The second anecdote concerned the tragic fate of Joey's first husband, whose saintly virtues were enumerated at length by Corbett Wheeler, although he'd never met the man. "Benny was the light of my sister's life," Corbett said, generously overselling Benjamin Mid-

denbock's luminosity. "Before saying her final farewell, she placed in the casket his favorite fly rod and a selection of bass poppers that she'd tied and painted herself. She said she was glad, for the sake of the pallbearers, that Benny's hobby wasn't bowling."

It took a beat or two for the mourners to smile.

"So, yes, Joey faced times of profound sadness in her life," her brother continued, "but she never let herself be defeated by it. She never lost her sense of humor, or her optimism-she was the most positive person I ever knew. The most hopeful. And also the most unselfish. She could have lived like a princess but she chose a simple, ordinary life, because she believed that was the secret to true happiness. That, and fine Italian footwear…"

The line brought a weepy laugh from Joey's fellow shoppers. "She wasn't perfect," her brother went on. "She had weaknesses, as all of us do. Impulsive moments. Blind spots. Lapses in judgment."

Corbett Wheeler stopped just shy of indicting Chaz Perrone by name. And where the hell was the would-be widower? Stranahan wondered.

"No, my little sister wasn't a perfect person," her brother said in summation, "but she was a truly good person, and we'll all miss her dearly."

A white-haired priest stepped forward and, in a lugubrious Eastern European accent, recited the Lord's Prayer. The Act of Contritionists followed with a thirteen-minute rendition of "Bridge Over Troubled Water" that left everyone sapped. Next up was Carmen Raguso, the Perrones' most gregarious neighbor and the face-lift queen of West Boca Dunes Phase II. She told of the time that Joey had helped round up the stray cats behind the Kentucky Fried Chicken and then taken them for neutering to a veterinary clinic in Margate. Joey had paid for all the kitty surgeries-more than two thousand dollars total, Mrs. Raguso recalled. Another time Joey had arranged for a private seaplane to transport an ailing bottle-nosed dolphin from a beach on Grand Bahama Island to the Seaquarium in Miami. The mammal, which had been suffering from a bowel obstruction, recovered fully and was returned to the sea.

"Why couldn't that dolphin have been frolicking in the Gulf Stream the night Joey fell off that ship, and come swimming to her rescue?" Mrs. Raguso said. "Why can't life be more like the movies?"

Other friends got up and attested to Joey's quiet charity, love of nature and kindness toward the less fortunate. Rose was the last to speak. As she made her way to the podium, Stranahan noticed that the men in the audience, including Detective Rolvaag, seemed to perk up.

"Joey was the star of our book club, without a doubt!" Rose began. "She was the one who got us hooked on Margaret Atwood and A. S. Byatt and P. D. James," Rose bubbled. "Heck, we would've wasted six whole weeks on Jane Austen if it weren't for Joey. She was a sweetie pie, sure, but she was also a firecracker. Not afraid to kick off her shoes, no ma'am. You should've heard her reading the juicy parts from Jean Auel's latest! Lord, she almost made the walls blush."

Stranahan thought: My Joey?

"Who is that gabby woman?" Chaz Perrone groused.

Tool said nothing. In fact, he hadn't said boo all morning. He thought it unforgivable that Chaz hadn't invited his own mother to the memorial service.

He and Chaz were watching the eulogies from the sacristy, out of sight of the assembly. Having falsely diagnosed himself with the West Nile virus, Chaz was in a shaky frame of mind. The stiffness in his neck was most likely the result of being belted by a two-liter bottle of soda, but in his hypochondriacal funk Chaz suspected it was the first telltale symptom of the bug-borne encephalitis, soon to be followed by fever, convulsions, tremors, stupor and ultimately a coma. At one point during the night he'd pleaded with Tool to take his temperature, but the sadistic bastard had walked in carrying a frozen bratwurst and a jar of petroleum jelly.

How insulting, Chaz thought, to die from a fucking mosquito bite.

Payback from that hellhole of a swamp.

By his own calculation, approximately half of the thirty-four bites on his face were either scabbed or inflamed, the result of relentless scratching. At their first meeting, outside the church, Joey's brother had commented upon Chaz's volcanic complexion and inquired somewhat insensitively if he'd been tested for monkey pox.

Screw that sheep-humping wacko, Chaz thought.

Hoping for a nugget or two he might crib for his own speech, Chaz tried to pay attention to Rose's lively though meandering tribute. He found himself pleasingly diverted by the shortness of her skirt and the boldness of her stockings. She looked like a gal who knew how to spell f-u-n.

"You ready, Charles?"

Chaz jumped in surprise, Corbett Wheeler having slipped into the sacristy through the back door.

"You're the headliner, man. The one they're all waiting to hear." Chaz peeked out and thought: Who are all these people? He was surprised that his wife could draw such a crowd. Some faces he vaguely recalled from the wedding reception, but most were strangers. On the other hand, Chaz had seldom bothered to inquire what Joey did during the day while he was working, golfing or chasing other women. Nor had he displayed much curiosity about her past social life, before they'd met. Chaz's domestic policy was never to ask questions that one wouldn't care to answer oneself.

"Who's your friend?" Corbett Wheeler asked. Without waiting for a reply, he greeted Tool heartily and pumped his hand. "I can tell by your outfit you're a man of the soil."

Tool had come to church wearing his black overalls, which he had laundered for the occasion. Chaz Perrone had not wanted him to attend the service, but Red Hammernut was emphatic. "I used to run crews on a vegetable farm," Tool said. Joey's brother beamed. "I've got two thousand head of sheep." Tool seemed impressed. "Yeah? What kind?" God help me, thought Chaz. The mutants are bonding. Rose said something that got a good laugh, and suddenly Chaz felt Corbett Wheeler's meaty hands steering him out of the sacristy and up a small flight of stairs to the pulpit. Chaz was trembling as he adjusted the microphone and fished through the pockets of his suit in search of his notes. He was alarmed to realize that his penmanship, once precise and consistent, had degenerated to the sort of sinuous, pinprick scrawl associated with UFO correspondents and future workplace snipers.

He raised his eyes to the gathering and immediately froze, for there was the blackmailer, three rows from the front, grinning like a hungry coyote. Chaz Perrone jerked his gaze to the other side of the church only to spy Karl Rolvaag, his chin impassively propped on his knuckles, as if watching a hockey game.

Chaz's throat turned to sawdust. When he tried to speak, he sounded like a busted violin. Joey's brother delivered a glass of water but Chaz was afraid to drink it, fearing it might be spiked.

Finally he licked his lips and began: "Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to tell you about my wife, Joey, who I loved more than anything else in this world."

At that moment, Joey Perrone was reaching into the bird feeder to retrieve the spare key for the house she had once shared with her husband. She entered through the back door, disabled the alarm, hurried to the bathroom and vomited her breakfast.

Get a grip, she told herself. For heaven's sake, you're not the first woman who ever married the wrong guy.