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had the body taken over to the morgue at the General. Your mother's personal physician, Dr. Friedman, has an office there. As we didn't know exactly when you'd be arriving or what the arrangements would be, that seemed best for all concerned. I did have Mrs.
    Shaw call to let you know, but you must have already left.”

    The flow of information carried no emotional baggage at all. Vicki found herself drawing strength from the force of personality that supported it. "If I could use one of your phones to call Dr. Friedman?”

    "Certainly." Dr. Burke nodded toward the desk. "She's already been informed and is waiting for your call. Now, if you'll excuse me." She paused at the door. "Oh, Ms. Nelson? Do let us know when the service is to be held. We'd . . ." Her gesture included Mrs.
    Shaw. ". . . like to attend.”

    "Service?”

    "It is customary under these circumstances to hold a funeral.”

    Vicki barely noticed the sarcasm, only really heard the last word. Funeral . . .

    "Well, she doesn't look asleep." There was no mistaking the waxy, gray pallor, the complete lack of self that only death brings.
    Vicki had recognized it the first time she'd seen it in a police cadet forensic lab and she recognized it now. The dead were not alive. It sounded like a facetious explanation but, as she stared down at the body her mother had worn, she couldn't think of a better one.

    Dr. Friedman looked mildly disapproving as she drew the sheet back up over Marjory Nelson's face, but she held her tongue. She could feel the restraints that Vicki had placed around herself but didn't know the younger woman well enough to get past them.
    "There'll be no need for an autopsy," she said, indicating that the morgue attendant should take the body away. "Your mother has been having heart irregularities for some time and Dr. Burke was practically standing right beside her when it happened. She said it had all the earmarks of a massive coronary.”

    "A heart attack?" Vicki watched as the door swung shut behind the pallet and refused to shiver in the cold draft that escaped from the morgue. "She was only fifty-six.”

    The doctor shook her head sadly. "It happens.”

    "She never told me.”

    "Perhaps she didn't want to worry you.”

    Perhaps I wasn't listening. The small viewing room had suddenly become confining. Vicki headed for the exit.

    Dr. Friedman, caught unaware, hurried to catch up. "The coroner is satisfied, but if you're not . . .”

    "No autopsy." She'd been to too many to put her mother, what was left of her mother, through that.

    "Your mother had a prepaid funeral arranged with Hutchinson's Funeral Parlour, up on Johnson Street, just by Portsmouth Avenue. It would be best if you speak to them as soon as possible. Do you have someone to go with you?”

    Vicki's brows drew down. "I don't need anyone to go with me," she snarled.

    "According to your mother's arrangement, Ms. Nelson, Vicki . . . Ms. Nelson" the funeral director blanched slightly as his client's expression returned him to last names but managed to continue smoothly, "she wanted to be buried as soon as possible, with no viewing.”

    "Fine.”

    "As she also wanted to be embalmed . . . perhaps the day after tomorrow? That would give you time for a notice in the local paper.”

    "Is the day after tomorrow as soon as possible, then?”

    The younger Mr. Hutchinson swallowed. He found it difficult to remain completely calm under such hard-edged examination.
    "Well, no, we could have everything ready by tomorrow afternoon . . .”

    "Do so, then.”

    It wasn't a tone that could be argued with. It wasn't even a tone that left much room for discussion. "Is two o'clock suitable?”

    "Yes.”

    "About the casket . . .”

    "Mr. Hutchinson, I understood that my mother prearranged everything .“

    "Yes, she did . . .”

    "Then," Vicki stood, slung her bag over her shoulder, "we will do exactly as my mother wanted.”

    "Ms. Nelson." He stood as well, and pitched his voice as