Fire tending seemed to make him feel manly, so I left him to it. I had some granola bars in my suitcase, luckily, and I ate one while he brought up the ice chest, still fairly full of sodas and bottled water.

“We better get some groceries when we go into town tonight,” I said.

“Do you really want to go to the meeting at the church?”

“No, of course not, but if we’re going to be here we might as well. I don’t want the people here taking against us.” I glanced at my watch. “We have at least three hours. I’m going to lie down. I’m worn out.”

“You shouldn’t have carried that bag upstairs.”

“It was on my good shoulder. No problem.” But I’d taken a pain pill while he was out rummaging in the car, and it was taking effect.

There was a knock on the door, and I jumped a mile. Tolliver jerked in surprise himself, which made me feel a little better. We glanced at each other. We hadn’t noticed anyone following us out here, and we’d hoped to dodge the reporters altogether.

“Yes?” Tolliver asked. I moved to stand behind him, peering out from behind his shoulder. Our caller sure didn’t look like any reporter I’d ever seen. He was a wizened old man wearing battered cold-weather gear and carrying a casserole dish.

“I’m Ted Hamilton from next door,” the old man said, smiling. “Me and my wife saw Parker pull up with you-all, and she could hardly wait to send you something. You friends of the family?”

“Please come in,” Tolliver said, because he had to. “I’m Tolliver Lang; this is my sister Harper.”

“Ms. Lang,” Ted Hamilton said, bobbing his head at me. “Let me just put this down on the counter here.” He set down the dish he’d been carrying.

“Actually, I’m Ms. Connelly, but please call me Harper,” I said. “You and your wife live out here year-round?”

“Yep, since I retired, that’s what we do,” he said. The Hamiltons must live in the small white house next door, to the north. I’d seen the Hamiltons’ house out the window and noted it was inhabited. Ordinarily the Hamiltons and the McGraws wouldn’t really have to see each other a lot, since the McGraw parking was on the south side of the cabin. The Hamiltons’ white frame house was a very ordinary little place that just happened to have been put down at the lakeside, with no concession made to setting or locale. It did boast a very nice pier, I’d noted.

“We’re just going to be here a couple of days,” I said, pretending to be rueful. “This was awful nice of Mrs. Hamilton.”

“I guess you know Twyla, then?”