Page 39 of The Bride Wore White

“It stands to reason that if you make a habit of anticipating that all relationships will fail, you may consciously or unconsciously select potential friends and lovers who will fulfill your lowest expectations and, in the process, overlook a relationship that has positive possibilities.”

“That is absolute nonsense,” he said.

She tipped her head to one side, apparently giving his comment close consideration. Then she brightened.

“You’re right,” she said. “That was my grandmother’s theory, not mine. I gave it a try. It didn’t work out.”

“Are you referring to your marriage?”

“Yep. Talk about misplaced optimism. It was a disaster. You know what? I’m tired of this conversation.” She glanced at the manuscript. “I’d like to read your book.”

Startled, he looked at the stack of typed pages anchored by the crystal ball. “It’s not finished.”

“I know. You still have to write the chapter on the fake psychic criminal mind. What’s the title?”

“The Wingate Crime Tree: A Scientific Approach to Observing and Analyzing Crime Scenes.”

“Bad title,” she said, scrunching up her nose.

He glanced uneasily at the manuscript. “It’s a working title.”

“I’m good at marketing, thanks to my grandmother. Let me read your book and I’ll come up with a much more exciting title.”

He tapped the end of the broken pencil against the typewriter. “I hate to say it, but that makes a truly horrible kind of sense. Help yourself. But whatever the hell you do, don’t lose a single page. That’s my only copy.”

“I will be very, very careful,” she promised.

She moved the crystal ball aside and scooped up the manuscript. She went briskly across the library and paused in the doorway.

“By the way, we need to go grocery shopping today,” she said.

“Why? I’ve got plenty of food on hand.”

“I know. I checked. I regret to inform you that you have a very demanding houseguest. I’m afraid you can’t feed her canned lima beans, Spam, and fruit cocktail. Those eggs I cooked this morning were the last ones in your refrigerator. Your bread is stale. Also, you don’t have any tea.”

“I drink coffee.”

“Well, I drink tea.” She glanced at her watch. “Let’s go to the grocery store in an hour. We’ll both need a break by then.”

She disappeared out into the hall.

He sat quietly for a time, trying to figure out what had just happened. Eventually he gave up and went back to work on the crime tree.

After a while he picked up the phone and dialed the number for Kirk Investigations. He needed more information.

Chapter 17

It’s no secret that your mother has been displaying some very odd behavior in recent weeks,” Ella Dover said. “But I worry that Clara has become positively unhinged by Gilbert’s death.”

Rollins Dover watched his wife crumple the delicate veil onto the brim of the stylish black hat. They were in the back of the limo on the way to the Dover mansion in one of San Francisco’s most fashionable neighborhoods. Gilbert’s body had been brought back to the city on the train yesterday. The small funeral had been held graveside that morning. The circumstances of the murder had convinced Clara that an elaborate event would only bring more potentially embarrassing publicity.

Always anxious to please her demanding mother-in-law, Ella had been careful to remain in black for the family meeting. She looked spectacular in mourning, Rollins thought, but then, she looked beautiful in anything she chose to wear.

She was the last of a New York family that had been destroyed in the Depression. After watching his fortune disintegrate overnight,her father had put a pistol to his head and pulled the trigger. Ella and her mother had been left alone to cope as best they could. And then Ella’s mother had passed and Ella had gone to live with an aunt.

To escape the oppressive household of her relatives, Ella had taken the train west to San Francisco. Her East Coast sophistication combined with her polished manners and remarkable beauty had enabled her to thrive in society. He had been enthralled with her from the moment they were introduced. Unfortunately, his mother had made it clear that she held a different opinion.

Back at the start Clara had privately declared Ella a gold digger, but she had grudgingly accepted her new daughter-in-law because she hadn’t really cared who her second son married. Rollins had understood that all that was required in his wife was a woman who would not embarrass the family in San Francisco society. Ella met that requirement.

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