She had a store-bought one in the freezer. With Max’s help, she took off the brand name cover, then settled a piece of tin foil—unused, thank goodness—over the top. Then Ladybird spritzed hairspray over her blue hair, dabbed on a little lipstick, and away they went.Neither the Camry nor the Honda had moved. They’d been joined by a white Cadillac—a model Max hated simply because it was the kind Bud Traynor drove—parked along the front sidewalk of the house. Obviously the first of the family friends to offer condolences.Ladybird’s quick step made up for her short stride, and she actually reached Virginia Spring’s front path ahead of Max. The curtains were pulled across the front window. The porch light was still on. The lawn was made of real grass, and the shrubs and flowers lining the walk proved to be organic, too. Plastic bushes, faded flowers, and Astro Turf had not taken over all of Garden Street, only Ladybird Johnson’s—oops, Long’s—front yard.Ladybird rang the bell.
