Luke knew she had also checked out his big parking lot out back. He had worked hard on his first big client. It paid off. The deceased looked as though Topo Gigio had just performed an encore. Since then, the Reilly Funeral Home of Summit had been handling the “arrangements” for members of the Shea dynasty, most of whom lived to a truly great age. A few had even lasted long enough to see snapshots of their century-old visages flashed on television by Willard Scott of the “Today” show.

Tersely for him, Luke had explained the problem to Nora to stop her from pacing back and forth in front of him.

The normal solution would be simply to combine the two medium-sized viewing rooms, which were separated by a sliding door. As Nora knew, Mrs. Shea would consider that a second-best solution.

“Tell her the next Shea funeral is on the house,” Nora hissed. “Luke, we’re going to miss the boat.”

Luke’s glance was reproachful, and as usual he came up with a solution. “Herbert, remind Mrs. Shea that Dennis’s favorite color was green and we’ve just redecorated those two rooms in green. He’ll rest more comfortably there. After all, green and white were his campaign colors.”

“You’re a frigging genius,” Nora said as Luke hung up the phone. “Another problem solved at Reilly’s Remains.”

“Bad enough I have to hear that kind of talk from our daughter, it’s positively obscene to hear it from her mother’s lips.”

They grinned at each other.

At five feet four, Nora often felt dwarfed by her husband, who was a foot taller. “You’re a bigger person than I am in every way,” she was fond of telling him. “You don’t lie about your age . . .” Luke was sixty-five to her fifty-eight. She could never keep track of what age she had told interviewers she was. “But Mrs. Reilly,” one of them had said recently, “three years ago you told me you were fifty-two.” And Nora’s hair color was a dishonest blond. Luke’s silver was natural.

“Now can we please get out of here?” she begged.

The phone rang again. “I don’t care if they’re looking for a room for the Pope, we’ve got to get out of here.”

Luke reached for the phone, but Nora beat him to it.

“Hello,” she said impatiently. “Regan honey, nothing’s wrong, is it? ... I can’t talk now. We’ll have to call you from the ship. You what? . . . Why? . . . What? . . . Good God ... I never thought I’d deny my own child, but I guess it’s never too late to start. Got to run. See you there, love.” She hung up quickly.

“See her where?” Luke demanded. “What was that all about?”

Nora began to laugh. “You’ll never believe it. I’ll tell you in the car.”

Chapter 8

SOUTHAMPTON