The Richard who sat in my kitchen later that day had grown to match his rather large nose, though, had neat ears attached to his head, and was a very handsome man. He looked more like an L. L. Bean cowboy wanna-be than a congressman in his denim shirt, jeans, and boots. Which was fine. He looked good. I’m sure he had carried most of the female votes in Columbus. I hate to admit it, but it’s so much easier to vote for a good-looking man, even one with bird brains. The people of his district were lucky that Richard was smart.

“The problem is Mama’s car, Cousin Pat,” he was saying. “Sheriff Stuckey said they’re going to release it tomorrow in Pulaski and I need to go get it. Cousin Sister said she would take me up there so I could drive it back to Birmingham, but Daddy’s getting out of the hospital tomorrow, hopefully.”

“I’ll go get your daddy, Richard,” I volunteered. “Don’t give that another thought.”

I placed a cup of coffee in front of him and handed him the sugar bowl. “You want a cookie?”

“No, ma’am.” He put a couple of teaspoons of sugar in his coffee and stirred it.

I poured myself a cup and sat down across from him. I had finally had time that morning to clean the house, and the comforting noise of tumbling clothes came from the utility room.

“How come you’re going to get the car?” I asked. “I thought it belonged to Holden Crawford, the guy who was killed, that there was a bill of sale in the glove compartment.”

“There was. A handwritten bill of sale. The sale hadn’t been recorded.”

Richard picked up his coffee and took a sip. “Um. Hot.”

The steam should have alerted him to that fact.

“And the handwritten bill won’t suffice?”

“Ordinarily it would. But Mr. Holden is dead and Mama’s disappeared, so we don’t know the circumstances of the sale. We need Mama to say she wrote it, that she actually received the money from Mr. Crawford.”

He took another sip of coffee, whispered, “Whew, that’s hot,” and said, “Mama. Therein lies the problem.”

Therein lay part of the problem; there were a couple of bodies lying around, too, which were problematic.

“And you don’t have any idea where your mother might have gone?”

“Beats me.” He shrugged and put his coffee down. “I thought she and Daddy were getting along fine. Christmas she seemed happier than I’d seen her in a long time.”

But Holden Crawford hadn’t come to paint their house until after Christmas. Hmmm.

“Happy how?”

“You know. Smiley. Not bugging me all the time to get married.”