“I’m afraid I’m going to have to call it a night,” she said, rising from the armchair. She collected the glasses and snack plates on her way out. “Can I get you something from the kitchen?”

“No, but thank you, Mary Beth,” Sheila said. “Us old biddies will manage. Hope we didn’t bore you.”

“Not at all,” she answered truthfully.

“Go to bed, then. We’re not done yet,” Alma laughed. “But don’t you dare wash up those dishes.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Mary Beth set the dishes and glasses in the kitchen, and took the rear staircase to reach her bedroom. It had an attached bath, a wonderful luxury. During the course of the conversation, she’d picked up the basics of Sheila’s life story. She’d been the young widow of an older husband who’d left her plenty of money to keep up and renovate this fine old house. They’d had no children and Sheila didn’t seem to have any regrets on that score.

Shep and Beau were recent acquisitions in a long line of beloved dogs.

The guest bedroom was blessedly free of cardboard boxes, which was good, because Mary Beth knew she would have stumbled into them if she had to get up at night. She’d reached the point of exhaustion where sleep would enfold her for hours.

But her dreams were troubled by a nameless feeling of anxiety that only the streaming sunshine dispelled. Mary Beth opened her eyes, not quite remembering where she was for a few disconcerting seconds.

Scores of birds chirping and tweeting and carrying on in the trees that rustled right outside her window brought her back to her present reality.

Mary Beth pushed back the covers and got up, finding a short robe to put on over her pajamas. The welcome smell of coffee wafted through the air.

“Alma?” She asked the question quietly once she’d stepped out into the hall. The door to the other guest bedroom was ajar, revealing a messily unpacked suitcase on the unmade bed. The room was otherwise empty. Alma must have risen with the sun, for all that she’d gone to bed late.

Moving on, Mary Beth peeked discreetly into the master bedroom, which was also unoccupied, its canopy bed neatly made up and huge lace-trimmed pillows plumped.

She went downstairs and into the kitchen using the rear staircase again.

“There you are.”

“Good morning,” Alma said cheerfully. “I got coffee going. Ready in five.”

“Thanks. I could use some. You’re up early.”

“I wanted to fix my hair.” Alma patted the arrangement on her head. There was no other word for it. Her bouffant hairdo was being restored to its majestic height by jumbo curlers held in place by pins and a scarf tied with a jaunty bow over her forehead.

“So I see.”

Alma patted the tower of curlers on her head. “How scary do I look?”

“Not at all.”