“Running out the open front door of the shop,” Betsy agreed. “This is so wonderful, finding her alive, I was so worried....” She began to cry again.

“Here now, that’s enough of that.” Jill put an arm around Betsy and rubbed her shoulders briskly. “She’s going to be fine. Tell me, who were you on the phone with a while ago?”

“Who not? I’ve been getting calls all evening from people who thought they’d found Sophie. And people have been coming by with likely candidates.” She hiccuped and smiled. “Unlikely ones, too. But now we have her, thanks to you. We’ll have to go around tomorrow and take down the posters. And cancel that ad.”

Jill said incredulously, “Joe Mickels and Irene Potter brought over some cats for you to look at?”

“No, Joe came to evict me.”

Jill leaned in and asked quietly, “You didn’t accuse him of murder, did you?”

“I tried to, several times, but kept getting interrupted.”

“Good. Say, you didn’t tell anyone else about this weird notion you’ve got, did you? Mike, for instance?”

“Who’s Mike?”

Jill sighed in relief. “Never mind.” She continued, “But don’t go spreading that suspicion about Mr. Mickels around, okay?”

“Irene Potter is just as good a suspect, you know.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, now you’re pointing at two innocent people! Listen to me, Betsy: it was a burglary that went really wrong. It’s a tragedy, an ugly, senseless tragedy, but that’s what happened. Please, please, stop making wild accusations. You can get your butt sued, and those two are just the ones to do it.”

“You’re probably right.” Betsy sniffled.

Shelly rummaged in her purse and produced a clean if wrinkled piece of tissue. “Here, kid.”

“Thanks.” Betsy blew, wiped. “I know I’ve been acting crazy the last few days. And I want to thank you both for caring about me anyhow.”

“That’s what friends are for, right?” said Jill.

“That’s right,” said Shelly, rubbing Betsy on the back. “We’re with you, we’ll see you through all of this. There are a whole lot of us who want to be your friends, who want to do anything they can, because you’re Margot’s sister, and we loved her.”

“Oh, Margot,” Betsy whispered, and this time when she wept, it was for that terrible loss.

Chapter 11

11

Betsy had been afraid she’d wake with a sick headache from all the weeping, or emotionally exhausted from all the talking and sharing, of the night before. She also anticipated a state of anxiety over Sophie, who had a badly fractured leg and remained in the care of the vet.

But instead she woke refreshed and lay a minute, stretching slowly, lengthily, enjoying the energy that tickled along her nerves. And also enjoying a new and welcome clarity of thought.