Death by Marriage by Jaden Skye Page B

Beyond
that, there was no road. Cindy got out of the car. A thick smell of leaves,
pines, and moist soil wafted up. This had to be Heather May’s place. She walked
closer, feeling like an intruder, trying not to make a sound.
    To
Cindy’s surprise a sound of chimes rang out as she got closer to the entrance.
They were hanging along the edge of the porch, ready to warn whoever was inside
that someone was approaching. Just as Cindy expected, the front door opened
then, and a woman, in her mid-forties came out. She had on a long cotton skirt
and skimpy T shirt. Her long, golden, frizzy hair framed a pretty face. She
stared at Cindy, uncomprehending.
    “I’m
Cindy Blaine,” Cindy announced, before she took another step. The last thing
she wanted to do in the world was frighten this woman, who already seemed
startled and alone.
    “Who?”
the woman asked softly, confused.
    “Andrea
gave me your name,” Cindy said then.
    The
woman curled her forehead, thinking. “From Salon B?” she asked finally.
    Cindy
nodded.
    “Okay,”
she said then, smiling slightly, “come on up.”
    Cindy
took small steps carefully as she approached her, aware that Heather May was
examining her from head to toe.
    “I’m
Heather May,” the woman said finally, in a soft tone.
    Cindy
was relieved that she’d passed inspection and Heather was talking to her.
    “Sit
down out here on the porch,” said Heather.  “I’ll go in and get you some
lemonade.”
    “There’s
no need for lemonade,” said Cindy, not wanting to put her to any trouble.
    “Of
course there is,” said Heather. “It’s refreshing in the afternoon, especially
before the heavy clouds come. And they come more often these days, just before
the hurricane season.” Then she wiped her hands along the sides of her skirt,
turned and walked back in.
    The
porch had a few wicker chairs and an old, red, leather glider that was ripped,
here and there. Cindy wanted to sit on the glider, but she chose a wicker chair
with plump tropical cushions on it.
    In
a few minutes, Heather came out, carrying lemonade glasses with a slice of lime
and cherry in them. She offered one to Cindy, staring straight into her eyes.
Then she laughed.
    “Two
days ago, Marshmallow told me someone unexpected would be arriving. I didn’t
really believe what he said. I never do. And he’s almost never wrong.”
    Cindy
smiled. “Who’s Marshmallow ?”
    “He
reads the stars, feels the tides, knows when the earth is turning.”
    Despite
her wild, frizzy hair Heather had a strange beauty that pulled you in.
    “Thanks
for having me here,” Cindy said then, raising the lemonade to her lips. It was
delicious and hit the spot.
    “You’ve
come about Paul?” Heather asked then, drinking her lemonade along with Cindy,
eyes half closed.
    “How
did you know?” asked Cindy startled.
    “No
other reason Andrea would have sent you. She and I spent hours together after
he died, going over every last detail. It was a terrible shock to everyone.”
    “I
can imagine,” said Cindy.
    Heather
gazed at her calmly. “Yes, you can,” she said. “You’ve been there. I feel it,
you understand.”
    Cindy
breathed more easily. She and Heather had an odd kinship, they understood one
another, appreciated what each had been through.
    “How
long did you know Paul?” Cindy asked carefully.
    “It
was not that I knew him,” Heather said quietly, “it was that he was my whole
life. Our love affair lasted for about three years. It kept both of us going. 
Can you understand that?”
     Cindy
nodded. “Yes, of course,” she said.
    “I
believe you. I see that you’ve suffered,” Heather said. “Actually, you can’t
believe a person or trust them unless they’ve suffered, terribly.”
    Her
voice grew louder, like music, thought Cindy.
    “If
we hadn’t been together when we were, Paul could not have gone on,” Heather
said.
    “Our
relationship filled a deep need of his that nothing else ever could.”
    Cindy
wondered