There was a quiet stirring to my left and I became aware that two gentlemen had just entered the pew from the side aisle. As soon as they'd been seated, I felt a gentle nudge to my elbow. I glanced to my left and experienced a disorienting moment when I caught sight of Henry and William sitting next to me. William was wearing a somber charcoal suit. Henry had forsaken his usual shorts and T-shirt and was quite respectably attired in a white dress shirt, tie, dark sport coat, and chinos. And tennis shoes.

"William wanted you to have support in this your hour of need," Henry murmured to me under his breath.

I leaned forward. Sure enough, William had a mournful eye fixed on me. "Actually, I could use it, but what made him think of it?"

"He loves funerals," Henry was whispering. "This is like Christmas morning for him. He woke up early, all excited-"

William leaned over and put a finger to his lips.

I gave Henry a nudge.

"It's the truth," he said. "I couldn't talk him out of it. He insisted I put on this ridiculous outfit. I think he's hoping for a really tragic cemetery scene, widow flinging herself into the open grave."

There was a rustling sound. At the front of the chapel, a middle-aged man in a white choir robe had appeared at the lectern. Under the robe, you could see he was wearing an electric blue suit that made him look like some kind of television evangelist. He seemed to be organizing his notes in preparation for the service. The microphone was on and the riffling of paper made a great clattering.

Henry crossed his arms. "The Catholics wouldn't do it this way. They'd have some boy in a dress swinging a pot of incense like he had a cat by the tail."

William frowned significantly, cautioning Henry to silence. He managed to behave himself for the next twenty minutes or so while the officiating pastor went through all of the expected sentiments. It was clear he was some kind of rent-a-reverend, brought in for the day. Twice, he referred to Morley as 'Marlon' and some of the virtues he ascribed to him bore no relation to the man I knew. Still, we all tried to be good sports. When you're dead, you're dead, and if you can't have a few lies told about you when you're in your grave, you've just about run out of shots. We stood and we sat. We sang hymns and bowed our heads while prayers were recited. Passages were read from some new version of the Bible with every lyrical image and poetic phrase translated into conversational English.

"The Lord is my counselor. He encourages me to go birding in the fields. He leads me to quiet pools. He restores my soul and takes me along the right pathways of life. Yes, even if I pass by Death's dark wood, I won't be scared…"

Henry sent me a look of consternation.

When we were finally liberated, Henry took me by the elbow and we moved toward the door. William lingered behind, filing with a number of others toward the closed casket, where final respects were being paid. As Henry and I passed into the corridor, I glanced back and saw William engaged in an earnest chat with the minister. We went through the front door to the covered porch that ran the width of the building. The crowd had subdivided, half still in the chapel, the other half lighting up cigarettes in the parking lot. The scent of sulfur matches permeated the air.

This was funeral weather, the morning chilly and gray. By early afternoon, the cloud cover would probably clear, but in the meantime the sky was dreary.

I looked to my right, inadvertently catching sight of a departing mourner with a slight limp. "Simone?"

She turned and looked at me. Now I'm an haute couture ignoramus, but today she was wearing an outfit even I recognized. The two-piece 'ensemble' (to use fashion magazine talk) was the work of a designer who'd amassed a fortune making women look ill-shapen, overdressed, and foolish. She turned away, her body rocking as she hobbled toward her car.

I touched Henry's arm. "I'll be right back."

Simone wasn't actually running, but it was clear she didn't want to talk to me. I pursued her at a hard walk, closing down the distance between us. "Simone, would you wait up?"

She stopped in her tracks, letting me pull abreast.

"What's your hurry?"

She turned on me in cold fury. "I got a call from Rhe Parsons. You're going to ruin Tippy's life. I think you're a shit and I don't want to talk to you."

"Hey, wait a minute. I got news for you. I don't make up the facts. I'm being paid to investigate-"

She cut in. "Oh, right. That's a good one. And who paid you? David Barney, by any chance? He's good-looking and single, I'm sure he'd be willing to cut you in on the deal."