Free Prayers for the Dead by Faye Kellerman

tea.” He turned to Decker. “Would you like some tea, Lieutenant?”
    Decker shook his head.
    Maggie stood. “I’ll brew a pot, Michael.”
    “Sure?”
    “Sure.”
    Bram kissed his sister’s cheek. “Thanks, Mag. Did you take your medication?”
    “Yes.” The young woman’s face crumpled. She ran off, disappearing down a hallway.
    Paul blinked rapidly. “Can I talk now or do I have to raise my hand?”
    Bram gave him a tired glance. “Why don’t we all sit down.”
    “I don’t feel like sitting,” Paul said.
    “Fine, Paul.
You
stand.
I’ll
sit.” Bram went into the living room and sank into the floral-faded overstuffed couch. Paul continued to pace, Eva remained leaning against the gold flocked-papered wall of the entry hall, staring upward at the dusty chandelier. Some of the brass fittings had been corroded rusty red.
    Decker surveyed the room once again. The worn sofa took up most of the space. It was a three-piece sectional and faced two lumpy overstuffed chairs. A distressed-wood coffee table stood amid the seating. It held a half-dozen garden magazines and the King James Bible. In the far corner was a black grand piano, the sound box lid shut tight. Again, Decker was struck by the absence of any art on the walls. Just montage after montage of family photographs. He sat in one of the chairs.
    Bram asked, “How’s Mom doing?”
    “She’s sleeping.” Michael tugged at his sweater. “I gave her tea to keep her fluids up. She drank a little. Main thing is to keep her quiet—”
    “I believe you used the word
medicated
,” Luke said.
    “If absolutely necessary,” Michael answered.
    Bram asked, “Did you give her something else?”
    “Nothing since we last spoke.”
    “Good,” Bram said. “One should last her through the night.”
    “Which is good.” Paul paced the carpet, his lids twitching as he talked. “Because the news is on TV. Shots of the car. I don’t think she could stand it.”
    “Phone’s been ringing nonstop,” Michael said. “I’ve unplugged it here, but you can hear it from the kitchen.”
    “Machine on?” Bram asked.
    “Yeah, but it’s running out of tape pretty quickly,” Michael said.
    Bram said, “Why don’t you do this? Make another announcement tape. Uh… something like… ‘Sparks family wishes to thank all of you for your concerns and sympathies. If you wish to pay your personal respects to Dr. Azor Moses Sparks, there will be a preburial, memorial service for him at… ’” He looked around the room. “What time, guys?”
    Paul said, “
You’re
doing the service?”
    “Don’t worry, it won’t be Catholic,” Bram said. “Or you can do it, if you want.”
    Paul didn’t answer, continued to pace, eyes moving like shutters.
    Bram said, “What time?”
    “Two?” Luke asked.
    Michael said, “What about Uncle Caleb? He’s going to want to be here.”
    “You’re right,” Bram said. “I’ll call him. How about three? That should give him enough time to get out here.”
    Nods all around.
    Bram turned back to Michael. “‘A memorial service at three P.M. , First Church of the Christ Child. In lieu of flowers, the family requests that donations be made in Dr. Sparks’s name to local charities.’ Sound okay?”
    The room fell silent.
    Bram spoke to Michael: “Go make the message, Mike, then call Dad’s service and let them know the plan.”
    “I should get this cleared with Pastor Collins,” Michael said.
    “Fine. Call him up. I’m sure you won’t have any problems.”
    Without protest, Michael left the room.
    Bram looked at Decker. “My father was a very prominent man. I’m sure he’ll get a big crowd. Any way the police can help us direct traffic so we can make this thing as orderly as possible?”
    “I’ll take care of it,” Decker said.
    “Thank you,” Bram said. “Who wants to pick up Uncle Caleb from the airport?”
    “I’ll do it,” Paul said. “Just get me the information.”
    Again, nobody spoke.
    “How’d