The funeral of Cord’s mother was held on Saturday. I didn’t attend. Not the service nor the graveside. I’m not as good a hypocrite as others.
On Monday, a few who’d been cataloguing attendance, asked me why I didn’t was absent. I just looked at them, then went about my business.
Later that day there was some noise from a side room and all I heard was Arlene shouting,
“I did it for you…”
And then screams.
We all ran to see Arlene lying on the floor, her hand on the knife which was in her gut.
Cord was standing in a state of shock.
My eyes searched him for spots of blood or guilt, but I didn’t see any clue that he’d killed her. Then security came, Arlene was removed, there was excitement, an ambulance, then police.
I spent much of the afternoon in the bathroom reading a magazine.