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day.
    “Perhaps we might have a few moments alone,” I suggest to Galena.
    She rises. “I got a pending. I’ll go check on it.”
    As is typical for me, I plunge right in. “You understand you won’t be paying out of your own pocket for Ingrid’s funeral, right, Maggie? Her estate will cover the costs.”
    Maggie blinks at me. “But I’m her only living relative. So her estate is coming to me. So basically it is me who’s going to pay for it.”
    It’s hard to know how to respond to that. Nevertheless Trixie takes a stab at it. “I know for me, I’d feel better in the long run if I gave my sister a proper sendoff.”
    “Well, maybe, but I don’t think my sister would do that for me. Besides, Ingrid always had it so easy. She always got whatever she wanted. Husbands, houses, you name it. I had to work outside the home but she never had to. So now things will even out a little bit. That seems fair, doesn’t it?”
    Galena knocks on the door and pokes her head inside the office. “My pending’s hanging by a thread so I’d like to wrap things up here. You made any decisions?”
    Maggie rises to her feet. “Maybe you can answer one last question for me. When do they usually read the will? Before or after the funeral?”
    “After. Your sister is being autopsied today so I expect to take delivery tonight.”
    I close my eyes. Galena makes Ingrid sound like a SubZero.
    “Then I think we should skip the wake and do the funeral the day after tomorrow,” Maggie ordains. “In the morning. And read the will in the afternoon. After all, waiting won’t make it any easier.”

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    “We don’t usually do this in the middle of the day,” Trixie reminds me.
    We’re back at Damsgard and I’m pulling the cork out of a bottle of sauvignon blanc. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.” I ogle our takeout lunch. It’s a Minnesota specialty: turkey, mushroom, and wild rice soup, served with a toasted slice of baguette smothered in melted gruyère cheese. Comfort food if ever I’ve seen it. And boy, do I need both that and the nectar of the gods. For one thing, even though I’ve medicated myself with every cold remedy in the book, my congestion is worse. For another, Maggie’s irreverent display at the funeral home only added to my fear that she might’ve been the one to put Ingrid on the noon express to heaven’s door.
    “Let’s be fancy and eat in the dining room,” Shanelle suggests. “I especially like the decorations in there.”
    Not only is Shanelle crazy for snow globes—there’s a collection atop the credenza—but little Santas line the narrow wainscot cap.
    We serve our meal on the Lenox Holiday pattern china and settle around the mahogany dining table. Beneath the glittering chandelier Trixie raises her crystal wineglass in a toast. “To Ingrid Svendsen. May she rest in peace.”
    “And may Happy figure out why she’s resting so soon,” Shanelle mutters.
    “I need more suspects. I can’t focus entirely on Maggie.” I sip from my wineglass. “And for that I need to know more about Ingrid’s life.”
    “Maybe you can get Maggie to open up about her,” Trixie says.
    I taste my soup, which proves to be delectable. “I have to get Pop to open up about Maggie, too. That’ll be tricky if he senses I’m suspicious of her.”
    “Just how serious are those two?” Trixie wants to know.
    “Maggie’s angling for a proposal.” I set down my spoon. I can’t eat while I discuss this deeply disturbing topic. “Last weekend when Rachel went to Maggie’s salon, Maggie said flat out she was hoping to find a diamond ring from Pop under the Christmas tree.”
    “That’s how my friend Roseanne got engaged,” Trixie says.
    “Christmas and Valentine’s Day,” Shanelle says, “the two most popular times for a man to propose.”
    “Throw in New Year’s Eve and you’ve got the trifecta.” My proposal came not on a holiday but when the home pregnancy test came up positive.
    “We