Eli knew Melba was on duty, so her mother must be looking after the children, and probably Hayley, too.

“You’ve been a lot of help,” Eli assured Dan. “Write up an invoice and I’ll put in a requisition with the county auditor, so you can get paid.”

Dan waved a hand the size of a bear claw and said dismissively, “This one’s on me. You want to pay me back, put in a good word for me with Melba. That woman is out-and-out cussed. The more I try to convince her I’ve mended my ways, the more she gives me the stink eye and tells me to back off.”

Eli allowed himself the brief semblance of a grin. “Remind me never to piss that woman off.”

His gaze kept straying back to Brynne, and she must have felt it, because she turned her head and looked directly into one of the cameras. Her eyes were clear and still.

As if he’d actually been caught staring, Eli steered his attention back to the Lansings, then the little cluster of juvenile delinquents sitting in the last row of folding chairs. They wore worn leather jackets, dirty jeans, dark hoodies and smug-ass attitudes.

They’d run with Freddie, but the closest they’d probably come to mourning a supposed friend was being glad he was in the coffin, instead of one of them.

Eli decided to keep an eye on that motley crew, not because he thought they’d been involved in either Tiffany’s death or Freddie’s, but because of the attitudes. If they planned on disrupting the service in any way, he’d shut that shit down in a heartbeat.

The funeral director’s wife, Marion, took her place at the organ.

Her husband went to stand behind the podium. He adjusted the mic, and it emitted a shrill squeal.

The mourners sat up straighter in their folding chairs, hands resting in their laps.

Fred, Sr., and Gretchen stared stonily at the plain wooden cross behind the long table that resembled an altar, but wasn’t.

There were seven churches in Painted Pony Creek, but the Lansings weren’t members of any of them.

Eli decided he was being unnecessarily judgmental, since he hadn’t signed up, either. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in God—in his estimation, there had to be some kind of benevolent force in the world, if only to counterbalance the obvious evil.

Sara was a semi-regular churchgoer, and she’d brought Eric and Hayley up to attend Sunday school and join in various youth-group activities. The folks had said they had to learn the basics but when they were old enough to make up their own minds, they would be free to stay or go.