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and turned his attention to the funeral.
    The arrival of Raymond’s widow was the signal for the ceremonies to begin; Connie kept her eyes on her hands in her lap and wouldn’t look at anybody. The first to speak was Oscar Ferguson.
    The Congressman from Massachusetts had an appearance that suited his role; he was tall, solidly built, and had a full head of beautiful gray hair— très distingué without making a joke of it. The only thing that had changed about Uncle Oscar in the past decade was that he’d grown a tad jowly. But even that was right, in a way; if he were too pretty in his late middle age, the voters might stop trusting him. But Oscar’s true gift was his indisputable ability as a speaker; he had a Richard-Burton-sober voice and he knew how to use it.
    â€œI’ve lost a nephew,” he started out, “but Raymond Decker was more than just one man’s nephew. He was a man who changed the world he found himself in, and he left it better than he found it.” That rich actory voice rolled on, extolling Raymond’s virtues as far-sighted businessman, philanthropist, lover of his country and devotee of the arts (devotee of the arts?) , sportsman, world traveler, concerned citizen, and lodge brother. “But more than anything else,” Oscar said, “Raymond Decker was a family man. He knew that the family is the basis on which this country is built, the bedrock on which all individual achievement rests.” That part sounded like a few political speeches I’d heard Uncle Oscar make. He went on, “Our family is less, now that Raymond is gone. But the bedrock remains. Raymond managed to strengthen even that. We will never see another man quite like Raymond Decker. I mourn his passing.”
    Then, to my surprise, he sat down; I’d expected a much longer peroration. But immediately Michelle Kurland was on her feet and speaking. I knew it was Michelle, because her clothes were different from those worn by the woman I’d ridden with to the cemetery.
    She was every bit as stunning-looking as her twin. They must be forty-four, forty-five by now; I hoped I looked that good in another seven or eight years. Hell, I’d settle for looking that good now . Michelle was saying about the same things Oscar Ferguson had said, but she was adding a few personal reminiscences of her brother. She articulated each word carefully, making sure she was understood.
    From where I was sitting I could barely see the side of Rob Kurland’s face as he listened attentively to what his wife was saying; his expression was unreadable. I had a good view of Tom Henry’s face, though, Annette’s husband; he looked miserable. Aunt Elinor sat next to Connie, leaning toward her protectively but saying nothing; I could see only the backs of their heads.
    On the other side of the grave stood a group of mourners, all strangers to me. Most of them kept their eyes on the casket poised over the open grave; all of them looked properly somber. Michelle finished speaking and Annette took her place at the head of the grave. Like the two speakers before her, Annette stressed Raymond’s belief in family as the single most important thing in human existence. They were all saying the same things, but they were pretty good at finding different ways to say them.
    Then Rob Kurland stood up to speak. “He was my brother-in-law, he was my business partner, he was my friend,” he began in a raspy voice. “I shall miss all three of them.” It was the first good look at Rob I’d had, and I was shocked by his appearance. He’d always been thin, but now he was almost cadaverous-looking. The bones in his face were too prominent; his skin was not a healthy color. I wanted to ask Joel sitting next to me if his father had been ill but decided I’d better wait.
    Perspiration had begun to bead on Joel’s forehead. The man sitting directly in front of me, one of the