“I can’t believe that. I know she loved him.” Creek’s jaw was set in a firm line.

“Okay, I’ll concede the love. But if it had been true love, honest love, she would have told him her whole story.”

“If you think she was so devious, how come you’re going to the funeral?” Creek was on the verge of being angry.

Fair question, Fiji thought. How to answer it?

“I’m a proxy for Bobo,” she said. “The family doesn’t want him there.”

This, too, was news to Creek. “Why not?” she asked, clearly indignant.

“They know he didn’t have any part in her death, but they’re still resentful,” Fiji said. “I’m going so if he wants to know anything about it, I can tell him. He didn’t ask me to do this,” she added, in the spirit of absolute honesty.

“I understand,” Creek said. She’d calmed down. “I think that’s pretty nice of you.”

They rode a few minutes in silence. Then Creek said, “What do you think about Manfred?”

Fiji was tempted to say, Why do you ask? But that would just be mean. “I don’t know him very well, but so far, so good. He seems to fit into Midnight, and he seems like an interesting guy. What do you think?”

“I think what he does is kind of weird,” Creek said, as if she wanted to be persuaded otherwise. “I can’t decide if he really believes he’s a psychic or if he’s a con man. I don’t know which would be worse.”

“I’m surprised that’s a problem for you, since you’re so fond of Lemuel.”

Creek was clearly taken aback. Fiji wondered what the girl had expected her to say.

“Well, Uncle Lemuel . . .” Creek began, and then faltered. “I do know what Uncle Lem is, but he’s never been anything but wonderful to me.”

“Then Manfred might be no different.” Fiji struggled to keep her tone neutral.

“I guess my dad is so cynical it’s rubbed off,” Creek said, her voice stiff and resentful.

“Just think about it,” Fiji said, sorry that they were not happier with each other, and wondering what else she could have said. Creek might be too young to take a direct conversation. Or maybe she herself was being a jerk. She felt that was all too possible. She said, “And there . . . that would be the turn to the left we have to make?”

Creek consulted the directions they’d printed off Fiji’s computer. “That should be the turn, and then in three point four miles we make a right on Alamo Street. Then our destination will be on the right in half a mile. Solomon True Baptist.”