At the end of the bridge he turned north onto the still more clogged Highway 80. Even in the Porsche he had no maneuvering room but had to wait out the crush like everyone else. All the same, there was a half smile on his face as he tapped out time to “Rollin’ on the River” on the steering wheel.

He could hardly wait to see how the old farts were going to deal with this.

“Twelve o’clock already?” Nellie looked up from where he was kneeling, his nostrils filled with the sharp, sweet smell of thyme.

“Yes,” Frieda said. “You’d better think about getting ready. Here, I’ve brought some tea.”

“I can’t believe I’ve been at this almost two hours,” Nellie said, brushing dirt from his thighs. He pushed himself up and winced as his knees unlocked. “Oh, my. On second thought, maybe I can.”

He sat gingerly beside Frieda on the stone bench and took the mug she offered. “Ah,” he said with pleasure, “just what I needed. What do you think of the plants?”

“They’re just lovely. Nellie, I was wondering about something.”

“About what?”

“About Albert Jasper. About his remains. Don’t I remember some problem about what to do with them? Whatever became of them?”

Nellie, who had recovered his customary cheerfulness as he’d worked, grinned. His short gray beard stuck jauntily out. “Ah, well, that’s an interesting question. As it turns out, I think we’re going to have a little surprise in store for everyone on that score. You too.”

“What kind of surprise?” she asked distrustfully. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be one, now would it?” As he gulped tea, Frieda studied him with that over-the-tops-of-her-glasses stare. “I don’t like that look on your face.”