“I’m tired, but I’m not at all sleepy,” said Betsy, looking into the dark liquid in her mug.

“Then just go lie down for an hour.”

“I don’t want to lie down! Why don’t you just go? Go bother someone else!” said Betsy, surprised at the venom escaping through her voice. “You don’t understand!”

“Sure I do. Here, let me get you something else.” Jill slid the mug out of Betsy’s still-clasped hands and went into the kitchen.

Betsy slid back into her felt-lined stupor. She shouldn’t shout at Jill, who had gotten out of bed to come and be with her. And there were things that must be done, she knew that. She just wished there could be a period of doing nothing until she could summon some energy.

Margot had been the coping one. She wouldn’t be sitting here as if wrapped in thick flannel, her brain turned to oatmeal. Betsy remembered when she herself had seen trouble as a challenge, but that seemed a very long time ago. Why couldn’t she be that way now? What was the matter with her? She should be paying attention to Jill, and feeling grateful for her advice. Buck up, she told herself. But her mind replied sullenly that it wanted to be left alone.

“I don’t understand why Margot went into the store when you knew enough not to,” said Jill from the kitchen, where the refrigerator door was being closed, a pot was being put on the stove.

Betsy pictured Margot walking home—Margot alive and walking!—and seeing the open door. But Margot went in—no, no; don’t go in!—but she went in, she went in. While clever Betsy had seen the door open and come running upstairs to call the police. Why had it happened that way?

“Possession,” said Betsy. “Territory. You ever read Ardrey’s Territorial Imperative? Popular sociology, from back in the sixties; forgotten now, probably. He said most animals, including primates, select and defend a territory, whether as an individual or a tribe. That’s what we do, and that’s why humans fear strangers and fight wars.”

Jill said doubtfully, “You think she saw the burglar and went in to run him off?”

“No, of course not! Margot’s not an idiot. But she’s been having trouble with Joe Mickels trying to throw her out of the shop, so I guess her territorial instincts were all inflamed anyhow. So when she saw the door open she just went in without thinking. I nearly did—” Something like a sob choked Betsy but the relief of tears would not come. “God, I can’t bear this.”

“Yes, you can,” said Jill firmly, coming to put a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve got to, you’re the sole surviving member of your family. But you’re not alone. Margot had lots of friends. When they hear about this, you’ll have all the help you need.” She went back into the kitchen and there was the sound of cabinet doors being opened and closed. “Where’s the cocoa?”