The table was immaculate, with roast pork and potatoes, grilled asparagus with olive oil, corn on the cob doused in butter, Texas toast. It was so much food I couldn’t believe it, all hot and steaming there, waiting for us, and I was starved. I ate and ate, and Murphy did too, plate after plate, until we were so full and tired I thought we’d both topple over.

Grandma just sat and watched us, smiling, cutting her tiny bites and eating them slowly, chewing forever.

When we finished I was so tired I had to fight to keep my head off the table. Murphy was literally nodding off over her plate, a slab of banana pudding nearly untouched on it.

“Grandma,” I said, “what about that cop?”

“What cop?” said Grandma. “Murphy, dear, finish your dessert. It’s wasteful to leave food on your plate.”

“But I’m so full,” said Murphy.

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have gotten such a big serving,” said Grandma. “No, in this house we finish what we start. Always.”

“The sheriff,” I said. “What was his name? Sheriff Bearden?”

“Yes?” said Grandma. “What about him?

“He never came by today. To talk to us.”

“Well, he must have had other things to do.”

“But this is really serious, Grandma,” I said. “Horace is a murderer, and now he knows we know.”

“Maybe they already caught him,” said Grandma. “Did you ever think of that? Maybe they caught him and detained him already, and they didn’t send a man to come and interview you because they couldn’t spare one at the moment.”

“Okay,” said Murphy, “but surely they would have let us know if something like that happened.”

“And how would they do that?” said Grandma. “It’s not like I have a telephone. I suggest patience, children. All shall be handled in its own time.”

Murphy shoved the last bite of banana pudding in her mouth. I thought for a second she might puke.

“Look, we’ll just go tomorrow,” I said to Grandma. “We’ll wake up super early and take Horace’s car. You don’t even have to come.”

Grandma frowned. “Seems like a dreadful waste of gas,” she said. “And I hate being wasteful.”

I didn’t understand her reluctance about this. I mean, maybe leaving home was hard on her, being a sort of recluse and all, but Horace was a maniac, and she needed to understand that.

“You can’t stop us,” said Murphy. “And besides, it’s not like we’ll be wasting your gas anyway.”

“Fine, fine,” said Grandma. “You can drive all the way to town first thing in the morning, and you may bother the sheriff all you like.” She stood up from her chair. “If you’ll excuse me, children, I’m headed to bed. You may do the same when you finish the dishes.”

I looked over at the sink, where piled high was a whole mess of plates and knives and ramekins and everything else it took to cook a gigantic meal. This would take forever to finish.