that's who's paying for the funeral and all."
"Has anybody been to visit in the past few days?"
"No, dear, not even his cousin. If you know somebody's going to die, why, I guess you make an effort to see them one last time. But in this case, it was a completeâ"
"I have a . . ." H.J. shifted in the chair, twisting her hands together in lap. "Well, it's rather a sentimental request I guess." She lowered her eyes, studying her hands. "But may I, please, take one last look at Buggsy?"
Mrs. Farber's sigh was deeper than the last one. "Oh, Buggsy isn't here anymore either, hon," she said. "No, he's going to be buried with Mr. McAuliffe. That was the poor man's wish."
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D escending the front steps, H.J. briefly drooped. "Shit," she muttered, "I hate setbacks."
"I've noticed that."
"Damn." She paused on the cracked pathway to kick out angrily at the high grass. "Ow."
"What now?"
"I don't know. I stubbed my damn toe on something hiding in the weeds."
Bending, he parted the grass and weeds. "Appears to be what's left of a ceramic troll."
"Well, screw him." She resumed walking, arms stiff at her sides, hobbling a bit.
"We seem to have come to a dead end in our quest."
Just short of the dangling iron gate she halted abruptly, pivoting around to face Ben. "The hell we have," she told him evenly. "We're going to that funeral parlor Mrs. Farber mentionedâThe Teenie Weenie Chapel in the Swamp or whatever the heck they call themselves."
"The Wee Chapel in the Glen Funeral Home," he provided. "Listen, don't think I'm being non-supportive, but I draw the line at grave robbing."
"It's not grave robbing if the body is still above the ground. At the moment, Ben, McAuliffe is still lying in state."
"Even so, Helen Joanne, I think any kind of ghoulish activity is going to get us in deep trouble," he said. "Let's keep in mind, too, that we're on Long Island and not over in more liberal Connecticut. The penalties for bodysnatching are likely to be more severe over here."
"Dummy-snatching can't be all that serious." Giving him a thorough scowl, she pushed through the gateway. "And keep in mind that . . . Oh, good afternoon. How are you?" She halted on the sidewalk, smiling.
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A tall gaunt man in a venerable black suit was approaching the home. "Ah, my day is made," he informed her, bowing deeply. "Always a pleasure to encounter you, Miss Mavity."
"Same here, Marvelo."
"Here's but a small token of my esteem." From out his left sleeve popped a large bouquet of flowers.
They were cloth blooms, faded and frayed. Accepting them with a smile, H.J. pressed them to her breasts. "Thank you."
"And for your companion." A large peppermint stick appeared in Marvelo's right hand.
"Thanks, but I'm trying to quit."
The magician waved and the candy was gone. "I'm the Great Marvelo, sirâand you?"
"Ben Spanner."
"Ah, Miss Mavity's erstwhile husband. She's mentioned you on her previous visits to our little seaside hideaway. I've enjoyed your voice work on several commercials, in spite of some nitwit copy."
"Thanks. I remember seeing you on television when I was a kid."
"That indeed dates me." Marvelo took H.J.'s hand. "I was saddened to hear of Rick Dell's death, my dear, which I just read of in our local library's copy of this morning's newspaper." He tilted his head in Ben's direction. "I presume it's permitted to discuss a departed rival in front of you."
"I'm not in the running in that contest anyway."
H.J. said, "I understand Rick visited Mr. McAuliffe here by himself a couple of weeks ago. At least Mrs. Farber thinks so."
"McAuliffe is gone, too. I'd hate to think, considering my advanced years, that these things actually do go in threes."
"Did he, though, Marvelo?"
"He did, my dear, to be sure. Yes, Rick, looking very furtive and secretiveâalthough, now that I think of it, he always looked that way. Something to do with his eyes being a mite too close together. Yes, he called on McAuliffe about two weeks