'What about the casket? What style would--'
'I'll leave that to you.'
'Very well. Price range?'
'Might as well have the best. The estate can afford it.'
'The rumor is he must have been worth two or three million.'
'Probably twice that,' Joshua said.
'But he really didn't live like it.'
'Or die like it,' Joshua said.
Tannerton thought about that for a moment, then said, 'Any religious services?'
'He didn't attend church.'
'Then shall I assume the minister's role?'
'If you wish.'
'We'll have a short graveside service,' Tannerton said. 'I'll read something from the Bible, or perhaps just a simple inspirational piece, something nondenominational.'
They agreed on a time for burial: Sunday at two o'clock in the afternoon. Bruno would be laid to rest beside Katherine, his adoptive mother, in the Napa County Memorial Park.
As Joshua got up to leave, Tannerton said, 'I certainly hope you've found my services valuable thus far, and I assure you I'll do everything in my power to make the rest of this go smoothly.'
'Well,' Joshua said, 'you've convinced me of one thing. I'm going to draw up a new will tomorrow. When my times comes, I sure as hell intend to be cremated.'
Tannerton nodded. 'We can handle that for you.'
'Don't rush me, son. Don't rush me.'
Tannerton blushed. 'Oh, I didn't mean to--'
'I know, I know. Relax.'
Tannerton cleared his throat uncomfortably. 'I'll... uh ... show you to the door.'
'No need. I can find it myself.'
Outside, behind the funeral home, the night was very dark and deep. There was only one light, a hundred- watt bulb above the rear door. The glow reached only a few feet into the velveteen blackness.
In the late afternoon, a breeze had sprung up, and with the coming of the night, it had grown into a gusty wind. The air was turbulent and chilly; it hissed and moaned.
Joshua walked to his car, which lay beyond the meager semicircle of frosty light, and as he opened the door he had the peculiar feeling he was being watched. He glanced back at the house, but there were no faces at the windows.
Something moved in the gloom. Thirty feet away. Near the three-car garage. Joshua sensed rather than saw it. He squinted, but his vision was not what it had once been; he couldn't discern anything unnatural in the night.
Just the wind, he thought. Just the wind stirring through the trees and bushes or pushing along a discarded newspaper, a piece of dry brush.
But then it moved again. He saw it this time. It was crouched in front of a row of shrubs leading out from the garage. He could not see any detail. It was just a shadow, a lighter purple-black smudge on the blue-black cloth of the night, as soft and lumpy and undefined as all the other shadows--except that this one moved.
Just a dog, Joshua thought. A stray dog. Or maybe a kid up to some mischief.
'Is someone there?'
No reply.
He took a few steps away from his car.
The shadow-thing scurried back ten or twelve feet, along the line of shrubbery. It stopped in an especially deep pool of darkness, still crouching, still watchful.
Not a dog, Joshua thought. Too damned big for a dog. Some kid. Probably up to no good. Some kid with vandalism on his mind.
'Who's there?'
Silence.
'Come on now.'
No answer. Just the whispering wind.
Joshua started toward the shadow among shadows, but he was suddenly arrested by the instinctive knowledge that the thing was dangerous. Horrendously dangerous. Deadly. He experienced all of the involuntary animal reactions to such a threat: a shiver up his spine; his scalp seemed to crawl and then tighten; his heart began to pound; his mouth went dry; his hands curled into claws; and his hearing seemed more acute than it had been a minute ago. Joshua hunched over and drew up his bulky shoulders, unconsciously seeking a defensive posture.
'Who's there?' he repeated.
