To Laurie’s left was a room full of elaborate coffins and urns on display. To the right was a viewing room with people seated in folding chairs. At the far end of the room was a coffin resting on a bed of flowers.

“May I help you?” a soft voice enquired.

A thin man about Laurie’s age with an ascetic face and sad features had come up to her. He was dressed in black except for his white shirt. He was obviously part of the staff. To Laurie, he looked like her image of a puritan preacher.

“Are you here to pay respects to Jonathan Dibartolo?” the man asked.

“No,” Laurie said. “Frank Gleason.”

“Excuse me?” the man enquired.

Laurie repeated the name. There was a pause.

“And your name is?” the man asked.

“Dr. Laurie Montgomery.”

“Just one moment if you will,” the man said as he literally ducked away.

Laurie looked around at the mourners. This was a side of death that she’d experienced only once. It was when her brother had died from an overdose when he was nineteen and Laurie was fifteen. It had been a traumatic experience for her in all regards, but especially since she’d been the one who had found him.

“Dr. Montgomery,” a soft, unctuous voice intoned. “I’m Anthony Spoletto. I understand you are here to pay respects to Mr. Frank Gleason.”

“That’s correct,” Laurie said. She turned to face a man also dressed in a black suit. He was obese and as oily as his voice. His forehead glistened in the soft incandescent light.

“I’m afraid that will be impossible,” Mr. Spoletto said.

“I called this afternoon and was told he was on view,” Laurie said.

“Yes, of course,” Mr. Spoletto said. “But that was this afternoon. At the family’s request this afternoon’s four P.M. to six P.M. viewing was to be the last.”

“I see,” Laurie said, nonplussed. She’d not had any particular plan in mind concerning her visit and had intended on viewing the body as a kind of jumping-off place. Now that the body was not available, she didn’t know what to do.

“Perhaps I could just sign the register book anyway,” Laurie said.

“I’m afraid that, too, is impossible,” Mr. Spoletto said. “The family has already taken it.”

“Well, I guess that’s it,” Laurie said with a limp gesture of her arms.

“Unfortunately,” returned Mr. Spoletto.

“Would you know when the burial is planned?” Laurie asked.

“Not at the moment,” Mr. Spoletto said.

“Thank you,” Laurie said.

“Not at all,” Mr. Spoletto said. He opened the door for Laurie.

Laurie walked out and got into the cab.

“Now where?” Michael asked.

Laurie gave her address on Nineteenth Street and leaned forward to look out at the Spoletto Funeral Home as the taxi pulled away. It had been a wasted trip. Or had it? After she’d been talking with Mr. Spoletto for a moment, she’d realized that his forehead wasn’t oily. The man had been perspiring despite the temperature inside the funeral parlor being decidedly on the cool side. Laurie scratched her head, wondering if that meant anything or if it were just another example of her grabbing at straws.