He read from the fourteenth chapter of John, skipping three whole lines about the mansions prepared in heaven, but nobody in the pews spoke up to correct him.

Arthur Pendelton sat four pews behind me on the left, both hands lying flat across his wide belly.

He wouldn’t look at the pulpit, and he wouldn’t look at the polished mahogany casket on its chrome stand in front of the altar.

I drew my left thumb across my right knuckles, working the knot in the joint until it gave a small, quiet pop.

Higgins looked down at me from the pulpit, waiting for a sign or a nod, some small hint that I was going to make this easy on him.