Trixie Jackson finished shaking off her coat and turned around. She was one of the aerobics instructors at Aspen Meadow's athletic club, although I had not seen her for about a year and had put it down to a class-schedule change. She narrowed her eyes at me. I thought, She can smell the cigarette.

"Good to see you," I said. "How was the funeral?" "Depressing," she replied. She raised an eyebrow at me. "Your ex-husband was there. John Richard."

I resisted asking her if that was what made it depressing and motioned Arch over to take her coat. More people shuffled through the door and their low voices gurgled through the room like water melting a lake of ice. Trixie headed off toward the as - yet unmanned beverage table.

Vonette Korman's shrill voice carried over from outside. "It just makes me so sad," she was saying, "and she was so young and all. Course maybe not that young. Still, though. She was a caring person. And it is sad."

I was caught in a dark bustle of coats, unneeded on this warm day but for the chilling effects of a funeral. Vonette's highly made-up face and brilliant orange- red hair emerged by Trixie and the glasses of white wine. Threading my way back toward the food, I kept an eye on my ex-mother-in-law by pretending to examine the straightness of the tablecloths. And there it was, just as Marla had observed. As quickly and stealthily as any magician, Vonette drew a small leather-covered flask out of her purse and poured a clear liquid into her wineglass. It must have been vodka or gin. Unlike a magician's, her glass contents did not change color, although I imagined it had changed into a martini.

"Mom," came Arch's shrill whisper from nearby. "Now what do you want me to do?"

"Go tend the drinks," I whispered back. "Let them pour their own wine. You just do lemonade and coffee." I looked back at the table. "And tea. That other pot has hot water in it and the Lipton bags are next to it. Sugar and cream are on the table. All you need to do is keep everything going."

He nodded and turned away. "Please come and have something to eat," I said to a desultory group. And with that the show had begun. When their stomachs were full, the entertainment would be complete. I hoped.

"Well, if it isn't the little food lady," came the all-too-familiar voice. How he had found me so quickly I did not know. "I may not miss much," John Richard said with a laugh, more like a snort, "but sometimes I miss your cooking."

"Really?" I replied. "Funny, I don't miss anything."