FIVE DAYS LATER, MID-WEDNESDAY MORNING, the gloomy grey sky crackled with a streak of white flash lightning. Thunder rumbled over the Earth, vibrating the drenched grounds of the Low Country Memorial Cemetery on Hilton Head Island. Rain dropped in floods over the green tent shielding Richmond Spaulding as he stood over his deceased wife, his darling Salina’s casket.
Richmond’s soul burned with grief. He transfixed his gaze from the sheets of rain pouring from the sky down to the white glossy casket. Just as Salina had adamantly requested before her demise, he’d put a lavender tulip spread sprouting white baby breaths on her casket. Salina loved tulips, she loved life. She loved our daughter, Isabelle, and she loved me.
“Let’s please bow our heads,” the Pastor requested.
Listening to the Pastor pray a few feet away from where he stood, Richmond kept his head bowed and his eyes sealed. Broken-hearted, he was determined not to cry. His steely determination to keep his raw emotions buried didn’t mean he didn’t love his wife, because Lord knows he loved Salina with every fiber in his being. It was just that, well, he had to be strong for his precious three-year-old daughter, Isabelle.
I should be in that casket, not my darling wife, Salina. The love of my life. Dear God, taking my wife…You got this so wrong.
Continuing to listen to the blessed words the Pastor recited, Richmond’s eyes peeled open, but his head remained hung. Listening to the tinkering sounds of the pelting rain, he gazed down at his shined black leather shoes.
I already miss you, Salina. So, very, much. God, You got this wrong. How could You be so cruel?
A loud pop of thunder boomed overhead, and Richmond’s head snapped up from between his shoulders. Isabelle jumped, standing next to him. Just as her tiny fingers circled around his, he hefted her in his arms and kissed her honey-tanned cheek.
Pressing his lips to Isabelle’s ear, Richmond whispered, “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. Daddy’s got you.” You’re all I have now.
Isabelle nodded, looking every bit like her mother. From her silky, black ringlets hair flowing past her shoulders to her brown honey complexion and natural mauve-colored lips, Isabelle was the spitting image of his Salina. Staring into his daughter’s delicate chestnut brown eyes, pain pricked his heart.
Dear God. She’s gone. Your mother’s gone, Isabelle.
Richmond placed a gentle hand to the side of his daughter’s hair, eased her head to his chest, then kissed the soft, spiraling curls covering her cute round head. Inhaling the profound mixture of wet grass and mud, he squeezed his eyes together.
I’m going to make sure nothing ever happens to you. And I promise you, Pumpkin, come hell or high water, I’m going to find out who poisoned your mother. When I do, I’m going to kill him with my own bare hands. Break his damn neck in half. That’s a promise, he thought, his eyes fluttering open. Grief-stricken by Salina’s murder, Richmond shuddered.
“Amen,” the Pastor stated.
“Amen,” the crowd of people encircling him pronounced on the lift of their bowed heads.
Grief pierced Richmond’s father’s, Russell Spaulding’s, eyes. “I’m going to go thank the guests for coming. Then I’m going to head to the Equestrian to check on the business.”
“Are you coming to the repass?” Richmond asked.
Russell nodded. “If time permits, I’ll come by.”
Damn his workaholic father, Russell, who claimed he was retired but never acted like it. Even on one of the worst days of Richmond’s life, all he cared about was his damn business—Spaulding Equestrian Center. The least he could do was make an appearance at the repass. When he wasn’t thinking about work, all Russell did was indulge in the many gold-digging women running around town.
Richmond’s mother, Leslie, rubbed circles on her son’s back. “I’ll be there. In fact, I’m going to get a jump start to make sure everything runs smoothly.”