“The ladies who found Susan?” Terry Mahall was very tall and thin, at least a foot taller than his wife. He put his arm protectively around her shoulders. “She was Betsy’s sister.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Betsy Mahall nodded. “I brought these flowers to put in the church.” Her eyes welled with tears. “I guess it doesn’t matter, but I wanted to.”

“Of course it matters, honey,” Terry Mahall said. “Here, let me hold those for you.”

Betsy surrendered the hydrangeas and fished in her jacket pocket for a Kleenex.

“I’m sorry,” she said, holding the Kleenex to her eyes. “I don’t guess I’ve stopped crying since I got the word yesterday. And then when we heard about Monk this morning—”

“Why don’t you sit in the car a minute?” Mary Alice offered.

“Why don’t you do that, honey? You’ve just about made yourself sick.” Terry Mahall opened the back door for his wife. “I’ll go put these in the church.”

Betsy hesitated. “Y’all sure you don’t need to leave?”

We assured her that we weren’t in a hurry.

“Thanks.” She climbed into the car and sank down on the seat with a sigh. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired in my life.”

We watched Terry cross to the church.

Betsy shivered. “I hope the door’s not locked.”

“It wasn’t yesterday.” Sister turned and looked at the girl. “You want some aspirin? And I’ve got some coffee up here in a thermos.”

Betsy shook her head. “My ears are already ringing I’ve had so much aspirin. But I’d like for you to tell me about yesterday. About Susan.” She paused. “If you don’t mind.”

“You tell her,” Sister said.

Terry disappeared into the church with the hydrangeas. I wondered if he would put them on the box at the front. I assumed he knew what the box usually held.

“My cousin was looking for his wife,” I explained. “He went into the church and didn’t come back out, and we went in to see about him. He had fallen and was unconscious and Susan was lying on the front bench.” I decided not to add any details.

“Did she look peaceful?” Betsy asked.

“She looked dead.” Mary Alice realized how blunt this sounded and tried to soften it. “But neat in spite of her neck.”

“It was like someone had laid her out,” I explained, frowning at Sister.

Betsy sighed. “I always thought it would be the snakes that took her. I thought her husband Ethan’s dying from snakebite would put some sense in her, but it did just the opposite. She said she had to do his work, too.”

“You’re not a handler, then?”