. For the briefest of moments their gazes met, and Honey blanched—just a little. Although Kayla's expression did not alter, there was something in her eyes and it was definitely not sympathy.
         Honey had believed Ford Gray when he told her he didn’t know the woman’s identity, and she’d relayed what he had told her to Dan when she’d called to inform him of the service details.
    Dan was there, of course. Along with Eloise Carter—standing in the background, unobtrusive as promised. Trixie wasn’t with them, but as Honey scanned the crowd she saw the sandy-haired woman talking with Mart and, her heart skipped a beat…Brian. Diana followed her gaze, and the ghost of a smile played across the dark-haired woman’s beautiful face as she caught Mart Belden’s eye. He nodded, his expression suitably serious.
    Honey tried not to look at Brian, but she could feel those dark eyes anyway. Sending strength—even love—in her direction. He’d offered to stay away, but with little likelihood of the press getting into the service, and knowing that he would not compromise her or the service in any way, she’d told him to come if it felt right. Honesty compelled her to admit, at least to herself, that she was glad he was there. 
 There were so many faces, some familiar, some not. They looked up and their expressions were almost all the same. Honey searched them for a sign of something other than conventional sympathy. Was one of them a killer? Knowing that there were people better able to make that determination, she gave a half-smile as Jim returned to her side.  Forcing herself to focus on what really mattered, Honey, felt the comforting touch of Jim’s hand in the small of her back. Her father walked strong and tall ahead of her—deflecting anyone in her path, protecting her. She held tight onto Diana’s hand, and went to honour the man who’d been her husband.


It was all over in what seemed like a. moment and, as people filed past her, pressing her hand, offering condolences, Honey found it difficult to recall anything that had transpired since she left the house that morning. Her father, Jim and Diana had formed a protective ring around her, and she felt their support and love. Ford Gray and Cilla hovered close by, taking the time to talk with the attendees, mourners—she wasn’t exactly sure what to call them. Ford had come to the house first thing that morning to collect more papers and to give her a sealed envelope, which he said Craig had left in his private safe. Now that the service was over, she needed to look at it in case it was something the police needed to see.
The group was led through to another room where refreshments were being served. Honey gratefully accepted a cup of tea and, with Diana beside her, took a seat and studied the people who’d populated her husband’s life. Dan, Eloise and the three Beldens remained in the background, but moved among the crowd undoubtedly assessing possible suspects. She saw Trixie speaking to Kayla Richter, Dan talking to husband Neil, and Mart was with Ford. Brian, somewhat to her, was chatting with Cilla. The two were probably discussing her mental health. Cilla had been concerned about that lately and would undoubtedly think, that as a doctor, Brian might have a useful opinion. 




“So what do you think?” Jim hissed, sidling up to Trixie.
“About what?” Trixie returned with an innocent blink of her blue eyes.
“What do you think I mean?” Jim moved a little closer, the heat of his body warming hers.
    “I don’t know. You might want to be more specific. I have a very eclectic knowledge buried beneath these unruly curls.”
    Jim tried not to smile, but something in the expression on her face, amused rather than irritated him, and he shrugged his broad shoulders. “How about giving me a little of your professional expertise? Does anyone here strike you as the murdering type?”
    Trixie’s expression turned serious. “That’s the hardest thing,” she said. “Murderers are hard to spot. They cross all ages, genders, races and social groups. I’m not saying there aren’t clues, but they’re subtle a lot of the time. An inflection, a turn of phrase, a look in the eyes….” she trailed off.
    “You’re good at what you do, aren’t you?” Jim’s green eyes narrowed with admiration.
    Trixie offered him a rueful grin. “Depends on who you ask.  Our deputy-chief certainly isn’t fond.”
    “Wheathead?” Jim asked, raising his brows.
    Trixie nodded.
    “I’ve met him at a couple of the mayor’s functions. Meathead would be a better name.”
    Trixie laughed, she couldn’t help it, though her cheeks flamed when several people turned to look at her. “My very own pet name for him,” she said, keeping her voice low.
    “Very apt,” Jim returned.
    “He still says he likes Honey—as the murderer—he’s an idiot. But honestly, I think now, even he knows that’s not true.”
    “We agree again. Twice in as many minutes; I wonder what that means.”
    “End of days?” Trixie quipped, blue eyes twinkling.
    “Or the beginning of a beautiful friendship?” 
    With that extraordinary remark Jim turned and walked away, rendering Trixie speechless and putting something in motion neither one of them had expected.


     “It’s hard, isn’t it?” Mart said as he stood by his brother’s side.
    “What is?” Brian returned, his gaze still fixed on Honey.
    “Not being able to go to her, stand by her side—see her through this.”
    “It’s not my place. Not today.”
    “No, it isn’t, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t difficult for you.”
    Brian turned his attention to the man who stood beside him. “Have you always been this wise or is it a recent development?”
    “My brilliance has long been overlooked by my more obviously skilled family members,” Mart conceded. “It is nice to have it recognised at last.”
    Brian couldn’t help but smile. “Well for my part, I’m sorry if I haven’t told you often enough how terrific you are.”
    “Aw, don’t do that,” Mart remonstrated. “It’s no fun when get all sentimental on me.”
    “I was under the impression you liked sentimental,” Brian said, throwing a glance in Diana’s direction. 
    “You might have a point, at least where one particular person is concerned, anyway,” Mart conceded.
    “It’s good to see you so happy. And from what Honey tells me, Di is amazing.”
    “You won’t get any arguments from me.” Mart smiled up at his older brother. “Who’d have thought it, huh?”
    “Thought what?” Brian asked.
    “Two brothers, two best friends—there’s a movie in that for sure.”
    “Or a novel,” Brian acknowledged. “You have some time on your hands, maybe you could turn from fact to fiction.”
    “Maybe I could at that. But for now why don’t we get out of here? We can’t exactly hang out with our ladies, and I want your take on this whole deal—and to tell you mine. I left another message for that P.I. who gave the photo to the Sentinel, and I think he might return my call this time. I’ve stopped being subtle and pleasant.”
    His brother nodded slowly. “ I hope he does. I really want to know who’s behind that. Though I guess it isn’t all that important. As for the catch up, that’s a good idea. I’ll let Dan and Trixie know we’re going. I just hope they’ve got something out of all of this.” Brian had stayed out of any official interviewing or investigating. His association with Honey meant he had to.
    Mart’s blue eyes narrowed as they swept around the room. “I hope so, too. But I’ll tell you this for free. The killer’s here somewhere. I’d lay money on it.” 
    


“The problem is,” Trixie said, two hours later, “that while Houghton wasn’t about to win man of the year, he wasn’t the word’s biggest ass either.”
“That’s the problem?” Jim asked, raising his red brows.
“She has an odd way of getting to the point,” Dan observed. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I imagine I will,” Jim said with a grin.
“It’s that whole female intuition thing,” Dan continued.
“As opposed to male gut instinct,” Eloise said. “Gosh, darn it, you big powerful man you, can you get us poor little women some of that, pretty please?”
“I didn’t say anything about poor or little,” Dan corrected. “Listen up, will you?”
“Shut up, will you?” Eloise returned with a bright smile.
The four were gathered at Dan’s small apartment in the centre of town. They had all stayed for the refreshments that followed Craig Houghton’s funeral, and afterwards Jim had taken Honey and Diana back to Bluff House.  Only after he was sure his friend was okay had he driven back to town and joined the others.
“What I’m saying, if you guys can put your comedy routine on hold, is that while Craig may have put a few noses out of joint, I don’t see why anyone we’ve talked to or about should have killed him. Honey could have paid him five times what she was going to and not missed it, right?” Trixie said, turning to Jim.
“Ten or twenty times,” he said, and the others pondered this for a moment.
“Okay, but the fact that people can afford to do something doesn’t necessarily mean they’re happy to do it.” Dan was playing devil’s advocate—or maybe just doing his job.
“Agreed,” Eloise said. “But, and I’m sorry but it’s a big but, this murder pointed right at Honey. If it weren’t for all the inconsistencies like the pill bottle and the fact that she was fairly constantly using her computer during the murder window, she might already be in a cell. Someone wants us to focus on her, and it has to be someone known to the family. You can’t just stroll into the property. You need a code to access the gates. There’s an alarm system that would do Parker’s head in.”
“Parker who?” Dan and Jim said in unison.
“Leverage,” Trixie said.
“Parker someone gives someone leverage? I’m still not following.” Jim frowned and looked to Dan for clarity.
Dan shrugged. “Parker someone is the leverage?” 
“What is wrong with the two of you?” Eloise went to answer the door, where with any luck their pizza awaited. “Don’t you watch cable?”
“Let’s just say,” Trixie put in, “that Parker, who is a character in an amazing show called Leverage, is a genius when it comes to alarms and locks, and could probably work her way through the one at Bluff House, but Eloise was making a point.”
“Not making it very well, if we don’t know what the heck she’s talking about,” Dan pointed out.
“Would it make my point clearer if I hit you over the head with something?” Eloise demanded as she returned with two pizzas.
“Doubt it,” Dan said, grinning as he flipped open a box and grabbed a slice of pepperoni.
“Worth a try, though,” Eloise said as she opened the second box and took a slice of  veggie pizza, loaded with black olives—her favourite.
“Are they always like this?” Jim asked, nodding his thanks as Trixie poured him a Coke.
“Sadly, yes. They should just give in and…” she trailed off as two pairs of eyes swivelled and bored into her. “And accept that people can’t always agree,” she finished innocently.
“I’ll accept that premise, if you do,” Dan said pointedly.
“So, not that I’m not enjoying myself immensely,” Jim said, “but Trixie indicated a theory worthy of investigation and suggested I might even be able to help.”
“You’re still on the woman scorned theory?” Dan lifted a dark brow.  “Don’t get me wrong, I totally agree that females are the deadliest species, but what Gray, who’s alibi we’ve confirmed, by the way, told Honey and us, suggests that Craig had found the love of his life. And if it is, was, Kayla Richter, surely that puts Neil in the frame?”
“I’d like it to be him,” Trixie mused. “He’s a total dirt bag, but it feels more personal than that.”
“A guy having an affair with your wife isn’t personal?” Jim asked.
Trixie made a face. “Different personal.”
“And while Richter is hardly lilywhite, nothing we’ve dug up so far suggests anything more than unsavoury business practice,” Dan said. 
“What about the fact that one of his ex-employees turned up dead?” Jim demanded. 
“That was without doubt an accident. Not even a hint of anything suspicious.” Trixie leaned on her elbows and slurped some Coke.
“My guess is this Richter guy would be far more worried about the money angle of divorce than the ‘he stole my girl’ thing.” Eloise grabbed another slice of pizza.
“Well, money is still a motive. With Craig dead, he probably won’t have to go through with the expense of a divorce.” Dan theorized.
“If you ask me, that’s a bit of a stretch. And from what we’ve been able to work out, Richter didn’t go to Bluff House all that frequently. And…” Trixie was warming to her own theory, “if Craig was involved with Richter’s wife and ready to run off and set up house with her, then wouldn’t he avoid the man?”
“Sure,” Dan agreed. “But Richter could afford to pay someone to off Houghton.”
“And this professional hit-man chose to kill him in his own fairly secure home, with his wife upstairs?” Trixie shook her head. “We know Honey’s car was visible in the open garage, there was no sign of a break-in and, as El said, you can’t just stroll through the front door of that place.”
“So where does that leave us?” Jim looked defeated. “Aren’t we running out of suspects?”
Trixie frowned. “Maybe. Maybe not. I mean we’re assuming Kayla Richter was Craig’s big passion, but what if he’d met someone else? I’d stake my reputation on the fact that she was in love with him. And I don’t think she’d take rejection well.”
“You might have a point,” Dan conceded. “Some women do kind of live up to that old adage. Ow.”
“Sorry, I thought your ankle was a table leg,” Eloise said blithely.
 “And you were kicking a table leg, because…?” Dan demanded.
“That’s an excellent question,” Eloise admitted. “Perhaps I have issues.”
“With tables?” Dan queried drily.
“Can you two focus, please,” Trixie scolded.
“Focusing,” Dan said obediently. “So, you still like Kayla Richter?”
“I did not like the way she looked at Honey today, but I’m not sure.” Trixie said. “But I do think Craig’s romantic life is the thing that got him killed.”
“Should we talk to her again?” Dan asked.
“I think that sounds like a good idea,” Jim put in.
“Okay, let’s finish off this sumptuous repast and get on it.”
Trixie shook her head and reached for a slice of pizza. “Now you sound like Mart.”
“There’d be a whole lot less pizza if he were here,” Dan returned with a grin. “Why isn’t he here, by the way? And Brian? I thought you Beldens stood together in times of crisis?”
“We do,” Trixie said airily. “I may even give them both a call—when we come up with something worth reporting.”
“Fine!” Dan held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I’ll see if we can catch the Richter woman. Honestly, the things I do for you.”
“Like your job?” Trixie said.
“Someone gave him a job?” Eloise blinked her eyes innocently. “That makes no sense to me.”
“Does anything?” Dan asked.
“Do you guys ever actually solve cases?” Jim wondered.
“Hard to believe, huh?” Trixie grinned at him.  “I’m calling Ms Richter, right now. I have a bad feeling about this whole thing.” 




Mart dropped a kiss on Diana’s head. “Would you prefer coffee or tea?” he asked. “Coffee, thanks,” she returned with a smile. “I need to keep my brain awake.”
“We can leave this to the professionals, you know,” Mart said, as he moved through the wide-open doorway into his small kitchen and filled the coffee pot with water.
“I suppose we have enough of them, don’t we?” Diana frowned.
“And they’re good at what they do. Trix said they were going to go over everything they have, try to narrow down the suspect list to one.”
“Do you think they have enough to do that?”
“You knew Craig better than me. Well, I didn’t know him at all, but you know what I mean. Do you really think he was the kind of guy several people wanted to kill?”
Diana thought for a moment before responding. “Honestly? No. He wasn’t my favourite person in the world, and over the past year or so I haven’t much liked the way he was treating Honey but, except with women, Craig never seemed to make that much of an impact.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure that Trix is leaning that way, so hopefully they can get this thing wrapped up, and Honey can get her life back on track.”
“That would be good. I’ve never known anyone who was murdered before, and it’s far more horrible than it seems on television.”
“Yes it is. But everything will turn out okay. You’ll see.”
“Honey’s my best friend. I’m not sure I should have left her and come back here.”
“She told you to, didn’t she?” Mart asked. “Because we can go over there if that’s what you want.”
“No.” Diana shook her head. “She said she wanted me to spend time with you and she meant it. She also said she’d probably catch up with Brian later.”
“It was hard for him today,” Mart said. “I mean it wasn’t hard like it was for Honey, but he hated not being able to hold her hand and support her and just, you know, be there.”
“I do know,” Di conceded with a smile. “Brian’s always been responsible, especially when it comes to people he cares about.”
“That’s true,” Mart agreed. “And to be honest, I’ve never seen him care this much. He admits it’s not rational or logical but he really loves her.”
“She loves him, too,” Diana observed. “But I don’t know how much longer she can go on with all this scrutiny and guilt.
“Guilt?” Mart knew his voice had gone up in pitch.
“Because she feels she owes it to Craig to put his killer behind bars.” Di gave him a pitying smile.  “Not because she is, after all, a murderess.”
“That’s not what I was thinking,” Mart protested. “I trust your judgment, and Brian’s. It just sounded weird, calling your best friend guilty.”
“Well, I didn’t mean guilty of that, and even if I did think she was guilty, I wouldn’t go around saying….” Diana trailed off. 
“What, what is it?” Mart asked, rejoining her on the sofa. 
“I’m having the strangest thoughts,” she said slowly.  After a moment, she shook her dark-head. “Never mind, just ignore me.”
“Never!” Mart declared. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Okay, but promise you’ll listen like a journalist and not like a boyfriend. I’ve probably lost my mind, and I’ve never really liked her, anyway.”
“Never really liked who?” Mart’s phone rang and he answered. His expression altered and when he ended the call moments later, his blue eyes met Diana’s violet ones. “I think I know exactly what you’re going to say, and your thoughts are not even a little bit strange.


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