Crafts, Crimes, and Country Clubs by Stacey Alabaster

Author:Stacey Alabaster [Alabaster, Stacey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fairfield Publishing
Published: 2018-01-18T06:00:00+00:00

8

I wasn't used to wearing black. It was funny actually—ironic?—that in spite of all the death I came across, I rarely ever attended funerals.

I'd had to keep the dogs at arm’s length while racing out the door. My mind was racing as well. Ryan would be at the funeral, but so would all the ladies from the club. Which meant I would have to be attending as Christine, not as George. And sure, Ryan had sprung me in my disguise...but that didn't mean I wanted him blowing my cover at the funeral.

I already knew I was going to have to remain inconspicuous at the cemetery. Keep my head down, my wig secured, and my dark sunglasses on so that no one from my other life would recognize me. And luckily, Ryan wasn't speaking to me anyway, so avoiding him would be easy enough. Or so I hoped. But what did they say about the best laid plans?

Luckily, the cemetery was walking distance from my house. Was it lucky to have a graveyard walking distance from your house? Well, anyway, on that day, with the freezing temperatures and the ridiculously high heels I was wearing, I was grateful for the short walk.

I spotted a figure, dressed in a black coat and huddled behind a tree. I recognized her, so I started to walk toward her to say hello.

It was Lucy from the club, her golden blonde hair in a blow out that barely moved even in the wind. I tried not to think too much about what Sally had said. I had never even heard Ryan mention her before—surely they couldn't have had a fling.

But what if he has an older woman fetish...and I am just the most recent one in a long line?

Lucy was dressed in a long black dress and black gloves that reached her elbows. In our previous interactions, she had kept her distance from me, so I'd never gotten a chance to speak to her properly. But that was just her personality. Reserved. Most of the women were like that. I figured a funeral might be the right time to reach out and break the ice.

But when I got closer to the tree, I suddenly regretted my decision, and wondered if it was too late to turn around.

It looked as though she was sobbing, with her shoulders hunched over and her back moving up and down.

Or maybe she is just laughing. That seems to be the way some of these women deal with grief.

She spun around. It was too late. I had been spotted.

"Christine..." She tried to compose herself and act like she hadn't been doing anything as she reached for a tissue that had been hidden up her sleeve.

"I, um..." She struggled for the words to explain why she was sobbing so hard. I could tell she was embarrassed. It made me feel extremely uncomfortable. I had no idea why she was so emotional either and I wasn't sure what to say to her, but there was no easy escape route.

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