She gasped and opened the door wider. I had never seen a person’s eyes get so wide as fast as hers. “Joyce?” Her lips started trembling and she suddenly sounded as meek as a baby kitten. “W-where is Odell at? I been waiting for him to come home. I been worrying myself sick. He went night-fishing last Friday and never came back . . .”

“Well, you can stop waiting and worrying because he won’t be coming back, period.”

Her face went blank. “Say what? Is that what he told you? I want to hear it from him!” she hollered through clenched teeth.

I clenched my teeth, too. “Look, Miss whatever your last name really is. You won’t be hearing that, or anything else from my husband.”

“Humph. So you say. I don’t know how you found out about me, but there ain’t nothing you can do about it now. Why didn’t you bring him with you? He could have at least been man enough to tell me, and not send you—”

I had to interrupt her before I exploded. “Odell is dead,” I blurted out.

Betty Jean’s mouth dropped open and she covered her heart with her hand. “W-what happened? Did he accidently fall in the lake and drown?” She was whimpering like a sick puppy now.

I shook my head. “He wasn’t lucky enough to go out in a dignified way like that. Somebody killed him. That’s all you need to know.”

“How do I know you telling the truth? You scorned women will try every trick in the book to get back at your men. You could have made up this cock-and-bull story just to get rid of me so you can have Odell all to yourself. Well, he is my man, too, and I ain’t going to let him go without a fight!” Betty Jean shouted at the top of her lungs. I could hear the kids talking and laughing in another room. She glanced over her shoulder and came out on the porch, closing the door behind her.

“Call the sheriff’s office in Branson and ask them. Or you can get in touch with the Branson newspaper and tell them to send you last Monday’s edition. The whole story is on the front page.”

“Who would want to kill a wonderful man like Odell? Everybody loved him,” she sniveled.

“Humph. At least one person didn’t.” I sneered.

Betty Jean’s mouth dropped open and she stared at me for a few seconds. “Uh . . . uh . . . y-you serious, ain’t you?” she stuttered.

“His funeral was yesterday. He’s buried in the colored section at the Branson cemetery.”

“How come somebody didn’t come tell me? Me and his sons should have been at his funeral. And Odell got a heap of friends in Hartville. I know they would have liked to pay their last respects.”