I felt like a bit of a stalker hanging out by a big tree and trying not to be noticed while the black clothed family of Pete Wilkins put his remains in the ground. Now that I knew how much his son and wife hated him though the lack of tears didn't seem so out of place.

Nor did the idea Aundrea might have murdered her husband.

I had no idea how much time I had left. The state troopers could be here any second now, though they hadn't, obviously, protested the funeral. It ...