Albert nodded. “But last year he asked Betsy for a divorce. After Ethan was killed.”

“He did? Because of Susan?”

“According to the Chandler Mountain grapevine.” He bit into the cookie, chewed, and took another sip of coffee while my mind was racing.

“No. It was more than the grapevine,” Albert Lee added. “Betsy told my mother. Mama said she cried like a baby, said she was going to get Terry to counseling.”

“They looked a lot alike, didn’t they? Betsy and Susan.”

“Which everybody was reminded of when Terry married Betsy.”

I picked up my coffee and drank some of it. All kinds of thoughts were racing through my mind. Terry had asked Betsy for a divorce because he was in love with Susan. Betsy couldn’t have children. Now she had two, and Susan was dead. “I’m scared,” she had said. She had been worried about where the cameo was. Susan’s body had been laid out neatly on the church bench. Luke had thought it was Virginia behind him. It could have been another woman.

Oh, surely not.

“Who do you think killed Susan and Monk?” I asked Albert.

“The Chandler Mountain booger.”

As soon as Albert left, I raced to the phone and called Mary Alice. For once I didn’t get her answering machine.

“What are you doing?” I asked. “You won’t believe what I’ve got to tell you.”

“Taking a bubble bath. Some of that freesia stuff Debbie and Henry gave me for Christmas. It smells wonderful.”

“And you’re talking on the phone? You’re going to get electrocuted, fool.”

“Don’t be silly, Mouse. It’s the cell phone anyway. What’s up?”

I told her about Albert Lee Packard’s visit, about Terry Mahall being in love with Susan Crawford and asking Betsy for a divorce. I told her the whole story and ended with, “I think Betsy may have killed her sister.”

“Wait a minute,” Sister said. I heard water running into the tub. “It was getting cold,” she explained when she picked up the phone again.

“Well, what do you think?” I asked.

“I think not.”

“And why not?” I could envision a whole bathtub full of bubbles and Mary Alice.

“How could she have carried her into the church? Betsy’s a little woman.”

“So was Susan, and the adrenaline was pouring. People pick up pianos when the adrenaline’s pouring.”

“Well, how could she have put the rattlesnake in my car? She was right there with us the whole time. Somebody else had to sneak up and do that.”

Damn. She was right.

“I’ll figure it out,” I said. “Enjoy your bath.”

“You should take one, too, and relax. I know you don’t have any bubble bath, but that Palmolive liquid that you bathe Woofer with for fleas ought to work.”

I hung up.

E-MAIL

FROM: MAMA AND PAPA

TO: HALEY

SUBJECT: HAPPY ABOUT THE POPE