Stand-In Wife by Karina Bliss Page A

probably thought she was being melodramatic but as the last person to see Linda alive, Viv felt a terrible compulsion to do right by her.
    A pair of silver slingbacks landed on the bed. “She wore these with that dress,” he said.
    “You remember what shoes she wore?”
    “It’s my job to notice things.”
    Viv swallowed hard. “Thanks. I was thinking some costume jewelry in turquoise but I’ll need Charlie’s permission.”
    Ross pulled out his cell, dialed the number and then handed it to her. Charlie said he was happy to defer to her judgment. “Thanks, Meredith, you know how hopeless I am at this.” Viv resisted the impulse to tell him that he’d never get better if he didn’t practice because it was something her long-suffering twin would never say, even to her estranged husband.
    “I phoned Pastor Fred about taking the service,” Charlie said. “He suggested getting some of our church choir. How would you feel about that?”
    “It’s entirely up to you.” None of my business, Charlie. We’re separated, remember?
    “So, can you text everybody? See who’s available?”
    She blinked. “You want me to organize the choir?”
    “It makes sense. Listen, I have to go, the concrete truck’s returned with another load.”
    “Charlie, wait.” Both twins sang like caterwauling cats, but maybe church choirs were obliged to be inclusive? Viv tried to recall if Merry had ever mentioned anything, but she drew a blank. “I won’t be expected to sing at the funeral, will I?”
    “God, no,” said Charlie with feeling. “Just your usual job. And we’re only talking two hymns, the start and finish of the service—not there, you idiot! Sorry, Mere, gotta go, we’ll talk later.” He hung up.
    What was her usual job? Printing copies of the hymn sheets? Though Merry couldn’t sing, she did play an instrument. But Viv was confident the choir wouldn’t be harmonizing to a double bass.
    “Everything okay?” Ross asked.
    “Sure.” Clarification would have to wait until her next phone call to Merry. In the meantime, Viv collected a few pieces of costume jewelry, then crossed to the nightstand and picked up a photograph. “We’ll give this to the funeral parlor so they can see how to apply her makeup.”
    It was a studio shot of Linda with her late husband. In keeping with men styled by their social-climbing wives, John Coltrane looked both uncomfortable and immaculate. “Of course Linda would treat her husband like another accessory,” she commented. Then remembered. John was Ross’s dad, too. “I’m sorry.”
    Ross shrugged. “He didn’t have to go along with it.”
    Viv returned her attention to the photo. On the few occasions they’d met, she remembered John Coltrane as a nice man, if resigned and sad. “Did your dad ever try and mediate between you and Linda?”
    “Probably. But he didn’t stand a chance. To Linda I was a surly reminder of a woman she wanted my father to forget. And to me, she was the home wrecker who stole Dad away and broke Mum’s heart.” He seemed to become aware that he was talking about his feelings, because he stopped. Blinked. “Ready to go?”
    He picked up the dress and shoes and left. Conversation ended. But that wasn’t Viv’s style. Not when she could see he was hurting. And this was one thing she could definitely fix.
    Grabbing the jewelry and photograph, she caught up to him at the bottom of the stairs. “Ross, where did it end up? Your mother’s sampler?”
    “I don’t know. I didn’t find it in the cleanup. I expect Linda hid it.”
    “No, she was still taking it off the wall when I went to wash pollen off my hands.”
    “It doesn’t matter,” he insisted, and opened the front door.
    “I wonder…” Putting down her load, Viv tried to slide out one end of the black lacquered dresser. It didn’t budge. “Come help me move this.”
    He shook his head. “I don’t want it.”
    “Ross,” she said impatiently, “you didn’t scare her into