And now the pigheaded impediment to his biggest project was at last out of the way, and he was going to make great heaps of money from that property.

He found himself breathing a little too audibly and buried his nose in the coffee cup. He’d waited for over a year for a way to open and now it had. How long, O Lord, how long did he still have to wait?

8

It was just starting to get light when Betsy woke, stiff and grubby from sleeping in her clothes. She’d slept nearly fourteen hours. She rose, got undressed, put on a nightgown, and tried to go back to bed. But though she felt exhausted, she was awake, at least for now.

She went into the kitchen and had another fight with the coffeemaker. This fight was shorter than the first, and more in the nature of a quarrel—after all, the manufacturer hoped people would like its product and recommend it to friends, and so it had to make its features accessible even to people whose sisters had thrown away the manual. Soon a rumble and wakening fragrance filled the kitchen. While it worked, Betsy took a shower. She put on her oldest jeans and sweatshirt, combed her wet hair straight back, and went toward the warm smell of coffee barefoot.

She filled a mug, doctored it shamelessly with milk and sugar, and went into the living room. She went to the front windows and lifted the layers of coverings to peer out. It was raining again, and the sky was that dreary dark color that indicated serious intent to rain all day. She turned away and curled up on the love seat. Time to begin planning.

Mr. Huber at the funeral home had wondered if Betsy had talked yet with Margot’s lawyer. And Margot had mentioned him, too, as her ally against Joe Mickels, the evil landlord. What was his name? One of those old-fashioned English names. Penwiper? Wellworthy? Never mind, his name would be around here somewhere. She’d call him today. He could tell her how to access Margot’s accounts, close them out. How to get the shop put out of business. How to do a legal going-out-of-business sale.

There were no heirs, except herself. She and Margot had remarked on that one time, how there were no other descendants of this branch of the family. She looked around. All this furniture was hers, and if Margot had paid the September rent, then perhaps Betsy could stay through the month.

But she wouldn’t stay here in Excelsior longer than that. And she would probably have to sell the furniture, which was sad, because there were some nice pieces, but they’d bring a good price, and she needed the money.

She tried to think of where she wanted to go. New York City? Like California, it cost the earth to live there. Besides, she was pretty sure she’d outgrown both New York and California.

She needed someplace cheap. She wasn’t used to winters anymore, so someplace south. Not Phoenix, too hot. Ditto Florida. Besides, Florida had hurricanes and the people were a little too handy with firearms. Ditto Texas. Arkansas, someone once had said, was very inexpensive. And the Ozarks were both beautiful and relatively cool in the summer. “Not everyone in Arkansas lives in trailer parks,” he’d said. “There’s a long waiting list.” They’d laughed and laughed at that.