About a minute later I heard a car engine. An old sedan came barreling through the trees. Branches snapped back and crunched beneath its wheels. When the car stopped next to the pickup, I saw a bouquet of twigs attached to its bumper and another one stuck in its windshield wipers.

Perhaps the cats knew from experience to stay clear of this driver.

A tall, broad-boned woman got out of the sedan. Aunt Iris, I realized. Her hair was dyed a harsh version of its original red, and her skin looked both paler and more freckled than I remembered. In some places it stretched over her large bones; in others, like the backs of her arms, it hung loose.

“Oh, stop it!” she snapped, before I could speak a word.

“I’ve heard enough already.”

She stalked toward the porch where I stood, but never looked at me. I assumed she was talking to the cats, since they had jumped down from the truck and were mewing.

Then her gaze became fixed on the right porch post.

“Hello, Aunt Iris.”

She turned her head sharply. For a moment she looked surprised to see me, then she made a face. “It’s about time!”

I glanced at my watch. “I told Uncle Will three o’clock.”

“Well, he didn’t tell me. He didn’t even mention you were coming back.”

“He didn’t?” Uh-oh. “Where is Uncle Will?”

“At the coroner’s — most of him, that is.”

“Excuse me?”

“They won’t return him. They said they have more tests to do. It’s not right, a man to be half ashes, half skin. He should be one or the other.”

I stared at her, a grisly image materializing in my head.

“Half ashes. . you mean he’s dead?”

She nodded and looked somewhat smug. “I see you didn’t know. That’s William for you — always forgetting to mention the important things.”

“When did he die?” I cried. “How did he die?”

She shot a look at the right porch post. “You’ll have to ask him yourself. He’s not speaking to me.”