Free Mourning Glory by Warren Adler Page B

the
only place on the island where the houses were directly on the beach, an
excellent measure of his net worth, which had to be considerable. The house was
close to the former Kennedy compound, as well as other homes reputed to be the
property of old moneyed families. She had actually toured the area the evening
before the day of the funeral, stopping to get a better look at the house.
    By chance, as she observed the area, a man came out of the
house with a golden retriever who relieved himself on the manicured front lawn.
The man was tall, slender and handsome, with steel gray hair and a strong chin.
She wondered if this was "the" Sam Goodwin, the grieving widower. She
hoped he was, and she observed him with more than proprietary interest until he
went back into the house.
    The sight of the man and the property she wished he was
inhabiting did set off her fantasies. The house was lovely, designed in a Tudor
style. She sat in the car as the sun went down and the house lights came on.
From her vantage, with the blinds only half drawn, it appeared to be tastefully
furnished.
    She contemplated summoning the courage to get out of the
car and closer to the house, where she could peek through the windows and
inspect the inside more thoroughly. It seemed too risky. Besides, other people
suddenly appeared, leaving through the front door. They were well dressed and,
from experience, she suspected that they were heading to the funeral parlor.
    So far she had only visited funeral parlors the night
before a couple of times. There, the body, carefully groomed, was displayed and
visitors viewed it in hushed silence. At times, depending on the wishes of the
relatives, the coffin remained closed.
    Jews, she had learned, buried their dead quickly, usually
the day after the death, unless their Sabbath intervened. She was getting to be
an expert on such matters.
    She found such a visitation far more depressing than the
funeral itself and hadn't made it a regular practice. Besides, she hadn't
wanted to expose herself too blatantly to the mourning family members or court
embarrassment by being asked questions about her relationship to the corpse.
    But this time her earlier observation of the prospect was
encouraging and she felt that, despite the risk, he deserved a closer look. She
was not disappointed. The open coffin, with lighted candles in elaborate
candelabra on either side, displayed what could be described as the vestiges of
a once pretty woman.
    The dead woman had bleached blonde hair, was appropriately
made-up and laid out in an elaborate coffin dressed in what appeared to be an
expensive designer gown. If she had to guess, Grace would say the gown was a
Galanos. A diamond brooch, which looked like the real thing, was pinned to the
gown. She looked vaguely familiar; but then, on the Saks floor, many of the
customers looked as if they were stamped out by the same plastic surgeon, hair
colorist and beautician.
    The grieving husband, Sam Goodwin, was, indeed, the man she
had seen the night before. He wore a dark pinstriped suit and sat on a
velvet-upholstered chair along one side of the room. Seated beside him, each
holding one of his hands, were a man and a woman, obviously, from the
resemblance, his grown children. Their eyes were puffy and red.
    At this close range she noted that the man's steel-gray hair
was full and curly. His face was square, rugged and tanned. He might normally
have appeared handsome and virile, but under these conditions he looked
whipped, broken and grieving. The son was a younger version of his father.
Grace estimated him as late thirties, the daughter younger. She wore round
steel-rimmed glasses and her black hair was brushed back severely off her face,
which was smoothly white and sharply contrasted against her hair. She wore no
makeup. With the right makeup, Grace observed, she could be quite startling.
    The room was filled with people, some of whom lingered
respectfully over the body in the coffin, then moved