Amelia nodded. Her lower lip trembled. More tears were threatening to burst loose.

Jack, Josie, and Amelia were planning Nate's memorial service in Josie's worn living room. Jack sat as far away from Jane as he could get without going outside. Jane was like a chastened child, huddled in a frumpy brown sweater. She said nothing, wore no makeup, and made no effort to flirt. She must blame herself, too, Josie decided.

Josie felt numb, as if she were in the middle of some horrible reality show. Jack looked so much like a middle-aged version of her Nate, it hurt Josie to watch him. She was starting to realize what she and her daughter had lost.

"We'll have two memorial services," Jack said. "Your father will be doubly honored. One will be here in the States for Nate's friends and family. The other will be in Toronto, his home. The crematorium in St. Louis has a chapel we can use."

Josie had seen that chapel. It was cold as a walk-in freezer.

"Are we going to have problems with the press?" she asked. "What if they show up?"

The media had almost hourly updates about what they dubbed the Death by Chocolate poisonings. Were the victims killed by a crazed murderer? Were more people supposed to die before the antifreeze-laced chocolate sauce was discovered? Did the radio station want its Big Loser dead?

n.o.body knew, but everyone had a theory.

The police still had no solid leads. Nate's drug-dealing past did not make the news, and for that Josie was thankful.

"The service will be invitation only," Jack said. "We won't have time to send them out, but we can call Nate's friends and make a list of names. That way, we can keep the vultures out of the chapel. Besides, it's supposed to snow again tomorrow and the temperature will drop below zero. They'll freeze their a-" He looked at Amelia and finished, "Arms off."

Amelia managed a tentative smile, the first since her father died.

Tuesday, the morning of Nate's funeral, dawned clear and cold. Almost as cold as Canada, Josie decided, though she'd never been there. Lined up at the wrought-iron cemetery gates were TV satellite trucks and reporters' cars, waiting for the last rites of the latest victim.

Josie took a small satisfaction in seeing the TV reporters shiver as they did their stand-ups by the icy iron gates. She could see their breath in the cold air. Good. Maybe they'd leave quicker.

Inside the cemetery, the weeping stone angels and gray granite slabs were softened with fresh snow. She read the tombstones closest to the cemetery lane: BELOVED HUSBAND, BELOVED FATHER, and BELOVED SON were glazed with ice and frosted with snow, like grim candy confections.

I don't see one with BELOVED LOVER, Josie thought. But Nate was loved-by his father, by his daughter, and by me.

Josie's gray Honda skidded on the icy cemetery lane, and she steered into the slide, praying she didn't hit a gravestone.

"Slow down," her mother commanded, "before we all join him."

Josie pumped the brakes and slowly brought the car under control. She could see the little marble chapel ahead, white and cold as an ice cube. Josie parked near it. Alyce, Josie's best friend, pulled up in her SUV and waited for them to climb out of the car.

"I'm so sorry," Alyce said. She hugged Josie and then Amelia. She smelled of cinnamon and face powder. Her white skin was nearly translucent. Somehow Alyce managed her odd floaty walk even on a salt-sprinkled sidewalk.

"Where's Nate's father?" Alyce asked.

"Inside," Josie said. "He wanted some time alone."

The chapel wasn't as grim as Josie had feared.Wreaths with red velvet bows hung on the doors, swags of evergreen draped the windows, and candles shone on the nondenominational altar. Solemn organ music played, but Josie couldn't identify the composer. She wondered if there was a special CD for memorial services: Death's Greatest Hits.

Josie was pleased that her favorite framed photo of young Nate in his leather bomber jacket was on the altar. Nate looked the way he had when Josie first knew him, smiling and confident. Next to the photo was a spray of red roses and a small silver filigree box containing Nate's ashes.

My love is reduced to ashes, Josie thought, then decided she was being a drama queen, and marched up the aisle to the front pew.

We must look like a flock of crows, she thought, as the women settled into their seats. Josie wore black for Nate's memorial service. Alyce sat on Josie's left, also in black. Occasionally, she reached over to pat Josie's hand. Amelia, on Josie's right, wore a navy pantsuit and a wide-brimmed hat with a black ribbon. Josie called it her "Madeline" hat, because it looked like the style worn by the storybook French schoolgirl.

Jane also wore black. She sat in the back of the chapel. She'd volunteered to check off the guests' names. Also, she was as far away from Jack as possible.

Mike had offered to be at the service with Josie, but she thought that would cause Jack more pain. Mike seemed hurt by her refusal. Again, he didn't tell Josie he loved her. Those words seemed lost. Josie wondered if he was seeing the bookstore blonde.

Some of Nate's friends were at the chapel. They were a decade older, and it showed on most of them. Sandy, once a wild red-haired beauty, was now a plus-sized matron with short brown hair. She had three children and sold real estate in West County. She was probably the most successful of the old crowd.

Elliott was the smartest of the old group. Josie had thought he'd be a full professor by now, but Elliott was still a bartender taking night-school cla.s.ses. His hair had gone completely gray, and he'd developed a bitter streak.

Josie saw no sign of the awful Mitch. She was relieved. He hadn't been invited to the service, but that wouldn't have stopped Mitch.

Mrs. Mueller, wearing a black hat that looked like a squashed velvet wastebasket, took a seat right behind Josie and Amelia. Josie knew her nosy neighbor hadn't been invited, but Jane was too awed by her friend to evict her.

Behind Mrs. M was a handful of men in battered topcoats and gray suits. Josie wondered if they were homicide detectives. Unfortunately, she knew their look.

Josie couldn't believe Nate's death was a random murder by an unknown stranger. There had to be a reason. Nate had died of a heart attack, but the autopsy confirmed that antifreeze had killed him. Did Mitch follow his former friend to Josie's house and pour antifreeze into Nate's chocolate sauce?

Josie knew that was a crazy idea. She hadn't seen Mitch in years. But Mitch had the only reason for wanting Nate dead, and it was powerful: He wanted Nate's storage locker full of money.

Josie heard the chapel doors open and prayed it wasn't Mitch. She looked around cautiously and saw another friend of Nate's. Harvey looked hungover. He'd always looked hungover, but now it showed. His face seemed to be melting. Harvey had the pouchy basketball-shaped gut that went with liver damage. His gray-brown hair was wild and his black sweater was stained.

The funeral music stopped and Nate's father stepped up to the dark wood podium. The microphone gave a haunted-house creak as he pulled it toward him. There was a screech of feedback.

"My son," Jack said. The two words echoed off the cold stone.

"My son," he repeated, "is Nathan Weekler. I never thought I'd outlive him. Nate was too alive." His voice faltered.

Jack took a deep breath and continued, "My son made mistakes in his life. But he knew how to live and he knew how to love. He gave me the finest gift of all-my granddaughter, Amelia."

Amelia started crying again. Josie felt all the eyes in the chapel turn toward her daughter. Alyce reached over and patted Josie's hand.

"Nate wanted to be a pilot from the time he was younger than Amelia. It didn't matter how many toy cars and red wagons we gave him-Nate always made whatever it was into an airplane. He broke his arm when he was six trying to fly a cardboard box off the front steps."

Josie smiled through her tears. She was glad Amelia heard these stories about her father's boyhood.

"The happiest day of my son's life was when he got his pilot's license," Jack said.

"Nate was a man who had everything: a woman he loved, a beautiful daughter, and a chance to fly. Not many men get those opportunities. His time with us was too short, but he had a life we can celebrate."

"Here, here!" Harvey said and stood up. He lurched to the front of the room. "Wanna say a few words about Nate."

Don't give him the microphone, Josie prayed, but Jack sat down in the front row like a man who'd put down a great burden. Harvey gripped the podium as if he were on a ship in a stormy sea. Josie suspected Harvey was one of Nate's dealer buddies, but she could never prove it. She'd pulled herself away from that world.

"Nate," Harvey said, and bowed to the filigree casket. "You made an ash of yourself. An ash. Get it?" His words were slurred.

Josie shut her eyes. Please, she begged, don't talk about what you did in the old days, Harvey. Not with Nate's daughter here.

"Nate and I got drunk a lot," Harvey said. "I still get drunk. In fact, I'm drunk now." He grinned, as if he'd said something clever, reached into his suit coat pocket and pulled out a flask. Harvey raised his flask in a toast. "Here's looking up your old address, Nate." He took a long drink. The mourners shifted restlessly.

"I can't believe Nate was done in by a snowman cake." He sang three words, "Frosty the Deadman-"

"Mom," Amelia whispered. "Is that man drunk?"

"Yes," Josie whispered back.

"Can I say something about Daddy when he finishes?"

Josie nodded, afraid to speak.

"Nate and I drank a lot, like I said," Harvey said. "But we were beer drinkers. Never any of that anti-that anti-that antifreeze. Nate liked beer. I like beer."

Harvey stopped, as if he was suddenly lost. It took a long moment for him to collect his scattered thoughts.

"But despite our differences, we respected each other. Respect. That was us. Let me sing Nate's favorite song. I taught it to him, and I hope to h.e.l.l it isn't true."

His voice wavered as he sang out of tune: "In heaven there is no beer / That's why we drink it here-"

That's when Josie heard the militant clatter of high heels on the stone floor. Jane marched to the front of the church and turned off the microphone. "Thank you very much," she said crisply.

"But, little lady-"

"It's Mrs. Marcus to you, sir. And I said sit."

Harvey sat, like a large, s.h.a.ggy dog. Josie wanted to applaud her mother.

Amelia stood up and went to the podium. Jack turned the microphone back on and bent it down to Amelia's height.

My daughter seems so grown-up, Josie thought. Amelia looked fragile and pale.

"Nate Weekler was my father," she said. "I didn't have him very long. He didn't live with us. But he told me he loved me, he was proud of me, and he would always be with me. He made me promise that I would finish college. I will keep my promise.

"My friend Zoe at school, her father lives with her all the time. He's never said anything like that to her in nine whole years. Zoe's father is gone a lot on business. I had more from my father in one day than most girls have in their whole life. Thank you, Daddy."

Thank you, Amelia, Josie thought. When her daughter returned to her seat, Josie hugged her and whispered, "You did good. I'm proud of you. Your father is, too."

"Anyone else?" Jack asked.

Mercifully, the group stayed quiet.

"Let us have a moment of silence for my son," Jack said.

Josie stared at her black gloves, and thanked Nate and her daughter. They had both eased her burden of guilt.

The funeral music played again, and the people began filing out.

As she approached the door, two men in gray suits flanked Josie and said, "Josie Marcus? We'd like to talk to you about the murder of Nathan Weekler."

"What?" Josie asked in a daze. She could see Mrs. Mueller waiting by the door, smiling triumphantly.

Alyce stepped between Josie and the homicide detectives. "Not without counsel present. That's me, gentlemen."

Chapter 21.

"Are you a lawyer?" the young detective asked. His rumpled gray suit looked like he'd borrowed it from his father.

With his peach-fuzz skin and round, innocent face, he seems too young to be a police officer, Josie thought. Or maybe I'm getting old. Isn't that a sign of age when the cops look young?

"I'm representing Ms. Marcus," Alyce said.

Josie's friend looked every inch a lawyer in her severe black pantsuit. She'd neatly sidestepped the young man's question.Alyce had audited law school-especially Jake's early-morning cla.s.ses-and had taken tests for her husband in the big auditorium courses.

"May I see your credentials, gentlemen?" Alyce asked.

"It's 'detective,' " the older suit said. "We're with the Rock Road force."

"I thought the hospital was in Maplewood," Alyce said.

"The hospital is on the border," Detective Baby Face said. "We caught the squeal."

You've caught too many TV shows, Josie thought.

St. Louis County was divided into more than ninety munic.i.p.alities, some the size of matchbooks. Rock Road Village was one of those. Josie was surprised it was big enough to have its own detectives. Rock Road was a notorious speed trap.

"We'd like Ms. Marcus to accompany us to the Rock Road station," the older detective said. His gray suit was the same shade as his hair. He gave his name, but his worn face registered in Josie's addled brain as Detective Gray.

"Is this a custodial interview?" Alyce asked. "Are you planning to charge her?"

"Uh," Baby Face said. "We just want to ask a few questions."

"Good. Then let's get them over with now." Alyce plopped down in a pew by the chapel doors and dragged the dazed, silent Josie after her. That left the two detectives standing. Baby Face rested his rump on the pew back. Detective Gray stayed ramrod straight.

He's the tough one, Josie decided.

"Mom?" Amelia asked. Her frightened face was shadowed by the big-brimmed hat.

"Your mother is fine, honey," Alyce said. "Go with your grandmother. This will only take a few minutes. I'll drive Josie home."

She practically pushed Amelia out the door with Jane. That left Josie and Alyce sitting together in the chilly chapel. Alyce said, "Detectives, please state your business."

"We found antifreeze jugs in Ms. Marcus's trash," Detective Gray said.

"I-"

"Don't say a word, Josie," Alyce said. "Did you get a search warrant for those jugs, detectives?"