Mourning Glory by Warren Adler Page B

wondered if it had been her
imagination or merely a response to her own intense staring. But she could not
deny the thrill that had gone through her.
    "One thing we'll get at Sam's house is a good
feed," Mike said when they were back in the car. The procession was looser
now and no longer had the luxury of being able to pass through lighted
intersections in a single group.
    "I'm starving," Sally said.
    "I could use a drink," Bob said.
    "Likewise," Clara said. "These events tend
to make one thirsty." She turned to Grace. "What about you,
Grace?"
    "Maybe a drink would do me good," she said,
surprised at her candor. To approach Sam Goodwin she would need a drink, maybe
more than one. What troubled her now was that she might not be able to muster
the courage to open a dialogue with the grieving man. She felt this moment of
opportunity swiftly approaching and all it did was inspire fear. She could not
think of a single opening line.
    "You suppose he'll keep the house?" Sally asked.
    "No way of knowing," Mike said. "He
certainly doesn't need it. One person thrashing around in all that space."
    "He won't be one person for long," Clara said.
    Grace felt suddenly in touch with her own inadequacy. It
was panicking her.
    "It'll be tough trying to determine the real thing.
He'll wonder if they're after him for his money or his character," Sally
said.
    "Character shmarachter," Mike said. "Bottom
line: his shekels are the big lure."
    "Were the two people beside him, his children?"
Grace asked, suddenly feeling the need to glean more and more information about
Sam and his life.
    "The son is a fancy lawyer in San Francisco, a real
tightass. The daughter lives in New York with some weirdo. Sam has been very
good to his kids."
    "Lucky bastards," Clara said.
    "Chose the right pop," Mike chuckled.
    "Jewish daddies are very good to their kids,"
Sally said.
    "Guess you have to be circumcised to be a good
daddy," Mike said.
    "I don't think you should personalize this,"
Sally said, barely repressing a giggle.
    "Very funny," Mike snickered. "But the fact
is, Jews think their shit don't stink."
    "Come on, Mike, cool it," Sally said. "We're
going to Sam's wife's funeral, for crying out loud."
    "It's all propaganda. They create it, then everybody's
got to think it," Mike said. "Isn't that right?" He looked
sharply in Grace's direction.
    "I don't think I'm qualified to be a judge of
that," Grace said, stumbling over her words, surprised at his outburst.
    "I'm not anti-Semitic," Mike said. "It's
just sometimes they act so fucking superior. Good husbands. Good daddies. Hell,
why not? They got all the goddamned money in the world."
    "He gets that way when he's hungry," Sally said,
embarrassed for him. Clara and Bob exchanged glances.
    "They treat me okay. That's all I care about,"
Bob muttered.
    "I need a drink," Clara said.
    They had to park a good distance from the Goodwin
residence. It looked like the entire funeral group had arrived.
    The house was large but deceptively cozy. It was as if one
entered a colonial home in Virginia. Walls were rich, dark, polished panels,
floors were heavy oak. American antiques were everywhere, accentuated by oil
paintings depicting early Americana, except for those painted of the deceased
Anne in various stages of her life.
    Grace counted three oil paintings, one in the den showing
Anne Goodwin as a young woman beside a horse, a smaller one in the dining room
showing Anne Goodwin as a younger woman, pensive and serene against a woodsy
background and one large vertical in the living room above the fireplace
depicting the departed Anne as a middle-aged woman of means, her demeanor regal
and elegant, dressed in a gorgeous blue gown, wearing a magnificent diamond necklace.
Grace was stunned by the beauty of the woman, even allowing for the painting's
embellishment.
    Crowds clustered around the dining-room table, groaning
with food. A bartender dispensed drinks behind a dark-paneled bar. It seemed,
like the others she had