Page 64 of Mail Order Bride

The truth is, I've been feeling a bit down lately, seeing Miss Gina go through all that trouble. I guess that’s what happens when your hands are tied. The thing is… those two, they were in love. I know love when I see it.

I’ve never seen two people more in over their heads than they were. They were head over heels in love, but like all intense love stories, the lows were just as deep as the highs were high.

I hated to see her keep getting hurt.

I could have killed Mr. Miller myself, like all the other people I killed for Miss Gina over the years. But I knew that if she ever found out, it would make everything I’ve ever done for her amount to nothing.

I mean, I’m good at taking care of business, but I simply couldn’t take that kind of chance. Gina would never forgive me. Not when it came to him.

So I did the next thing that made the most sense. I made those cookies. Used the same kind of poison I used on those suitors I didn’t much care for.

I told Miss Gina, under no circumstances was she to eat them. I intended them for only one person, Mr. Joel. It was an unspoken understanding of sorts that she and I had. They were her poison pill. Her backup plan. Her way out. Maybe she knew what I was saying, maybe she didn’t.

But then I started having second thoughts about the whole thing. I never had kids of my own, so Gina’s all I got. I consider her like a daughter, and even though I’m not her God-given mother, I know there’s nothing a mother won’t do for her child. Whatever it takes to keep that child happy, healthy, and safe, that’s what mothers are for.

Which is why I called that afternoon after my second thoughts. Miss Gina told me she had company. She told me about Mary Baker and what happened with my famous cookies. She wasn’t too happy about it, either. But at least she knew where I stood. Firmly and forever in her corner.

And then it hit me, and I knew exactly what to do. Miss Gina is a handful, but she's not a killer. She has her talents about reading people, but her instincts need maturing.

Truth be told, I was a little worried about what Mr. Joel might do. Maybe he would try to drive a wedge between me and Gina—or worse, take her away from me. So maybe that’s why I called out for a welfare check. I can’t entirely be sure.

I knew what the cop was going to find, and I wanted Joel Miller to take the fall. Maybe this way Miss Gina could finally get some peace.

I guess she did, in some funny kind of way.

It’s just now, instead of being in prison, he’s dead.

You could say Joel Miller dug his own grave. In more ways than one. He didn’t know it, of course, but that’s what happened. He dug two graves during his last shift at the cemetery. Maybe he was planning on taking some time off. I know Miss Gina kept asking him. So much irony there, andthat, well,that,in no way, shape or form could I have predicted.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Gina

Afew weeks after Joel’s death, I receive a letter in the mail. It is from a woman who says her name is Margo, and she wants to meet me at Great Oaks Cemetery the following Thursday at noon. She has something she would like to give me. She says she was a friend of Joel’s.

I don’t really feel like getting out of bed, much less going to my husband’s gravesite. It’s just another reminder that he's really gone.

But I go anyway.

At first I think she’s not going to show. It’s twenty-five minutes past noon, and I’m just sitting there under an oak tree, wishing I were anywhere else in the world. But then I see a small figure step out of the shadows and come into view.

Margo is a pretty woman, not much older than me. She’s wearing a long, yellow dress, and she has a determined, steady look in her eyes.

“I have to say,” she tells me, handing me a brown envelope. “You’re exactly what I expected.”

She sort of curtsies. “I’m Margo, by the way. But I’m sure you figured that.” She looks around. “Seeing as I’m the only other living person here.”

I tear open the envelope. Inside is a photo of Joel and me. He’s holding my hand, and the smile on his face is so infectious that it makes my heart ache. I remember having it taken at the barn dance the first time we met. I have a copy at home. It sits on the dresser beside my bed.

“How'd you get this?” I ask.

“Joel sent it to me,” Margo says.

“You said you were friends?”

“We worked together.”

“Of course.”

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