Page 35 of Little Last Words

He noticed my obvious gesture and stared at me for a moment. When I didn’t return his gaze, he leaned over, the stench of his hot breath washing over my face as he asked how I knew the deceased.

Unlike the well-dressed, high-end-looking crowd gathered for the funeral, he looked like an outsider. Howheknew Penelope was the more important question.

“Penelope was my neighbor,” I said.

It seemed like the easiest way to answer his question with the least amount of explanation, so I went with it.

“How doyouknow her?” I asked.

“I’m Dean.”

He looked at me like offering his first name was all I needed to connect the dots.

“Well,Dean, giving me your name still doesn’t explain how you knew Penelope,” I said.

“Oh, I guess she didn’t tell you about me. I’m her husband.”

A shiver ran up my spine.

I swallowed, hard, trying to keep my cool.

“You may still be her husband, but the two of you split up before she died, didn’t you?” I asked.

The question irritated him, which, I had to admit, was my intention.

What better way to gauge his reaction?

Poke the bear.

See what happens.

“We were, uhh … no,” he said. “We were just going through a rough patch.”

A rough patch where Penelope went to great lengths to keep her daughter from seeing or speaking to him.

Was there something I didn’t know?

Was it possible Penelope had spoken to Dean about reconciling?

Or had Dean convinced himself he could win her back?

“Did Penelope’s family know you planned to attend the funeral?” I asked.

“Sure didn’t,” he said. “What’s it to you?”

“I spoke to her mother a few days ago. She’s not fond of you.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, well, the feeling’s mutual. They tried to keep the details of the funeral from me because they don’t want me here. But they can’t stop me. She’s still my wife.”

Oh, the compassion.

Or the lack thereof.

“If her family didn’t tell you about the funeral, how did you find out about it?” I asked.

“Someone texted me, telling me the date, place, and time it was taking place.”

“Who?”