Five dollars had seemed a reasonable amount for flowers until I reached the shop window. There were several kinds of white ones, some sold by the bunch and others standing separately in buckets. Nothing told me what I ought to buy. The money stayed in my pocket.

“Afternoon,” I called through the entrance. “Are you open?”

A damp wooden box narrowed the space beside the counter. I stopped short of it, leaving room for somebody to get through. The newspaper under my arm had begun to come unfolded. Ruby’s photograph was on that page, so I closed it and put it behind my back.

“Jacob Soderlund. I’d like to send some flowers to Ruby’s family.”

There. That was what I’d come to say, although I’d spent the walk trying to find a better way of putting it. The newspaper hadn’t said where anything should be sent. It had found room for the photograph and plenty about the shooting, but nothing useful to somebody wanting to leave a card.

“I didn’t know her personally. I read about what happened this morning.”

Somewhere outside, a driver leaned on his horn. With the door still open, it made the small shop seem suddenly crowded. I moved farther in and lowered my voice.

“I’ve put five dollars aside. Something suitable for the family, whatever you’d recommend. I was going to ask for carnations, but I’m liable to point at the wrong bucket and make a liar of myself.”

There was a slip of paper in my coat with a message already written on it. “From a friend” had a line through it. Underneath, I’d put my name and “With sympathy.” The pencil had pressed hard enough to mark both sides.

I kept that in my pocket too. A clean card would be better.

“If this is a bad time, I can come back. There’s no need to stop what you’re doing on my account.” My eyes went back to the white flowers. “Could you put together a small arrangement for Ruby’s family and help me find where to send it?”