Kate looked at her for a moment, and then said deliberately, "I don't know if I really care all that much who killed this son of a bitch."

Old Sam grinned his cackling grin. "Now, now, what would Chopper Jim have to say to that?"

"Who gives a shit?" She said to Mary, "You say he did it a second time?"

Mary nodded. "This Monday. I went down at five to start setting up. This time he'd cut the cork line in half a dozen places." She drained her mug. "I was thinking maybe I should get a dog." She smiled at Kate. "Now I don't have to."

Kate's heart sank. "Mary."

Mary took one look at Kate's apprehensive expression and burst out laughing. "Oh honey," she said, still laughing. "Oh honey, if you could see your face." She wiped away a tear. "No, I didn't kill him. I'd like to pin a medal on whoever did, but I didn't do it myself."

Kate examined the level of tea in her mug with all the scrutiny of a Socratic scholar trying for the perfect dialectic on surface tension. "Where were you last night, Mary?"

Mary raised an amused eyebrow. "Why, I was right here, Kate, right where I always am every night of the summer, right where I've been since the end of May, right where I'll be until the middle of September. And no, before you ask, there wasn't anybody here with me to say I was." She reflected. "Unless," she added with an air of innocence that fooled no one, "well, unless you count Edna and Balasha." Her smile was benign, and it didn't fool anybody, either. "They came to dinner, and we played pinochle until, oh, midnight I guess."

"Mary!" Kate said, indignant. "Why didn't you say so up front?"

Mary laughed again. "Sorry, Kate, I couldn't resist. Probably my only chance to be suspected of murder."

Old Sam was laughing, too. "You always were a pisser, Mary. Shame on you."

Kate finished her tea and let them laugh. The overcast had dissipated completely by now and the sunlight was warm on her face. Her hair, braided back into its usual plait, was still wet and as thick as it probably would be for another eight hours, but the rest of her was dry and comfortable. Her stomach growled.

Mary heard it. "Should I feed you?"

"Not just a woman but a god," Kate said.

"How's leftover pirogue sound?"

"Yum."

By the time the late dinnercreamed salmon and canned mixed vegetables in a flaky crust, Mary's specialtywas ready, Kate's clothes, hung over the stove, were mostly dry and she changed into them. They ate in silence on the porch, and when they were done Kate cleaned up and put water on for coffee, which she served, again on the porch. The sun was low on the western horizon, outlining what Kate thought was the hint of an incoming front. She wasn't worried. For now at least, her feet were dry and her stomach was full. "Mary?"