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the grandest urns that Windsor House Antiques had to keep him in until she can take him — wherever it is you take urns with people in them. I think he’s over there —” She inclined her head toward the open doors to a museum-like living room. A giant urn stood on the stone mantelpiece.
    “Oh, Phoebe,” Leah said, holding back a smile.
    “There’s Reverend Gottrey now,” Po said, nodding toward the hallway.
    The white-haired minister and his wife walked through the entryway, shaking every hand and thanking each person for coming. Po could hear him praising Owen Hill’s grand contributions to God’s work.
    Leah frowned. “It doesn’t seem to matter to the Reverend that Owen spent Sunday mornings on the golf course instead of at services.”
    “Mary came, though,” Po said. “Religiously.”
    “And Professor Hill’s money came, too,” Phoebe said.
    “And now there’s this new memorial?” Maggie said. “Not bad.”
    “If he had to die, it’s not a bad thing that someone benefits from it,” Leah said resolutely. “I’m just sad, I guess. I liked Owen Hill so much, and it seems too soon to be talking about building memorials and coming up with ways to benefit from his death.”
    Po nodded. “Things seem more sinister when you’re missing someone,” she said.
    “Or when that someone you’re missing was murdered,” Leah said sadly.
    “I say we try to find Mary, shall we?” Kate made a move toward the French patio doors.
    The group followed her out to the wide stone patio that wrapped around the back of Mary Hill’s home. In the distance was a large swimming pool, covered for the season with a thick canvas tarp. Small pools of water weighed the canvas down here and there, and leaves stripped from the huge elms and maples along the side yard floated on the muddy, grim surface.
    A maid stood at the door with a tray holding silver cups of spiced apple cider. Other staff moved about the quiet crowd, carrying trays of stuffed mushrooms and carpaccio on tiny toast points, mini cheese quiches, martinis and Manhattans. A small wine bar was set up near a fan of wide steps that led down to the swimming pool. “This is definitely like the most elegant funeral I’ve ever been too,” Phoebe whispered. “It’s more like a garden party.” She looked around, then pointed toward the far end of the patio. “There’s Mary Hill — ”
    Mary stood like a painting, flanked on either side by an ornate, potted fern. She was nearly still — a fragile, beautiful statue — greeting each guest with a slight, careful smile and a gentle lift of her brows, as if to apologize for bringing them to such a sad event. Her slate-black hair was wound tightly into a braided knot at the nape of her neck and her elegant silk suit fit her slender form perfectly.
    She looked regal, Kate thought. And so familiar, standing there in her beautiful black suit. Then her eyes lit up with a memory pulled from her past. “Halloween,” she said.
    “Yes!” Maggie said. “I remember!”
    “This was the ‘don’t miss’ house,” Kate explained to the others.
    “I’d almost forgotten that,” Po said. “You came back with marvelous things, not the small Hershey kisses and candied apples your mother and I handed out.”
    Kate laughed. “You and mom were definitely out of Mary’s league, Po. The Hills gave us hand-dipped chocolates, Royals pennants, those wild troll dolls with the neon hair — very cool things,” Kate said. “And remember, Mags, how Mary Hill used to dress up like a beautiful witch, dressed completely in black?”
    “We thought she was the most amazing creature we had ever seen.”
    “She’s definitely beautiful,” Leah said. “It’s funny, though — as many times as I’ve been in her company at university functions, I don’t feel I know Mary at all. Owen seemed to do all the talking. She was an elegant appendage.”
    “I think that’s because the university was Owen’s turf,” Po said. “But at