\"He was a great man， Mrs. Dunning，\" Jonathan said
as he took his turn shaking hands with the slender
woman dressed in a sedate black suit. Her hand was
gloved in soft white kid. It was slender， too. Jonathan
could sense its delicate structure beneath the leather.
She met his gaze with brown eyes--not the dark，
almost black color of his own eyes but a warmer
brown， like the eyes of the deer who used to raid his
grandparents garden back home in Clearwater.
Her look， however， was neither warm nor cool at
that moment. In fact， the look in her eyes was re-
mote， as though only part of her were receiving her
husband s mourners and the rest of her had walled it-
self off from them. She was standing beside the im-
pressive bronze casket， which would soon be lowered
into the ground of the roiling hillside cemetery on the
outskirts of San Diego. Even now， keeping a discreet
distance from the proceedings， two overall-clad
workmen hunkered down under a magnificent tower-
ing oak， waiting until the mourners finished giving fi-
nal honors to the body of Justin Dunning， after which
they could refill the hole they had dug in the earth.
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