Dead Mans Hand

The words were right, but Jay had heard Waldo sound a lot sorrier. Something was upsetting the senior Cosgrove. "What's going on?" he asked. "Why was Lupo so pissed off?"

Waldo Cosgrove tsked. "It's not our fault. Mr. Jory was quite insistent, and after all, he was her father, but some people are taking it the wrong way. I don't know what they expect us to do. I assure you, we've spared no expense."

"I'm sure Mr. Jory will realize that, too, once he gets your bill," Jay said. "Have I gotten any phone calls?"

"Phone calls? For you? Here?"

"I've been trying to reach Hiram Worchester down in Atlanta," Jay explained. "I've been leaving messages with his hotel. If he calls, let me know"

"Oh, certainly," Waldo Cosgrove said. Another group of mourners was leaving. Jay recognized a hostess from the Crystal Palace. She didn't look too happy either. He decided to see what was going on.

The West Parlor was a long, somber, high-ceilinged room full of flowers. So many floral arrangements had been sent that some of them had been crowded out into the hall. A sign-in book had been placed by the door. Yin-Yang stood beside it, expressing condolences to a big, robust man in his sixties who could only be Chrysalis's father. Jory wore a white shirt and a black suit, and there was something about him that made you think, yes, this was definitely a black-andwhite kind of man. Right now he looked uncomfortable. Maybe it was the suit. Maybe it was the occasion. Maybe it was Yin-Yang, both of whose heads were talking at once, as usual.

When the joker finally shuffled into the parlor, Jay stepped up and offered a hand. "Mr. Jory, I'm deeply sorry about your daughter," he said. "She was an extraordinary woman. "

"Yes," Jory replied. He had a firm handshake and a distinct twang in his voice that was utterly at odds with his daughter's carefully cultivated British accent. "Debra-Jo was a fine girl. Did you know her well, Mister…?"

Jay ignored the question. Jory would undoubtedly recognize the name, and they'd get into the whole thing about how he found the body, a can of worms Jay didn't especially care to open. "Not well enough to know her real name, I'm afraid."

"Debra-Jo," Jory said. "She was named after my great grandmother. Real pioneer stock, she was, a genuine sooner."

"You from Oklahoma?"

Jory nodded. "Tulsa. New York's not much to my taste."

"Chrysalis loved the city," Jay said quietly. "I knew her well enough to know that much. It was her home."

"Her home was Tulsa," Jory said stiffly, "and no offense, sir, but I'd thank you not to call her by that name." He turned at the sound of footsteps, and Jay saw the revulsion in his eyes as they beheld Jube Benson waddling through the door, a stack of newspapers under one arm. Then his ma

Jay went inside the parlor.

There were enough folding chairs to accommodate a hundred people. A third were occupied, while another dozen mourners milled around, talking in soft whispers in the corners of the room. Eight out of every ten faces belonged to jokers. Yin-Yang knelt beside Mushface Mona at the casket. The Floater bobbed against the ceiling, talking quietly with Troll, whose huge green hands brushed lightly against the chandelier when he gestured, making the crystals ring like wind chimes. Hot Momma Miller wept copiously, her hands smoking as she clutched a lace handkerchief, her small face wrinkled as a prune. Beside her, Father Squid murmured consolations. Another plainclothes cop, out of place as a grape in a box of raisins, sat by an ashtray, smoking a cigarette.

The Oddity was seated in the last row.

Jay thought that was real interesting. He stared, glimpsed motion beneath the black cloth. It looked like some animal under there squirming to get out, but it was only the joker's body reshaping itself, a metamorphosis that never ended. The hooded face turned, until Jay looked straight into the steel-mesh fencing mask. He could feel eyes looking back from beneath the mesh.

Jay crossed the room to where Chrysalis had been laid out. Yin-Yang was just getting up. Jay stopped in shock. The casket was open.

That cant be, he thought wildly.

Then he saw Cosmo seated in a folding chair, back in the shadows of the alcove where the casket had been placed, so still and quiet that he was almost invisible in the riot of funeral wreaths, and suddenly Jay understood.

Three Cosgrove brothers had inherited the family mortuary. Waldo, who was very sorry, was the front man. Titus, who was never seen, was the embalmer. Cosmo, the youngest, was the family joker. He was a frail, thin man in his fifties, bald as his brother, but patches of grayish fungus grew all over his skin and clothing and anything he touched, and even a daily scraping couldn't quite keep the growth in check. But Cosmo had a power, too, a little deuce that made Cosgrove's the preeminent mortuary in Jokertown. He made the dead look good. He made them look better than they had in life. Jay stepped up to the casket and looked down at her.

Sleeping beauty, he thought, and knew why Lupo and the others had been so upset.

She wore a simple dark dress, demure but stylish, an antique cameo fastened at her throat. Her hands were folded just under her breasts, clasping a Bible. She was lovely. Long blond hair spread out across a satin pillow, eyes closed peacefully in sleep, a hint of blush on her smooth pink cheeks. Chrysalis had been on the downhill side of thirtyfive, Jay knew; she looked ten years younger now. Her skin looked as soft as the lining of the casket, so alive that you wanted to touch it, to caress it with your fingertips, to feel the warmth you knew was there.

But you didn't want to do that. Cosmo could fool the eye, but not the hand. Reach down into the casket, try to stroke that blushing cheek, and God knows what your fingers would find. Not even the Cosgroves could make a head out of chunks of bone and brain.

"A sad day," Father Squid said as he stepped up beside Jay. The pastor of Our Lady of Perpetual Misery made a liquid squishing sound when he walked. "Jokertown will be a different place without her. A darker place, I fear. Do you realize it was a year ago that Xavier Desmond passed away?"

"Almost to the day," Jay agreed. "But when Des was in here, the line of mourners went clear around the block."

"Chrysalis was well respected in the community," Father Squid said. "Even feared. Des was loved. He wore his heart on his sleeve. She guarded hers jealously." He put a hand on Jay's shoulder. "The talk is, you hunt her killer."

"Might as well," Jay said, "can't dance. Tell me, Father, how much do you know about our pal the Oddity over there?"

"Three tortured souls in search of salvation," the priest replied. "Surely you do not think-"

"I don't know what to think," Jay said. Waldo Cosgrove was standing in the door and gesturing at him. "Excuse me, Father, I have to take a phone call."

Waldo let Jay use his office in the back of the mortuary. It was dark, quiet, private. He waited until Waldo had closed the door before he picked up the receiver. "Hello, Hiram?"

The other end of the line was very noisy, but Hiram Worchester was a big man with a big voice. "Popinjay? The hotel said you'd called six times. Might I ask what could possibly be so urgent?"

"Hiram, we got big trouble. Where are you? It sounds like you're having a party."

"I'm phoning from Senator Hartma

"Don't give me a hard time," Jay said. "I'm dressed real nice, how much more do you want? Listen, I'm poking around trying to find out who killed Chrysalis-"