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stupid thing to do.
    I ’ ve relived what I imagine were the last few minutes of his life over and over and over again, and I was trying not to go there right now.
    I gave myself a few minutes, then splashed cold water on my face and rejoined the group.
    Bill Lampi, dwarfed by the flower arrangements, stood alone at the foot of the casket, so I hurried over.
    He was a small man, about five foot five, wasted-away thin like he had chronic wasting disease. A pair of oversized coke-bottle glasses magnified his eyes so they appeared owlish, three times larger than they really were. He wasn ’ t big and strapping like most Finns.
    I offered my sympathies to him, and he broke down. He didn ’ t take his glasses off, just wiped the tears away as they slid through the frames. His father obviously meant a lot to him.
     
    I put a hand on his bony shoulder and said, “ I ’ m going to do everything I can to catch the maniac who did this and bring him to justice. ”
    Bill Lampi continued to cry until his brain processed my comment, then he stiffened and abruptly quit crying. “ What do you mean? ”
    “ I mean whoever killed your father is going to be sorry. I ’ m after him. ”
    “ There was no suggestion of foul play. No one told me Pa was murdered. ” His voice was shrilling up, hitting high notes. “ Was Pa murdered? ”
    A tall blonde with legs that ended pretty near up to my neck appeared from nowhere and wrapped her arms around Bill. His face slid into her cleavage, which was monumental. All I could think was, wait till Cora Mae gets a load of this. Cat fight for sure.
    She turned to me. “ I ’ m Bill ’ s wife, and I want to know what you think you ’ re doing? ” In spite of a soft southern lilt, she managed to give the words a frosty northern edge.
    Friendly would not be the word that came to mind if I had to describe her. “ Just offering my condolences to the family, ” I said.
    “ Oh, Barb, ” Bill ’ s voice was muffled down in the valley. He raised his head and bellowed, “ She says Pa was murdered. ”
     
    The room went dead quiet, starting with the Elma and Waino Latvala corner of the room because that group had been eavesdropping on me all night. It spread like a wave. Waino stuck one finger in his ear and with a turning motion adjusted the volume on his hearing aid.
    “ Your pa wasn ’ t murdered, sweetheart, ” she said, warning me with eyes as cold as icicles. “ Just an old lady, probably senile, trying to make trouble where there isn ’ t any. Don ’ t you pay any attention. ”
    I studied Barb. She was a beaut y for around here, if you like obvious dye jobs and makeup plastered on with a trowel. Apparently most of the men in the room did, because I began noticing the entire room was craning one giant neck in our direction, and the men weren ’ t looking at me.
    Blaze pushed through the crowded room, scowling as usual, the smell of his cheap cologne swirling around him.
    “ Figures you ’ re involved, ” he said. He took my elbow and moved me away.
    Looking back, I saw Barb watching me. If looks could kill, I ’ d be six feet under. Then the voices started up again, louder than before, filling the room with speculation and anticipation. This was bigger than any of them could have ever hoped for. The phone
     
    lines would be burning up tomorrow.
    Ed Lacken came by before Blaze could chew me out and asked us to take our seats for the service. I wanted to sit up front because I had a speech to make, but Blaze had a grip on me that I couldn ’ t shake. “ The front ’ s for family, ” he said. “ You sit here. ” He pointed to an empty seat next to Little Donny. Sitting behind me, Cora Mae swiveled her body in Onni ’ s direction. Kitty took up two seats, her legs spread wide.
    Ed Lacken started out by saying what a fine man Chester had been and what a loss to the community. Then he asked if anyone wanted to say a piece. Floyd rose from his seat with his bible and headed