She remembered back when menopause had started, how she’d suddenly be overcome with some notion: to devote all her spare time to gardening or the study of medieval history, or becoming a vegetarian. She’d start with great determination and energy, only to wake from the vision in a week or a month and wonder what on earth she had been thinking of.

This seemed an echo of that curious time. Where on earth—she suddenly remembered that she was out of estrogen, had been for over two weeks. She’d meant to get here, find a doctor, get a new prescription, but of course all that had flown out of her head because of Margot’s death.

So menopause was back. And where some people get hot flashes, Betsy got hot ideas.

She ran the conversation with Mr. Penberthy over in her head, looking for something that might actually point to Joe Mickels as a murderer.

What the attorney had given her was confirmation of the legal battle between her sister and her sister’s landlord, and the incorporation trick Margot had pulled on him. Margot hadn’t realized it might be important to tell Mickels right away. Well, maybe it wasn’t important, maybe he wasn’t the murderer. But there was the place Betsy had jumped off, assuming Margot was murdered because she failed to tell Joe Mickels. What had their mother called notions with no substance to them? Snow on your boots. Nothing but snow on her boots, sliding off as soon as you took two steps, melting as soon as you came inside.

No wonder Penberthy had stared at her so strangely. What he must have thought!

She suddenly realized that he had come to tell her about her sister’s estate—and that they hadn’t gotten to that. She was sure her sister wasn’t rich, but maybe there was an IRA or life-insurance policy or something somewhere. And Betsy had wanted to ask what she needed to do to close the shop and turn whatever there was into cash so she could get out of this place.

She would definitely call Penberthy tomorrow. She went to the refrigerator and wrote on Margot’s sheet of lined paper under Margot’s magnet shaped like a sheep, Call Penberthy, and underlined it and put three exclamation marks after it. Then she started looking for something to fix for supper.

She hoped there was enough money to keep her in sandwiches until the closing sale was over. Funny she hadn’t told Penberthy she wasn’t staying.

Soon she’d have to figure out how to use Margot’s computer. Margot had access to the Internet, and surely a search engine could find a Web site that would tell her how to get on that trailer-park waiting list.