“Thanks. We like it. We had the bay window put in several years ago, the skylights in the den, too.”

I got out a plate for the few chocolate chip cookies that remained in the package after Mary Alice’s feeding frenzy and put them on the table.

“Did you know that Louellen Mahall isn’t dead?” I asked him.

“Balls?” he grinned. “Sure. She was living here in Birmingham last I heard.”

“Well, what was that wild story about the interstate ramp then? Where did that come from?”

“God knows. It’s like the Chandler Mountain booger. It’s been told so much that everybody believes it. I think my mother could run into Louellen on the street, have a conversation with her, and still believe she’s cemented in the highway.” He stroked his beard. “Stories like that fascinate me, don’t they you? The way they become truth.”

“To a certain point. Until they start hurting people. Everybody thinking he’d killed his wife must have bothered Eugene Mahall.”

“I doubt it. More incentive for people to pay their bank loans on time.”

I looked up, surprised at the sudden bitterness in his voice. “I take it that he’s not exactly Mr. Popularity in St. Clair County.”

“You’re right about that. And this goes back a long way. Everybody still believes he knew more about the Daisy Belle mine explosion than he ever admitted. That there could have been some criminal indictments, but he lined his pockets instead.”

“This isn’t an interstate-ramp story?”

“I don’t think so.”

The coffee quit perking. I got up, poured us each a cup, and sat back down.

“Tell me about Terry and Betsy,” I said, passing the sugar. “We were surprised when we found out they were living with him.”

“He probably insists on it. I think they ask old man Mahall’s permission to breathe. Terry tried sowing a few wild oats when he was a teenager, nothing much, and he got slapped in a military academy. And I think Betsy’s so crazy about Terry that she’ll put up with anything.” Albert put two teaspoons of sugar in his coffee and stirred.

“Betsy says he’s fond of the children, that he rides them around on his wheelchair.”

Albert shrugged and sipped his coffee, holding his beard back.

“She says Terry’s thrilled to have them, too, which is good.”

“Not surprising. They’re Susan’s children.” Albert dabbed at his beard with a napkin and then reached for a cookie.

I’m sure I looked startled.

He stopped with the cookie halfway to his mouth. “What? Terry was crazy about Susan when they were teenagers. You didn’t know? That was when he got into some trouble, when she married Ethan Crawford. I remember one thing he did was break all of the windows out of Monk’s church.”

“That was a long time ago.”