There was a bright sun that even warmed the small medieval church. The stained glass windows sparkled, shedding myriads of color on the mellow stone. It was grim. There was just Seth, the Carrington family and herself. She’d thought that out of respect for her nephew, Caroline Donnington would have come but of course she didn’t. Probably had respect for no one but her own, Poppy thought. When the police came and said they were releasing Jasmine’s body she was thrown into confusion. What would have Jasmine wanted? Planning your funeral wasn’t something twenty-something’s were into. It was Seth who suggested the family plot in the churchyard. Poppy thought that Jasmine would like that. She would be there amongst generations of Sandersons. She would have enjoyed the connection. It didn’t matter that her marriage had become a sham, she was still, when she was murdered, Jasmine Sanderson. Poppy agreed. But she hadn’t anticipated that there would be no one there. The vicar hardly knew Jasmine and waffled on sanctimoniously about God and re-birth.
