“He was covetous, and he lied,” Lucy added.

“And Marcia certainly became more important than God to him. She had that effect on a lot of men, including Sam, I’m sorry to say.” Mrs. Miller helped herself to another piece of banana bread.

“He did remember the Sabbath,” said Miss Tilley, determined to be fair. “And I must say I never heard him swear. That’s more than many Christians can claim.”

Lucy and Mrs. Miller chuckled.

“I don’t know what he can expect in the next life, but I hope he will be punished in this life.” Mrs. Miller smoothed the napkin in her lap.

“Oh, yes. Detective Horowitz told me they have an airtight case. Carol left a detailed suicide note, and of course they videotaped him trying to convince Marge to pull the plug.”

“And you saw the police arrest him?” asked Miss Tilley.

“How did he react? When he knew the game was up?” Mrs. Miller sounded serious.

“He seemed angry,” Lucy reported. “He didn’t say anything, but he looked furious.”

“I hope he’s punished,” said Mrs. Miller. “I hope he doesn’t get off on some sort of technicality.”

“I don’t think he will,” said Lucy. “What about Marcia? And your grandson? Will they come back?”

“I don’t think so. She’s living in Paris. She writes to me, you know. I think Tinker’s Cove was a bit tame for her. I may visit them this summer.”

Lucy smiled at her. The resilience of this old woman amazed her. She reached for a piece of banana bread, chewed it thoughtfully, and, sipping her tea, she observed the two old women. Miss Tilley with her large, strong features covered with a tough netting of wrinkles, her long white hair drawn up in a bun; and Mrs. Miller, with a round face just like a dried apple-head doll and her carefully curled and blued hair. In the life of Tinker’s Cove they were forces to be reckoned with. As ardent conservationists they had been instrumental in creating the Tinker’s Cove Conservation Trust. Miss Tilley had spearheaded the local literacy program, and she was a frequent contributor to the letters column in the Pennysaver. Together the two women acted as a collective conscience for the town. They were vital, strong women who were interested in the world around them.

Lucy thought of funerals she had attended where all the women of her generation were in tears, their faces bleak and uncomprehending, their knuckles white as they clutched crumpled tissues. Death was unbelievable to them, an assault on everything they worked so hard to maintain.