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so that, in the unlikely event they didn’t speak to Huff personally, he would at least know they had paid homage.
    The fewest in number were the people who were actually there for Danny, standouts because of their expressions of genuine grief. For the most part, they stayed clustered together, talking sadly among themselves, but having little to say to him, Chris, or Huff, out of either indifference or intimidation. As soon as they had stayed for a polite length of time, they left.
    Beck mingled, accepting condolences like a bona fide member of the family.
    Sayre mingled, too, but only with guests. Him, Chris, and Huff she avoided, ignoring them as though they weren’t there. People kept their distance from her unless she approached them, he noticed. These were simple, small-town folk. Sayre was anything but. She made herself accessible, but many seemed shy of her sophistication.
    He succeeded in making eye contact with her only once. Her arm was linked with Selma’s as they made their way along the central hallway. Sayre was consoling the housekeeper, who was sobbing onto her shoulder. She spotted him watching them but looked straight through him.
    Two hours elapsed before the crowd began to thin out. He joined Chris, who was grazing at the buffet. “Where’s Huff?”
    “Having a smoke in the den. Ham’s good. Have you eaten?”
    “I will later. Is Huff all right?”
    “Tired, I think. The last couple of days have been a strain.”
    “How about you?”
    Chris shrugged. “Danny and I had our differences, you know. But he was still my brother.”
    “I’ll go check on Huff and leave you to play host.”
    “Thanks for nothing,” Chris muttered.
    “It can’t be that bad. I see Lila Robson over there.” Chris had boasted of his latest conquest, confirming what Beck had always suspected—that Lila’s husband was a schmuck. “She looks a little forlorn, like she could use some company.”
    “No, she’s sulking.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “She thinks I’m using her just for sex.”
    “Now why would she think that?” Beck asked sarcastically.
    “Beats me. She started whining about it right after she gave me a blow job in the upstairs bathroom.” Chris checked his wristwatch. “About ten minutes ago.”
    Beck looked at him. “You’re not serious.”
    Chris’s shrug neither denied nor confirmed. “Go check on Huff. I’ll try to keep these yahoos from walking out with the family sterling.”
    Beck found Huff in his recliner, smoking. He closed the door behind himself. “Mind if I sit with you for a while?”
    “Who sent you, Chris or Selma? I know it wasn’t Sayre. She wouldn’t waste any worry on me.”
    “I can’t speak for her.” Beck sat down on the sofa. “But I’m worried about you.”
    “I’m fine.” He blew a gust of smoke toward the ceiling.
    “You’re putting up a brave front, but you just lost your son and that’s gotta be tough.”
    The older man smoked in silence for several moments, then said, “You know, I think Danny would have been Laurel’s favorite.”
    Beck leaned forward and propped his forearms on his knees. “Because…?”
    “Because he was like her.” He shot Beck a glance. “I ever tell you about Laurel?”
    “I’ve picked up things here and there.”
    “She was exactly what I wanted, Beck. Not particularly bright. But hell, who wants that? Laurel was soft and sweet and pretty.”
    Beck nodded. The oil portrait that dominated the staircase landing depicted a woman who was soft, sweet, and pretty. But he couldn’t help but think that part of Laurel Lynch’s attraction had been the metal pipe casting factory that her daddy had owned and where Huff had been an employee.
    “I was rough and uncouth, foul talking. She was a refined lady. Knew which fork to use.”
    “So how did you talk her into marrying you?”
    “I bowled her over,” he said, chuckling at the memory. “I said, ‘Laurel, you’re going to be my wife,’ and she said all right. She’d