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Constance looks at me, and I see the cracks in her polish today.

“Yes, it is.” Her eyes are liquid, but she holds the tears at bay.

I’m surprised by her grief—but maybe I shouldn’t be.

For so long, she played the part of Will’s concerned first wife.

Poised, if a little stiff. Now, her emotions appear closer to the surface.

More real. I can’t figure out what to make of it.

But I wonder if the house looks different to her, too, now that Will is gone.

“Good morning, ladies.” Autumn gives Constance a hug and Gianna an air-kiss. “Can I get you all something to drink?”

“No, nothing for us. Thank you. We should really dive in,” Gianna responds.

So, Autumn pulls an iPad out of her purse and sets it on the table. “I had some preliminary ideas for the florals at the church and the centerpieces at the club for the reception. Fritz and Gianna are going to host that for you, Nora.”

She powers up the iPad, and a funeral vision board is displayed.

A funeral vision board. I’ll never get over these people. Behold: Queer Eye for the Dead Guy.

I feel my blood pressure kick up a notch. “Oh, I’m perfectly happy to host—”

“Fritz and I insist,” Gianna says. “I’ve called Daisy at the club to make sure we can have the ballroom Tuesday. Constance called the church, and they can accommodate Tuesday as well. We thought that would be the appropriate amount of time to get things settled.”

We. The royal, Constance-and-Gianna “we.” I am so annoyed, and a little indignant.

I want to ask what the rush is. Will is barely gone—my denial is still following me around like a thick fog.

But I do my best to just play along when Autumn opens a file titled “Suggested Seating Chart” for the church.

“You did all of this already?”

Where have I been? Oh, only scraping myself off the floor.

Autumn’s cheeks flush, but I’m not sure if she’s embarrassed by my na?veté or by how much planning they’ve done without me. “Uh, well, I—”

“We knew how hard this would be for you to plan on your own,” Gianna says. “And since Constance and I have been in Winter Park for so long, we thought it’d be easier if we just took the reins.”

“The reins. Of my husband’s funeral.”

I am too blinded by my anger to do anything with even a glimmer of rationality to it. Este must see the hues of red filling my complexion, because she steps in.

“Nora, did you have any ideas of things that you wanted at the service? Or anything Will might have wanted?”

I turn and look at Este. She has given me a place to put all my seething rage.

“Thanks for asking, Este, but no. I hadn’t realized that I was going to be planning a funeral that other people decided had to happen on their schedules and by their rules. So, I hadn’t put a lot of thought into any of it. But since you asked, I’d like to speak at the service.”

Constance and Gianna exchange scandalized glances, not at all subtly.

“What? What is the problem?” I say with all the confrontational venom I can muster.

“Constance and I felt that, since it might be hard for Mia to hear from you and not her mom, Fritz should deliver the eulogy,” Gianna advises primly.

“ Fritz? ” I stare at her.

“Yes. He’s known Will for so long—”

“And I haven’t.”

“That’s not at all what I meant to imply—”

“You didn’t imply. You said—”

Autumn steps in. “It might be nice if Nora, Constance, and Mia lay a wreath at the table with the urn at the start of the service and then sit together with Gianna, and the other Hall family members. As a show of solidarity. And I thought that Nora might like to use a wreath made of poinciana—the national flower of Nevis.” Autumn smiles at me, hopeful.

Este starts to say something, but Autumn shoots her a look that makes Este go silent.

Whoa. Autumn shutting up Este is the Major Leagues.

I wait for Este to unload, but she doesn’t. She just shrugs atme.

God, even Este knows I can’t win this.

I take a sip of my boozy coffee. All I can do is watch the rest of it unfold before me. Gianna and Constance put me in my place in my house about my dead husband.

About a hundred rounds later, including the one where I got to pick the memorial photo we were going to use—a small victory—Gianna, Constance, and Autumn show themselves out with the service planned from tip to tails.

Autumn in her magical way has gotten us all to agree to everything, including the idea that Constance, Mia, and I won’t wear black—it’s too drab—but that we’ll all wear different shades of blue—like the lakes and the island waters Will loved.

“The Stepford Sisters thing was too much for me,” Este mutters as we regroup in the living room. “I’m not even completely sure that I understand what just happened. Should we scoop them and have a pop-up service tomorrow?”

“A what?” I lift my head from the couch, where I’m currently horizontal.

“Like an impromptu service.” She doesn’t expound. She’s already launching into another thought. “And why isn’t anyone talking about the fact that literally everyone is a suspect? Like, how the fuck did Autumn get a funeral planned so quickly? Did she know she was going to be burying Will?”

Those last few words make me shudder a little. “Lay off Autumn, Este. She’s the nicest one of that group of vipers, and she was in Jacksonville the night Will…”

I can’t finish the thought.

“Okay then, what about Gianna? Isn’t she Satan’s mistress?”

“Gianna doesn’t even collect her own mail.”

For a brief second, I wonder if she’ll mention Constance next. But before she can list the entire roster of Racquet Club members, I wave her off. “Can we make another drink? I have a headache.”

“Fine. But keep your eyes peeled at that funeral. I’m going to bring a notepad.” She heads toward the butler’s pantry. “Do you have any olives anywhere?”

“Check the bar.” It’s all I can say. Este’s heightened suspicions send me back to my questions about Constance. I’m consumed with the fact that she had no alibi, and she knows more than she’s letting on.