“It’s brutal out there.” The beer mug was so cold it hurt my hands. I clasped it tighter. “You shot well.”

“You beat me.”

I sipped my beer and shifted again. The couch’s springs could serve as torture devices.

“How are you doing? It must have been terrible finding Graham.” That was unusually empathetic for Mel.

“It was horrifying.”

“I’ve hunted all my life, but I can't imagine what he must have looked like.”

Perhaps less empathetic, more ghoulish.

“Your husband asks clear concise questions.” She wasn’t complaining, which was refreshing. “Of course, Fred and I were sleeping when Graham was shot.”

The heat had sapped my strength, so much so I was willing to ignore the spring and lean back against the couch. “Of course.”

“We stayed up too late. Fred was supposed to fish this morning. He promised to wake Graham, but the alarm didn’t go off. If it had, Fred might have found him.”

“What time were they supposed to go?”

She took another long sip. “Five thirty.”

“Early.”

She nodded. “It’s not like Fred to forget to set his alarm. But I’m glad he did.” She finished the last of her beer. “Would you like another?”

My glass was half-full. “No, thank you.”

“I want one.” She stood, took a bottle from the fridge, and poured the beer into her glass. “I can’t help but think of Sumner. A widow so young. Then, you were a young widow.”

“I was.”

“In some ways her life may be easier now.”

I sat up straight. “How so?”

“Sumner can't balance a checkbook to save her life. Fred had to call Graham several times a month to transfer funds.”

The spring dug into my cheek, and I scooched to the far end of the cushion.

“In a way, it was Graham’s fault. He gave her a tiny allowance. Now she can have more than a pittance.” She stared into her glass and frowned. “I shouldn’t be telling you that.”

Why was she? Was it even true?

“Did you and Fred bring guns this weekend?”

“We did.” She nodded toward a shotgun case.

“Handguns?”

She turned the glass in her hands. “Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering? I was talking with someone about guns earlier today. I assumed everyone brought a handgun.”

“Not us.”

The darned spring. I shifted again.

“Is something wrong with your seat?”

“It’s a bit lumpy. The club should invest in a new couch.”

“We can plump the cushion.”

“I doubt that will help.”

“We’ll never know unless we try. Get up.”

I stood, and Mel yanked the cushion off the couch.

We both stared. At a gun.

“You said you didn’t bring a handgun.”

“That’s not mine.”

“Is it Fred’s?”

“Fred doesn’t own a Luger”.

“That’s a Luger?”

She reached for the gun.

“Don't touch that!”

She jerked her hand away. “Why not?”