Jane wiped her sweaty hands on the hem of her black skirt. She looked out of the tinted window of the Mercedes at the small cluster of people gathered around the closed casket. “This is wrong, Luke. I shouldn’t be here.”
Luke clicked off his phone and patted Jane’s hand. “We’ve discussed this. It would be worse if you didn’t give the family your condolences for their loss,” he said. “You’re perfectly safe. Sal will be right behind you.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she said. The last thing she needed was to intimidate the family with Sal’s presence. “Because of me, the poor man is dead. The last person they want to see is me.”
“It was ruled an accident,” he pointed out.
“The man is dead.” She closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her forehead. Now was not the time to get another migraine
