“Perhaps he will,” said Edgar.
“I’m not holding my breath,” said Lydia.
Dinah was beginning to think she’d never get out of this room. The Popes must be counting the minutes until 9 PM, with enough well-wishers still lined up to give the whole family carpal tunnel syndrome. She hadn’t followed the media coverage, but it looked like every tourist from Sandwich to Orleans had picked Alistair Pope’s wake as the hot event for Saturday, June 10. Jesus, you’d think they were offering free booze.
And here came Chill Wills.
Dinah didn’t know Chill as well as Helen—he’d never been much of a socializer, which might account for his nickname. Still, in a big crowd, you look for familiar faces. He spotted her right off and hurried over. Cold hands, she thought as they shook; maybe that’s it. Flexin
