The woman who snapped at me had a bony face thrust forward on her neck like a turkey’s. Pale blue eyes under hooded lids flicked from me to the walk behind me: she was ready to fly back into her tree if I made a sudden move.

“Have you ever seen a Jehovah’s Witness?” I said. “They travel in groups. Besides, the women always wear stockings and long dresses.” I had on jeans with a green wool blazer and a cream pullover. Not missionary wear.

“What do you want, then?”

“To talk to Shirley or Nathan Kiel. To let them know I’m the person who found their daughter early this morning and probably saved her life.”

The lines around the woman’s mouth deepened. She muttered something that I couldn’t hear through the outer door, although it didn’t seem like an expression of undying gratitude. After staring at me suspiciously for another few seconds, she flung the door open, so abruptly I barely had time to jump out of the way.

“Well, come on in, then, and get it over with. There’s no reward, in case you were hoping.”

I followed her into a room whose furniture was almost invisible under stacks of newspapers and magazines. The dust was so thick that I started to sneeze.

“Are you Shirley Kiel?” I asked, hoping she was an undertaker that I wouldn’t have to talk to.

“Yes. Sonia’s mother.” I wouldn’t have thought you could pack so much venom into those two words. It was hard to tell which she hated more—Sonia or being her mother.

Shirley led me to the back of the house, to a kind of sunporch next to the kitchen. I tripped on a Mixmaster set in the middle of the kitchen floor and just managed to keep from falling by grabbing the edge of the kitchen counter. My hand came away with some furry orange stuff on it.

My stomach turned. People have criticized my lackadaisical housekeeping, but compared to this I could have entered an America’s Top Homemakers contest and come away with first prize. I turned on the sink tap, holding my fingers between the water and a crusty pot, while Shirley Kiel stared at me in growing impatience.

I hastily wiped my fingers on my jeans and joined her at the sunporch. A light baritone shouted from somewhere above us, demanding to know who was here.

“Sonia Bernhardt’s been in a major play!” Shirley shouted back. “Her chief backer is here, wanting us to applaud her.”

She didn’t wait for a response but stumped out to the porch. It faced south and was glassed in, so that even on a cool day it felt almost too warm. Plants on a shelf along the south wall were on their last stalks, although a few showed a little greenery.