Standing among the grave markers that lay flush with the earth was the occasional palmetto. But there wasn’t a woods, or even a leafy tree, in sight. And since the drought-inspired water restrictions had required southern Californians to shower together, flush only when necessary, and water the lawns not at all, Greenwoods Cemetery wasn’t looking particularly green, either. Long ago, Savannah had decided that when she kicked the bucket, she wanted to be carted back to Georgia, where she could lie beneath the weeping willows near her beloved grandfather. She had attended a depressing amount of funerals in this cemetery. And today’s ceremonial burying was equally somber, as they laid Lady Eleanor Maxwell to rest. Surveying the crowd that stretched from the open grave, surrounded by chairs across the beige lawns to the road, she wondered how many of the mourners had actually ever met Eleanor in the flesh and how many were simply groupie gourmets. “Quite a crowd,” Dirk remarked. “I’ll bet there won’t be anywhere near this many when I go toes-up.”
