It was a Catholic thing. Velvet rolled her eyes and waited out the prayer, raised her head and twisted it right and left to ease the muscle cramp. She tried not to look at the centerpiece—shiny wood and gold handles—and wound up looking at the carpet again. Old nappy dark red carpet. Appropriate for churches and movie theaters. She scuffed a penny loafer over it and shifted from one cheek to the other on the thin red-velvet pew cushion.

Burt had a lot of friends. The rows ahead of her were full of suits and church ladies, buzz cuts and big hair. In the second pew sat a fat woman wearing black. Three young kids—the oldest a pimply teen-aged boy, the youngest a restlessly squirmy girl—sat close beside her. The only other person on the family pew was a guy, small, neat-looking, weak-chinned. He kept wiping his eyes, although the widow hadn’t shed a tear.

The organ crashed into a hurdy-gurdy version of “Just A Closer Walk With Thee,” and two guys who had the professionally sympathetic look of undertakers got up and collected the red, white, and blue flowers from the casket and hinged open the top.

Velvet sat bolt upright, staring, though she couldn’t see anything but white satin. Jesus, they couldn’t have an open casket, they couldn’t. All of a sudden she couldn’t breathe, because she knew she’d smell him. The thought gagged her, but she couldn’t get up to head for the bathroom, she might accidentally see into the—

The first two rows of people stood up. The fat woman waddled past the casket; as far as Velvet could tell, she didn’t even look down. The gawky-looking teenaged boy behind her didn’t, either; he stared right into his mother’s back. The next girl in line did look. She burst into tears, and the kid behind her let out a big hiccuping sob and the two of them ran off out of the sanctuary.

Velvet swallowed hard. The man who’d sat on the end of the family pew stopped at the casket and stared for what seemed like a long time. He sniffled and blew his nose loudly. When he turned to walk away, his eyes met Velvet’s.

He stopped. His mouth dropped open.

She’d never seen him before in her life. She was sure of that. So what? Did she look that much like a hooker? Was everybody looking at her, pointing fingers, whispering?

Nope. Just him. He stared at her.

Velvet looked over at Robby and pointed to the guy, making a question out of her eyebrows. Robby looked and shrugged.

The guy was gone when Velvet glanced back.

The row in front of them stood up. Under cover of their backs, Velvet grabbed up her coat and ducked out, up the blood red aisle, heading for the door. She heard Robby scramble to follow.