The Black Widow. BEVERLY BARTON
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All Claire said when she called to tell me about Dan Price’s funeral arrangements was that Ryan needed to speak to me after the funeral about hiring Powell’s. Considering what she and Ryan were going through at the time, I thought the particulars could wait.”
Glancing over his shoulder, Rick took one final look at Mrs. Price. Dry-eyed and rigid, she spoke to the minister. Markham clung to her, not she to him, which implied that she was the stronger of the two and they both knew it.
What was it about the woman that intrigued Rick so? Maybe it was nothing more than her being beautiful. Beautiful, fragile, vulnerable—and heartless. His instincts were usually right on the money and it was highly unlikely he was wrong this time, but for some gut-level reason, he wanted to be wrong about the widow being heartless.
Nicole stopped, turned, and called to him. “What’s the matter?”
He realized Nic had walked on ahead of him and he was standing in the rain staring at a woman he didn’t know and instinctively didn’t like. He caught up with Nic, clicked the OPEN button on his remote to unlock the SUV, and then rushed to open the passenger door for her.
Once seated inside, he started the engine and backed up the car. “What do you know about Jordan Price?”
Nicole shrugged. “Not much really. Counting today, I’ve met her a total of four times. The first time was Claire and Ryan’s wedding. Then again at Michael’s christening and the last time was at her wedding, when she married Dan.”
Rick drove slowly down the narrow one-lane road that led out of Oak Hill Cemetery. “She’s a lot younger than he was. Do you think she married him for his money?”
Nic laughed. “I have no idea.” She glanced at Rick. “Why so curious about Jordan Price?”
Rick’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. Damn good question. Why was he so curious about the widow? Yeah, sure, he found her attractive. And yeah, her seemingly unfeeling attitude disturbed him. Maybe she reminded him a little too much of his own callous, conniving stepmother, who had sucked his father dry during their marriage and had cheated Rick and his sister out of their meager inheritance.
Rick grunted. “Damn if I know. I just thought it odd that the lady hasn’t shed a tear all day.”
“Some people cry in private,” Nic said. “And the reality of death doesn’t always hit a person right away. It often catches up with them weeks later and then they fall apart.”
“Yeah, either is a possibility.”
“But you’re not buying it, are you?”
“Young, beautiful widow buries older, wealthy husband, without any show of emotion whatsoever. And the husband’s handsome, young assistant holds her hand and clings to her during the funeral.”
“You’re painting a really ugly picture, you know. Dan Price committed suicide. He wasn’t murdered. Besides, Claire and Ryan like Jordan. And if Jordan hadn’t been a good wife to Dan, neither Claire nor Ryan would think so highly of her, would they?”
“Hey, it’s nothing to me one way or another,” Rick said. “It’s not my family, not my concern. I don’t know these people.”
And he didn’t want to know them, especially not Jordan. But if Ryan Price hired Powell’s and he was assigned to the case—what then?
She watched from an upstairs window as the hordes descended on Price Manor, Dan’s ancestral home.
A gray day, with the heavens weeping, seemed appropriate for the funeral services. Daniel Price had been loved and respected. It was only fitting that the weather reflected the somber mood of the occasion.
We made it through the funeral without breaking down. That’s good. The reception won’t be as difficult. We’ll be able to reminisce about Dan without being morbid. We can laugh about our memories of him instead of cry. In many ways, Dan was a truly good man. A good husband. But if he’d been allowed to live, he would have become a very bad husband, a noose around our necks, a burden we shouldn’t have had to bear.
It will take time for us to heal from this tragedy, but eventually, we’ll move on, just as we’ve done in the past.
She hadn’t wanted to kill Dan, but she’d had no choice. Not really. If only he had followed through with his plans and had killed himself, he could have saved her the trouble. But apparently, he had lost his nerve at the last minute. As much as she had cared for Dan, she had realized that she couldn’t allow him to ruin their lives. If he had lived, they would have suffered along with him each day. It would have been so unfair. Hadn’t they already suffered enough? By killing Dan, she had protected them from years of anguish. And in the long run, his early death had been truly merciful for him, too. With Dan and his problems out of the way, they could look forward to raising their baby without the burden of a sick husband.
A baby.
Their baby.
They had wanted a baby for such a long time.
When she was a child, Jordan had dreamed of living in an antebellum mansion, something to equal the splendor of Scarlett O’Hara’s beloved Tara. The first time Dan had brought her to his ancestral home in Priceville, Georgia, she had felt an odd sense of homecoming, as if this was where she belonged. For the past three years, she had enjoyed the time they’d spent here far more than their time in D.C. But when she married Dan, she had accepted the fact that she would be a political wife, that she would play the game by the rules. Although she was often uncomfortable with the façade she and Dan had presented to the world, she had never regretted her decision to commit herself to their marriage. He had offered not only security for herself, but for her family whose members depended on her.
Jordan pressed her open palm lightly against her still flat abdomen. Dan was gone, but not lost to her forever. Not as long as the child growing inside her lived, he or she would be a link to her husband. Her son or daughter would carry on the Price name and honor a generations-old heritage. When they had discussed bringing a child into the world, Dan had prophesied that their offspring would one day be president.
Oh, Dan, why? Why did you do this horrible thing?
She had found out she was pregnant the day before Dan killed himself and had intended to share the news with him that evening. But after dinner, he had closed himself off in his study and she’d never seen him alive again.
A part of her refused to believe that Dan had taken his own life; but the alternative was equally unbelievable. Yes, Dan had enemies, both personal and political, but no one truly hated him, certainly not enough to kill him.
You have too much to deal with right now without trying to figure out what happened and why. There will be time enough for that later. You have to go downstairs and greet your guests. Dan’s friends and enemies, his associates, his family and his constituents.
First and foremost Daniel Price had been a public servant, in one form or another, all his life, just as his father and grandfather had been. The very least she owed Dan was to uphold the family traditions and keep his untainted public image as shiny bright as it had been for the past 55 years.
Jordan felt Devon’s presence moments before he reached out and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. She sighed deeply, then forced a wavering smile and turned to look at her oldest and dearest friend.
“People are asking about you,” Devon said. “Do you feel up to facing the mob?”
Jordan nodded. “Almost ready. Give me a couple more minutes.”
“It doesn’t seem real, does it? Dan gone. You and I left to—” Devon choked down his tears. “Why did he choose such a drastic solution? He should have known once he told us about the diagnosis of early-stage Alzheimer’s, we would have been there for him every step of the way. He could have had some good years still ahead of him.”
Jordan caressed Devon’s cheek, tenderly brushing away his tears. “I don’t know. Maybe this was his way of protecting