ogan Manning's funeral service was a media event, attended by five hundred business, political, and community leaders as well as prominent members of the arts and entertainment world. Two hundred of the mourners joined the funeral procession to the cemetery afterward and stood in the cold and mist to bid a final farewell to the slain socialite and to pay their respects to his famous widow.

Notably absent from those services was Michael Valente, and though the media was quick to remark on that in their news coverage that evening, they had focused all their attention on familiar faces and recognizable names among those present. The photographers who lined up at the chapel and followed the funeral procession to the cemetery did not waste any film on an elegantly attired, gray-haired woman in her early seventies who was last in line to speak to the widow at the graveside.

No one paid any attention when the woman took Leigh's hands in hers, and only Leigh heard what she said: "My nephew felt his presence here today would only distract from the solemn occasion. I have come instead to represent our family."

Although she looked like several of Logan's elderly, well-to-do relatives, her eyes were more compassionate, and her voice held the soft lilt of Italian that instantly reminded Leigh of the warm welcomes she had always received at Angelini's Market years before.

"Mrs. Angelini?" Leigh said, squeezing her gloved hands. "It's so kind of you to come!" Leigh thought she had wept herself dry of all tears, but the kindness in the woman's eyes, her thoughtfulness for standing out in the freezing cold, pushed Leigh to the brink of tears all over again. "It's much too cold and damp for you out here."

No other elderly people who had attended the funeral service had braved the elements at the cemetery. They'd either gone home afterward or gone to Leigh's apartment, where caterers were serving food. Leigh invited Mrs. Angelini to go there, but she refused. "May I drop you somewhere?" Leigh asked her as they walked past the sea of headstones toward the line of automobiles parked in the street.

"I have a car." Mrs. Angelini nodded toward a uniformed chauffeur who was holding open the rear door of a black Bentley. Leigh recognized the chauffeur at once.

"Please tell Michael I'll call him soon," Leigh added as Mrs. Angelini slid into the backseat.

"I will tell him." She hesitated as if weighing her words very carefully. "Leigh, if you need anything, you must tell him. He will not fail you as others have."