LITMIR.BIZ

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from his hair down to his shoes.

      He nodded curtly at Marvin. “That took long enough,” he told him.

      Marvin looked down at the floor.

      “You know how important this is.”

      “Hey,” Libby said. “It wasn’t…”

      But before she could finish, Clayton dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand. “Don’t bother with excuses. We have to go,” he said, turning to the door where Libby knew the hearses were parked. “We have to go now.”

      “We can’t,” Libby heard her sister say.

      Libby watched Clayton stiffen. He was about to reply when a woman started walking down the hall. He plastered a simpering smile on his face, nodded at her, and asked her if everything was all right. “Mrs. Frost, if there’s anything, anything at all I can do in your time of need…”

      “No. You’ve been wonderful,” she told him.

      Libby watched Marvin’s dad produce another of his smiles.

      “Thank you. Thank you so much.” And he patted her hand. When she was gone he rounded on them. “You have to come with me,” he growled at them.

      “Please,” Marvin added.

      Libby looked at her sister and gave a little nod.

      “Are you sure?” Bernie asked.

      Libby nodded her head more vigorously. What else could she say? She didn’t want to have anything to do with whatever this was, but given the circumstances—mainly the fact that her boyfriend’s father was doing the asking—she felt she didn’t have a choice.

      Chapter 3

      Bernie looked out the rear window of Clayton’s limo. The view was not inspiring. It was gray and dreary. The sky was slate. The ground was frozen solid. Little patches of dirty snow remained from the storm they’d had two weeks ago. The trees were all bare. It reminded her of a Thomas Hardy poem. Depressing. No doubt about it, February sucked. It was the time of year when she wished she were back in L.A. No, make that Costa Rica or Cancún. Somewhere with sun and palm trees. Scratch the palm trees. She’d just take the sun and a couple of Cuba Libres.

      February was her least favorite time of the year. Always had been. Spring was too far away to think about. Except if you were a gardener. Then you got to think about what you were going to plant. The holidays were all done, except of course for Valentine’s Day. Which was usually fun.

      In grade school she’d made lace valentines and given out those little candy hearts to what her mom had called her “special friends.” Now, however, she gave her “special friend” different gifts. She’d gotten a great red thong and matching lace bra to wear for Rob. Except now she was mad at him.

      Why had he signed up for the bachelor auction at the Just Chocolate benefit for Sudanese orphans? That had been totally unnecessary. She’d like to give him a kiss all right. A kiss with her fist. Pow. Right in the kisser. Rob had called her jealous. Which was ridiculous.

      She didn’t have a jealous bone in her body. None. Okay, maybe her pinky. It was the principle of the thing. She just had to figure out which principle it was. She just wanted to spend time with Rob. Was that so bad? She’d tried to explain, but he hadn’t gotten it. Of course, he hadn’t gotten a lot of things lately.

      All she knew was that Rob had better get her something really, really nice to make up for this. Like the pink cowboy boots she’d seen in Saks. Or dinner out at the new Moroccan restaurant down in Dumbo. Yes. That’s what she’d ask for.

      The thought made her feel slightly better—having a plan always did—and she turned her attention back to the view. They were out of Longely now and heading down Townsend Road. Which meant they were heading either to Longely’s minimall or the cemetery. Considering the circumstances, Bernie was betting on the cemetery.

      She leaned forward and tapped Marvin’s father on the shoulder. “Are we going to the Oaks?”

      Clayton turned his head around and glanced at her. “You’ll see,” he said.

      Then to Bernie’s relief he looked at the road, always a good thing for a driver to do, in her opinion.

      “Because I’d prefer the mall,” Bernie said to the back of his head. “They have a sale on there at E.J’s.”

      E.J.’s was a funky little shop that sold T-shirts and the odd sweater or two.

      Marvin’s father grunted.

      Bernie tried again. “I have a friend that teaches the chemistry of embalming.”

      Nothing.

      “Do you use pomade on your hair?”

      “I don’t think you’re funny,” Clayton replied.

      “Most people don’t,” Libby commented.

      “Nice answer,” Bernie told her.

      “But true,” Libby said.

      Bernie sighed, sat back, and watched the trees going by. At least I’m not in the front seat with him, she thought. Things could always be worse. That was what her mother had always said. But then, they could always be better too. She glanced at her watch.

      They had another hour to go before the repairman arrived at the shop. She hoped they’d make it back to A Little Taste of Heaven by then, but she had a feeling they wouldn’t. Whatever this was about had to be pretty serious, and in her experience pretty serious always meant time-consuming—extremely time-consuming. Of that she was sure.

      Otherwise Marvin’s father wouldn’t be doing this. Normally, he didn’t even talk to her or Libby. She’d heard through the grapevine that he still wanted Marvin to marry Emily Funkenwagel. Her dad owned a chain of funeral homes. She was the heiress of the Funkenwagel Mortuary Places. Everything with Marvin’s father was all about the business. She felt bad for Marvin. There hadn’t been any goofing off time for him when he was growing up.

      Bernie twisted her silver and onyx ring around her finger while she tried to figure out what this was about, but for the life of her she couldn’t. Oh well. She guessed she’d just have to wait and see. She bent down and readjusted the strap on her blue suede stiletto. The dratted thing kept slipping. But one thing she did know. Walking in the Oaks in these things was not going to be fun. If she had known where the day was going to take her she would have chosen a different pair of shoes.

      The Oaks was the oldest cemetery in the surrounding area. It had been built almost a hundred years ago by a famous landscape architect and conceived of as a place where the dead could be buried and the living could come and visit them on weekends.

      People did things like that a hundred years ago—linked the dead and the living. Unlike now, when people moved all the time and families, let alone communities, were fragmented. As a consequence, the old part of the cemetery had loads of winding paths that were way too narrow for cars. You had to hike up and down hills.

      Bernie leaned forward and tapped Clayton on the shoulder again.

      “What?” he snapped.

      “Are we going to the new part?” she asked.

      “The new part of what?” he demanded, turning back to look at her again.

      “Car,” Bernie yelled as a Toyota came toward them. She could hear Libby shrieking up front.

      “I see it,” Clayton told her as he turned his eyes back to the road.

      Another person who couldn’t drive and talk at the same time, Libby reflected. At least she now knew where Marvin got his driving ability from, but that was the only thing he had in common with his dad. Bernie leaned her head back against the seat and decided that the only talking she’d be doing in the limo from now on was with her sister.

      “So,” she said to

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