The Other Woman: A novella of domestic suspense

She savored the floral fragrance; it was almost like being in some magic rainforest, she thought. She might not have known about his secret mistress or whether he was an organ donor, or what songs he wanted played at his funeral, but she knew that much. Carol saw it, but her call to Dillon went unheeded or ignored, and by the time she had gotten to her feet—curse her knees, dammit—Dillon had already squashed two of David’s mounds with his little feet. Finally, she sat in the kitchen chair she had put in front of the Corningware cupboard to prevent Dillon from gaining access.