She was almost a foot shorter than he was, and out of habit Virgil hunched his shoulders. At six-two, he couldn't help but loom, but given that they were outside of a church he didn't want to seem so imposing. He could smell her cigarette. It made him want one. He'd smoked in 'Nam because it was a way to kill time, but he'd mostly kicked the habit.

"Time for what?"

The old couple on the steps had finally made their way onto the sidewalk, and now they were talking in low voices about the service. They were probably waiting for their younger, and more sprightly, ride. Virgil smelled the faint aroma of flowers, and he looked over his shoulder. He couldn't place the scent.

"Was Dean a friend of yours?"