Bonnie Blue pointed toward the left side of the shop and Sister headed in that direction. I picked up a People and tried to get interested in what the actresses had worn to Christmas parties. But my mind was too busy. If this Louellen Conway was the one who had been married to Eugene Mahall, chances were that she knew Monk Crawford, Susan, Joe Baker, and the rest of the handlers. Or at least knew about them. She certainly could tell us about Eugene Mahall, who was looming as a more sinister character all the time. Had she known he could walk? Had he always taken advantage of his son Terry? I thought about Betsy and the two children caught in that situation.

“Louellen?” I heard Bonnie Blue say. “It’s Bonnie Blue.”

A pause.

“Sure. I stuck it back for you. The one with the bird on it, too.”

Pause.

“Just whenever. No problem. But, listen, Louellen. Were you ever married to a man by the name of Eugene Mahall?”

I looked up. Bonnie Blue was holding her hand over the phone and grinning. “Y’all hit a nerve,” she told Sister and me. She put the phone back to her ear and said, “Uh huh” several times. There were also a “Have mercy” and “You don’t say.” Then, “A couple of ladies. One of them got snakebit up on Chandler Mountain yesterday. She’s okay. She’s in here now. But they heard this Mahall guy killed you and poured you into cement on an interstate ramp. I told them no way, that you were right here, alive and kicking.”

There was another prolonged period of listening. Sister located two velour outfits, which she pulled out and hung on a hook. One was lavender, the other black. I knew which one she would leave the shop with. She disappeared into the dressing room.

“I’ll tell them,” Bonnie Blue said. “Sure. Tomorrow will be fine.”

She hung up, jotted something down on a notepad, tore it out, and brought it to me.

“It’s her phone number. She was married to him, all right. Says she’ll tell you anything you want to know about the man, but none of it will be good, believe me. She was bad-mouthing that man something fierce.”

“Thanks, Bonnie Blue.” I stuck the phone number into the side of my purse. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear a tirade about Eugene Mahall. But if she might know anything about the snake handlers on Chandler Mountain, I’d like to hear that. I’d give her a call, find out if she thought Betsy had any reason to be scared in that house.

“How about this?”

Sister was standing before us in the lavender velour suit.