“From me.” A bedraggled Nell stood in the doorway. She had a letter opener in her hands, and her wrists held the same red marks that her mother’s showed. “I’m the most stupid person in the world, Mama. I was so worried about Teenie being pregnant that when Dell told me, I thought I’d ask Paul to talk to her, tell her to give it up for adoption. Dell was too young to get married, Mama, and I just didn’t want to be Teenie Hopkins’ sister-in-law. So they died! He killed them, Mama, and it’s all my fault!”

“Don’t you ever think that, Mary Nell. It’s his fault.” Sybil gestured with the gun toward her longtime lover.

It seemed to me it was sort of Sybil’s fault, too, but I wasn’t going to raise any issues as long as she was holding the gun. While I was being ignored, I wanted to put a safer distance between me and Paul Edwards, so I was edging back to the far end of the couch. On Edwards’s other side, Tolliver was shifting himself a little closer to the two women, but he was careful to keep the line of fire between Sybil and Paul free and clear.

“Yes, it’s my fault,” Paul gabbled. He was looking around the floor surreptitiously. He was looking for his gun. Paul Edwards was not down for the count.

“You need to tie him up,” Tolliver suggested. “Call the police.”

Nell began to move back through the doorway, presumably to go into the kitchen to call the police, but Paul made a sudden move and she stilled.

“No, don’t call,” Paul said. “Mary Nell, I’m your dad, too. Don’t give me up.”

Poor Nell couldn’t have looked more horrified if he’d said he’d made an offer for her hand.

“No,” Sybil hissed. “Don’t listen, Mary Nell. It’s not true.”

“She’s right,” I said, very quietly. But no one paid attention. My brother and I were definitely the audience. The innocent bystanders. You know what happens to innocent bystanders.

“Did you kill my dad, somehow?” she asked Paul. “My real dad?”

“No,” I said. “Your dad died of a heart attack, Nell. He really did.” I didn’t see any need to throw in the circumstances.

“You . . . you . . . asshole,” she said to Paul Edwards.

Her mother opened her mouth to reprimand Mary Nell, then had the good sense to close it.

“You killed my son,” Sybil said instead. “You killed my son. You killed his baby. You killed his girlfriend. You killed . . . who else did you kill? Helen, I guess. The mother of your daughter.”

“You have yourself to blame for that,” he said sullenly. “It was you hiring Helen, you having her around here cleaning that gave Dell and Teenie a chance to get to know each other.”