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is less cynical about Mr. Wilson than we are. They think there’s enough of a chance of him showing up to send a guy with a telephoto lens.
    Walco’s brother and his pals trash his camera pretty bad, and it would have been a lot worse if the police weren’t there.
    That scene, I come to think later on, that violent altercation, was what some people might call an omen.

Chapter 17
    Kate
    IT JUST KEPT getting worse and worse the day of the funerals.
    I don’t belong here anymore,
I think to myself, and I want to run out of the Walcos’ house, but I’m not brave enough.
    The line of neighbors waiting to offer their condolences to Mary and Richard Walco starts in the dining room in front of the breakfront, snakes along three living room walls, then runs past the front door and most of the way down the bedroom hallway. Clutching Mary Catherine’s tiny hand for dear life, I thread my way through the heavy-hearted gathering as if the carpet were strewn with mines and make my way to the end of the line.
    All morning I’ve clung to my niece like a life preserver.
    But MC, who thank goodness knows nothing of human misery, has no intention of staying put and breaks out of my grip and zigzags blithely around the room. She finally gloms on to her mom.
    When MC scampers off, all the gloom of this dreadful day floods into the space she’s left behind.
    I steady myself against one yellow-wallpapered wall and wait my turn, trying to will myself into invisibility. It’s not a skill I’ve mastered over the years. Then there’s an alarming tap on my shoulder.
    I turn. It’s Tom.
    And as soon as I see him, I realize he is the land mine I was hoping Mary Catherine would protect me from.
    Before I can say a word, he moves in for a tentative hug that I don’t reciprocate. “It’s awful, Kate,” he mumbles. He looks awful too, as if he hasn’t slept in about ten days.
    “Terrible” is what I manage to say. No more than that. Tom doesn’t deserve more. Ten years ago he broke my heart, blew it apart, and didn’t even seem to care that much. I’d heard the rumor that he was running around on me and partying hard. I hadn’t believed the rumor. But in the end I sure did.
    “It’s still good to see you, Kate.”
    “Spare me, Tom.”
    I see the hurt in his face and now I feel bad. Mary, mother of God! What is it with me? After five years together, he breaks up with me ON THE PHONE, and now I feel bad.
    The whole thing has me so contorted, I want to run out into the street and scream like a crazy person.
    But of course I don’t. Not good girl Kate Costello. I stand there with a dim-witted little smile plastered on my face, as if we have been enjoying innocuous pleasantries, and finally, he turns away.
    Then I take a deep breath, give myself a stern talking-to about the need to get over myself, and wait my turn to offer some consoling words to the thousand-times-more-wretched Mary Walco.
    One strange and disturbing thing: I hear virtually the same line half a dozen times while I’m standing there waiting to see Mary—
Somebody’s got to get those bastards for this.

Chapter 18
    Kate
    I OFFER WALCO’S mom the little that I can, and then I cast about the room for a red-haired toddler in a black velvet dress.
    I see MC in the corner, still with her mom, and then spot my precious pal Macklin Mullen and his handsome grandson Jack over by the makeshift bar. Jack, a lawyer like myself, wanders off as I approach. Okay, fine. I was going to congratulate him on getting married, but whatever.
    Mack is sipping a whiskey and leaning heavily on a gnarled black-thorn shillelagh, but when we throw ourselves into each other’s arms, his embrace is as warm and vigorous as ever.
    “I was fervently hoping that would never end, Katie,” he says when we finally release each other.
    “For God’s sake, Macklin, cheer me up.”
    “I was about to ask you to do the same thing, darling girl. Three boys dead—tragic, pointless, and mystifying.