Timmie, Barb, and Mattie answered in unison. "Ellen."

They were, in fact, all technically in mourning for Billy. They were at least in his funeral procession, all decked out in their Sunday best and squeezed into Barb's new Volvo as she negotiated the meandering lanes of Puckett's second-class cemetery to where Billy was going to have his ashes cemented into a wall. They'd already sat through an interminable ceremony at the funeral home, and only had to lay the deceased to rest before heading to their favorite watering hole for debriefing.

Barb had spent the funeral making cracks about Billy's family. Mattie had prayed. Timmie had been preoccupied by the question of just how long Ellen had been sneaking off to Tucker's truck and whether it had anything to do with Tucker's attitude toward Billy's unfortunate demise. She also couldn't help but wonder if it had something to do with those dead roses she'd thrown away and the card she hadn't, which made for a busy funeral for her.

"You're not surprised," Timmie accused Barb.

Her attention on the car ahead of her, Barb chose not to take offense. "Ellen's as human as the next girl," she said easily. "Just 'cause she's divorced doesn't mean she's a nun."

"It's just like your fireman's helmet," Cindy said.

"Her what?" Mattie asked.

Cindy leaned forward again. "Timmie has a brand-new Los Angeles Fire Department helmet in her closet. It fell on my head last night when I went to get my coat. Has her name stenciled on it and everything. Ask her about it."

Cindy had damn near worn it back out the front door when she'd gone home, too. But when she'd finally been alone, Timmie had sat for a long time just holding that helmet in her hands like a dried corsage.

"It was my going-away present," she defended herself.

"From who?" Barb asked with a knowing grin.

The helmet was still new enough for Timmie to blush. "All the guys," she protested. "Amazing how close you can get after sharing a couple of earthquakes and a riot or two."

"But especially one guy," Cindy chortled.

Timmie tried hard not to smile. "Fireman Dan," she finally admitted wistfully as she thought again of the fun they'd had with that helmet. "Finest turn-out gear in the city."

All three of them laughed. "So what happened?" Mattie asked.

Timmie shrugged. "He went back to his ex-wife."

"And you moved out of phase three," Cindy prompted. "Tell them about the phases."

Timmie sigh. She should have just coldcocked Cindy with that damn helmet and been done with it. "The four phases of divorce," she said for the whole group. "It's kind of like the stages of grief, except instead of denial, anger, bargaining, and acceptance, what you go through is denial, anger, sluthood, and recovery. I am now in recovery."

"And Ellen is still in sluthood," Cindy finished for them all, and then offered a big grin. "Which sounds a lot more fun than recovery to me any day of the week. Especially if you're in love."

"I am not going to give her the dignity of labeling what they were doing as love," Timmie said. "Not in a coroner's truck."

"I did it in a meat locker once," Cindy mused. "But that wasn't love, either. Not like this time."

Timmie knew that Cindy wanted somebody to ask, "This time?" Nobody did.

"Ellen deserves better," she insisted anyway as they reached the top of the hill, where the town water tower could be seen past the Eternal Rest Crematorium.

"Shit, we all deserve better," Barb reminded her. "Doesn't mean we ever get it."

Taillights flickered like out-of-sync Christmas lights, and everybody slowed to a stop. Barb followed suit to the sound of unclicking seat belts.

"You don't think Tucker ignored Billy's death because he's been in Ellen's pants, do you?" Timmie asked as she stepped out onto the cracked asphalt.

Barb, Mattie, and Cindy were glaring at her when they joined her on the grass. "Let's bury him first," Mattie suggested. "Then we can dig him up and play with him some more."

"Can't," Timmie said, her attention briefly caught by a couple of Mayfield brothers who were shoving at each other over bumper proximities. "Can't test ashes."

"Then that takes care of that," Barb pronounced and led the way to the Eternal Rest Chapel, Mausoleum, and Gift Shop at the top of the small hill.

But it didn't take care of it. Just the mention of testing ashes made Timmie uncomfortable, as if she'd made a statement before understanding what it meant. She hated that.

"Mind a little company?" Timmie heard from behind her and turned to see Alex Raymond loping up from the end of the line. He was in a gray suit, his black cashmere coat open and flapping in the chilly breeze. The day was dank and dark and chilly, the sun missing in action behind a layer of slag-colored clouds. For some reason, it did nothing to dim his glow. He looked like a night-light, and everybody smiled at him.

"Of course not," Barb greeted him as every woman preened.

"I got caught at work, or I would have made the service at the chapel," he apologized a bit breathlessly as he slowed alongside Timmie.

"You didn't miss much," she assured him. "The minister tried to convince us that Billy was a good man, and Billy's family got into a fistfight and almost spilled him all over the carpet."

Alex grimaced. "Sounds like the best part. I couldn't leave till I said good-bye to Mrs. Salgado, though."

"That cute little old lady up on two west?" Cindy asked, laying a hand on his arm.

He nodded. "Yeah. Died in her sleep this morning. I really hated to lose her."

"She used to tell the neatest stories about growing up in Italy," Barb said. "I liked her."

She got general nods from the other women.

"At least she died in peace," Mattie offered. "Mrs. Winterborn's back in the unit."

"Again?" Cindy demanded.

"Again," Timmie assured them all. "Why they just don't put a bullet through that poor woman's brain and end her misery, I don't know."

"You were going to talk to Dr. Raymond today," Cindy told her.

"You were?" Alex echoed, his interest keen.

They'd reached the door to the chapel where the flow of people had clogged up waiting to get in. Turning to yell at Cindy, Timmie caught sight of Tucker Van Adder standing back on Valhalla Drive, smoking with one of the local uniformed cops.

"You don't suppose he's here on official business, do you?" she asked, knowing full well what she was doing.

All heads immediately turned. Several emitted noises of disgust.

"Don't be ridiculous," Mattie told her. "Like you said, it's too late."

"Besides," Barb added with a dignified sniff. "Even if he were looking for work, he's standing next to the most worthless cop in three states."

"He's not all that worthless, Barb," Alex protested without noticeable heat. "He came to my office to take my full statement after the incident, and he seemed... competent."

"Who is he?" Timmie demanded.

Barb snorted unkindly. "Oh, come on. You mean to tell me you haven't met the lovely Mr. Dr. Barbara Adkins?"

Timmie took a look at the skinny, acne-scarred man holding on to his leather equipment belt as if holding his pants up and hooted, which turned more than one head in the crowd.