“Right. The reading of the will.”

Melvin’s secretary, Pamela, was next to us. She really had been crying, and she still was. She hugged Katie, patted my shoulder, and walked on, all without words. I watched her.

“It won’t take long,” Fred was saying. “Would tomorrow morning be too soon? Or do you need time to… adjust? I don’t want to hurry you, but there are some things that will need attention, sooner rather than later.”

“That’s fine. The body’s still warm, but at least it’s underground.” I looked away from Pamela to my watch. “We could do it right now, sitting on his grave. That would be poetic. I’ll call Eric.”

“He’s not serious,” Katie said. “What time tomorrow?”

Maybe I had gone too far with him. He stared at me in a way I hadn’t seen. “Nine o’clock?” he suggested. “Eric is available.”

“What about Angela?” I said. “The grieving widow, you know. The scene wouldn’t be complete.”

“She will have her own meeting.”

“Whatever.” I opened the door and Katie slipped in. “May I bring my wife?”

“That will be at your discretion.” He smiled, the old teddy bear smile. “I think you should. It helps to face these things together.”

I shrugged. “It’s really not a big deal, Fred. Not to me. We’ll just putter along like always. Nathan Kern will have the headaches.”

That look again. I couldn’t read it, and it was not from the kindly family friend I’d always known. But then we both turned to watch Eric vroom vroom out of the cemetery on his Yamaha. Nice touch, or it would have been if the thought had occurred to him. I would have done the motorcycle-at-the-funeral thing to make some kind of statement. He did it because he was oblivious.

Or maybe the bike was the most presentable thing he had. None of his five cars was very solemn. The leather jacket was going to mangle the borrowed suit.

“Tomorrow morning, nine o’clock.”