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“Let’s avoid the drama,” Bryn whispered back, and Joe nodded. She was headed for the funeral like a torpedo for a stationary ship, and Bryn could well imagine the spectacular bang that would make. Lots of leg on display, and glossy, overdone hair. Those shoes resulted in more of a stagger than a controlled stride. She’d chosen a Little Black Dress, more appropriate for clubbing than a funeral, and paired it with heels that were too stiletto for the grass on which she was walking. His mistress had gone with mourning color, at least. The widow, dressed formally in black, sat ramrod-stiff in the front row beside the coffin, but they’d already been warned that she wasn’t the only woman in Mr. Mistress at your four o’clock,” he whispered, and she glanced in that direction without moving her head. Next to her, Joe Fideli, her second-in-command, leaned closer.

The actual graveside ceremony was Bryn’s downtime it was her opportunity to run through the checklist in her head, over and over, to be sure she hadn’t dropped any details. Raines’s remains had been processed and prepped, dressed and finished the coffin had been sealed and carefully polished (nothing worse than seeing sweaty fingerprints on the shiny surface) flowers and memorial handbooks had been delivered and arranged hearses and limousines had been freshly washed, stocked with tissues, and neatly parked. Until the ceremony was finished, her job was on hold-Mr. She just had to give the impression of calm dignity as she stood with her hands folded.

She wouldn’t have been at all surprised to see a cart roll over the hill and someone line up a difficult five-iron shot past the tent that covered the mourners and casket.īut then, she didn’t have to like this place, really that was the family’s burden. Except for the recessed vases, some holding bright bouquets of flowers, it might have been a golf course. This was a modern-style interment facility, so instead of picturesque Gothic headstones or marble sculptures, there were long expanses of lawn, spreading trees, and gently rolling hills-the impression of undisturbed nature, but oh so carefully created. From a purely objective perspective, it couldn’t have been better…though, in truth, Bryn Davis, funeral director, didn’t much care for the cemetery itself.

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