Nonetheless, it was sad to hear that such an abrupt end had come to a man who’d done a lot for the community, at least according to his obituary. Dick Teague had been a county judge. He’d been in the Lion’s Club and the Rotary. He’d been a member of the Chamber of Commerce, and he’d been on the Board of the Boys and Girls Club. He’d even been a local leader for Habitat for Humanity. I wondered if Sybil was upholding his banner in the civic department. Somehow I doubted it.

Speaking of Sybil . . . I glanced at my watch.

“We need to go,” I murmured to Tolliver, who was smiling at Dinah, maybe dazzled by the gleam off her many polished surfaces. “Could we print out these articles?” I asked, trying to be charming.

“Sure, for twenty-five cents a page,” she said. Guess I wasn’t charming enough. “We don’t mind doing it, but we have to pay for the ink cartridges, of course.” I could understand that, and I tried to maintain a pleasant expression as the printer slowly spit out the pages I’d designated.

Dinah Trout urged us to come back any time, which I didn’t think was likely. She was wearing a wedding ring, so I knew Tolliver wouldn’t ask her out, even if she sent a clear signal she would be willing.

Seeing we were slipping from her grasp, Dinah thought of a few more questions to ask us, and we dodged them more or less politely. “The Ozarks breed women of strong character,” I told Tolliver. He nodded a little grimly.

The most unremarkable woman I’d talked to all day was Sybil Teague, and she was no slouch in the grooming and looks department. She was wearing a skirt and sweater set in red and white, and she looked really good. I wondered if she was the kind of mother who scoured her deceased child’s room, or if she was the kind of mother who kept that room intact as a shrine. I would have put money on her being a scourer, but I was wrong. When I slipped into Dell’s room after lunch, excusing myself to use the bathroom, I found it was probably neater and cleaner than a teenage boy would leave it. But the dead boy’s clothes were hanging in the closet, and though he didn’t have a bulletin board of pathetic souvenirs as Teenie had, a framed picture of the girl sat on his computer desk. I thought the better of Sybil that she had left it there.