Bonnie found herself holding her breath, her eyes moving warily between the two obvious adversaries. Who were these people? Why the hostility toward her husband?

"Thank you for coming today," Rod said, his voice very low, almost inaudible.

The woman turned her attention to Bonnie. "You must be Bonnie. Joan spoke very highly of you."

"She did?"

"Take care of her children," the woman urged, before turning on her navy patent heels and marching back up the aisle, her husband trailing after her.

Bonnie turned immediately to her husband. "What was that all about? Who are those people?"

"The Gossetts," Rod explained, sitting back down, folding his hands across his chest.

Bonnie quickly recalled their names from Joan's address book. Lyle and Caroline Gossett. They lived across the street from Joan. "Former friends" was how Rod had described them. "I take it you weren't on the best of terms."

"Can't please everyone," Rod said easily.

What happened? Bonnie was about to ask, but thought better of it. Now was hardly the time or place to expose and explore old wounds, she thought, deciding to ask Rod about it later.

Bonnie heard sniffling, looked past Sam to his sister, who looked lost inside a loose-fitting long blue dress. "Are you all right?" she asked, but Lauren said nothing, her hands twisting in her lap. "Do you want a tissue?" Bonnie extended one toward Lauren, who refused to acknowledge its presence.

Bonnie slipped her hand into Rod's. Help me, she pleaded silently. Help me get to know your children. Tell me how to reach them.

How could he? she wondered, when he barely knew them himself.

They had refused to set foot in their father's new house, to become part of his new life. Over the years, conflicting timetables and increasingly divided loyalties had reduced Rod's once-weekly visits with his children to hit-or-miss affairs. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't their fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. It was just, sadly, the way things were.

The week had been a difficult one. Bonnie was obviously still a suspect. The police had been back several times to question her further, and to talk to Sam and Lauren. Bonnie wasn't privy to these conversations, and neither Sam nor Lauren had shown any interest in sharing the contents of these discussions with either her or their father. In fact, they said little about anything, volunteered nothing, withdrew every time Bonnie approached. They left their rooms only to eat, and then only reluctantly. After several days of this, Rod had returned to work. Bonnie had been tempted to do the same, especially since her presence at home was less than appreciated. But she felt she couldn't leave Sam and Lauren alone in a strange house. Not yet. She had to be there in case they needed her. At least until after the funeral.

"You're a good girl," she heard her mother say, and Bonnie's eyes welled up with tears at the memory of another woman who had died much too soon. How ironic, she thought, that she was missing a week of school after all, although this wasn't exactly the romantic holiday she'd been imagining. "You're my good one," her mother's memory repeated, as Bonnie swiveled around in her seat, wondering if her brother might be among the mourners.

"What's up?" Rod asked, his arm encircling her shoulder, pulling her toward him.

Bonnie shook her head, her eyes returning to the flower-laden casket at the front of the room. She adjusted the collar of her gray silk blouse and smoothed out the pleats of her black skirt, though there was nothing wrong with either of them. She heard a shuffling in the aisle, looked up to see Sam's friend Haze, pushing his way in among a group of women on the other side of the aisle.

"Hey there, Mrs. Wheeler," he said. "How's it goin'?"

A tall, gray-haired man a.s.sumed the podium at the front of the chapel. "It is with deep sadness and regret," he began, his voice low, "that we gather here today to mourn Joan Wheeler. And it says something of the high regard in which Joan was held that there are so many of you here today. Her kindness, her spirit, her dedication, her sense of humor," he continued, and Bonnie wondered again exactly whom he was eulogizing, "are qualities she never lost, despite other tragic losses."

The man continued, proudly listing Joan's accomplishments, rhapsodizing on the love she had for her children, alluding only obliquely to the circ.u.mstances of her youngest child's death, providing suitable euphemisms for Joan's subsequent descent into alcoholism, mentioning that in the days immediately preceding her death, Joan had been filled with fresh resolve, had told him that she was determined to pull herself together, to put her house in order.

Not an easy task, Bonnie thought, remembering the state of Joan's bedroom. She found herself drifting in and out of the rest of the eulogy, unable to relate the things Rod had told her about Joan to what she was now hearing. She listened as quiet sobs filled the crowded room. Who was this woman so many were crying for? She looked over at Sam. And why were her son's eyes so dry?

And then the service was over and the pallbearers approached the casket, hoisting it onto their shoulders. Rod and his children followed after it, Bonnie hanging slightly back, keeping her eyes resolutely straight ahead, refusing to establish eye contact with anyone, almost afraid of whom she might see. The doors at the rear of the small chapel opened to reveal a blindingly bright afternoon sun, although the air was cold. I should have worn a jacket, Bonnie thought, shivering as she watched the casket being loaded into the hea.r.s.e.

She was suddenly aware of noise, of cars going by on busy Commonwealth Avenue, of people crowding around her. She wondered absently how many of them would be driving to the cemetery. None, she would have guessed before the service. Almost all, she would probably say now.

She spotted Josh Freeman out of the corner of her eye.

"Mr. Freeman," Bonnie called after him, wending her way through the mourners, wondering fleetingly why she was addressing her colleague by his proper name. "Excuse me, Mr. Freeman. Josh..."

He stopped, turned around. "Mrs. Wheeler," he acknowledged, a slightly puzzled look settling across his face. Was he surprised to see her here? Hadn't he known that she was Sam's stepmother?

"I hadn't realized you knew Joan," Bonnie began, not sure where, in fact, she was heading with this.

"Sam is in one of my cla.s.ses."

"Yes, I know." Bonnie waited for him to say more, but he didn't. She felt a hand on her elbow, turned, saw Diana.

"I'll call you later," Diana said, kissing her on the cheek, not really stopping as she continued toward the parking lot.

Bonnie returned her attention to Josh Freeman, focusing on his brown eyes, lighter and clearer than Rod's. His hair was wavy and slightly tousled, as if he'd struggled with it and lost, but it suited the sly curve of his lips and the slightly crooked line of his nose. "Were you and Joan friends?" she asked, trying not to stare.

"Yes," he said. Then again, nothing further.

"Do you think we could talk about her some time?" Why had she asked that? What did she want to talk about?

"I'm not sure what there is to say," he said, his words echoing her thoughts.

"Please."

He nodded. "You'll be back in school soon?"

"Monday."

"I'll see you then."

"Wasn't that a wonderful eulogy?" Marla Brenzelle was asking loudly. Bonnie turned toward the voice as Marla, looking like a giant cone of cotton candy, extended her arms toward Rod's children. "You must be Lorne and Samantha."

"Sam and Lauren," Bonnie corrected, turning back to Josh Freeman. But he was already gone.

"I'm so sorry about your loss," Marla continued, undaunted.

"Thank you," Lauren said.

"I finally got a chance to meet your brother a few weeks ago," Marla said.

It took Bonnie a moment to realize that Marla wasn't talking to Lauren, but to her. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"Can my friend have your autograph?" Sam asked suddenly.

Marla's face lit up, as if someone had just shone a spotlight on her. "Of course."

Bonnie looked over at Haze, who stood there grinning, Magic Marker in hand.

"You could just sign here," he said, handing Marla the marker and holding up one tattooed arm. m.u.f.f, the tattoo proclaimed above a picture of a beaver. DIVER, it said below.

"Haze," Marla repeated, after asking his name and how to spell it. "That's an interesting name."

What's going on here? Bonnie wondered, waiting impatiently while Marla added the le that transformed Brenzel to Brenzelle, with an exaggerated flourish. "What do you mean you met my brother?"

Marla flashed her a perfectly capped smile. "Well, I never did get to meet him in high school. I'd already graduated by the time he got there. But I remember hearing stories about how wild he was, how hot, as the kids would say today. So I've always been curious about him, especially since you've always been such a goody two-shoes."

Bonnie ignored the slight, intended or otherwise. "How did you meet my brother?"

"He came by the studio to talk to Rod. Didn't Rod tell you?"

Bonnie spun around, looking for her husband, but he was speaking to one of the undertakers beside the chapel door. Rod had met with her brother without telling her? Why?

"Apparently he had some crazy idea for a series," Marla said, answering Bonnie's silent question. "Rod told him it would never fly, but I think I may have talked him into appearing on one of our shows. I think he'd make a great guest, don't you? He's very good-looking, and so charming."

"My brother is a crook and a con artist," Bonnie said flatly, wanting only to get away from this woman as fast as she could.

"Exactly my point."

"I really have to get going," Bonnie told her, moving briskly from her side. "Thanks for coming," she added, tossing the words over her shoulder like a crumpled piece of paper.

"Hopefully, the next time we see each other will be under pleasanter circ.u.mstances," Marla called after her.

Don't count on it, Bonnie thought.

"Why didn't you tell me you'd seen Nick?" Bonnie asked, watching as her husband spread numerous cartons of Chinese food across the round white kitchen table. The room was longer than it was wide, and opened into an eating area at the front of the house, overlooking the street. The cabinets were bleached oak, the tile floor and appliances almond, the walls white. A Chagall lithograph of a cow suspended upside down over a rooftop hung on one wall; Amanda's painting of a group of people with square heads hung on another.

"You talked to Marla," Rod stated, his voice calm, his manner unruffled.

"I don't understand, Rod."

He placed the last carton on the table, absently licked his fingers. "It's simple, sweetheart. Your brother dropped into the studio a few weeks back, without an appointment, of course. He had some crazy idea for a series. I had to tell him it wouldn't work."

"Fly," Bonnie corrected.

"What?"

"Marla said you told him it wouldn't fly," she said testily, tears of anger springing to her eyes. How could he not have told her?

Rod crossed to where Bonnie stood leaning against the warm oven door. "Ah come on, honey. It was no big deal. I didn't tell you because I knew how much it would upset you."

"As opposed to the way I'm feeling now?"

He lowered his head. "It was stupid not to tell you. I'm sorry."

"So, you'd already seen him when the police found his name in Joan's address book," she stated more than asked, trying to get the facts straight in her mind. "Why didn't you say something then?"

"What was I supposed to say? 'Oh, by the way, your brother came to see me last week'? It didn't seem relevant."

"What about later, when I was trying to reach him?"

"I thought about telling you."

"But you didn't. Not even after I spoke to him."

"I didn't see what good it would do. The whole thing was starting to feel very complicated. I still say if he's involved in any way in Joan's death, we should let the police handle it."

"That's not the point," Bonnie cried.

"What is the point?" Rod asked, his eyes moving into the hall, obviously concerned that his children might overhear them.

Bonnie instantly lowered her voice. "The point is that you should have told me."

"Agreed," he said. "But I didn't. I don't know why. Probably I was trying to avoid exactly the kind of scene we're having now."

There was silence.

"The food's getting cold," Rod ventured.

"Did you know he was staying at my father's?" Bonnie asked, as if he hadn't spoken.

"No. I didn't ask and he didn't say."

"Did you talk about Joan?"

"Why in G.o.d's name would we talk about Joan?"

"Why would his name be in her address book?"

"I repeat," Rod said, his square jaw clenched tight, clipping the ends off his words, like garden shears, "let's let the police deal with this."

"Did you know that stupid woman has asked him to be a guest on your show?" Bonnie asked, switching gears.

"Marla?" Rod laughed.

"You think it's funny?"

"He won't do it."

"Of course he'll do it. If only to aggravate me."

"Then don't let it." Rod kissed the tip of her nose. "Come on, honey. Don't let them get to you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. Really, I am."

Sam casually sauntered into the room, his sister trailing after him. "You think Marla Brenzelle is stupid?" he asked, the laces of his sneakers dragging across the ceramic tiles of the floor.

Bonnie wondered how much of the conversation they had overheard. "Let's just say the woman has a poorly defined sense of irony."

"What's that?" Sam folded his long body inside one of the tall wicker chairs.

"Irony?"

"That." Sam pointed toward one of the plastic containers.