In spite of the sinister sound of the message, I was so relieved to hear Virginia’s voice, I said, “Yes!” Woofer and Muffin both jumped.

I looked at my watch. Mary Alice was at Debbie’s, but maybe Richard and Luke had declared a truce and come back while we were eating with the Packards.

I dialed Sister’s number. No Richard, or if he was there he wasn’t answering. I dialed Debbie’s. One of the twins answered. Teeny (we’re still trying to figure out why the twins call Mary Alice this) wasn’t there, Aunt Pat, but did I want to speak to Brother? He was asleep, but she would wake him up.

“Fay?”

“May, Aunt Pat.”

“I’d like to speak to your mama, darling.”

“She’s asleep. I’ll wake her up.”

“No, don’t do that, May. Let her sleep.”

“Okay. Bye.” May hung up.

I played Virginia’s message again and wrote the number down. After listening to it the second time, I realized that it was just as well that I hadn’t been able to reach Luke. Virginia had specifically asked for me to call her.

Which I did. She answered “Hello” in a whisper.

“Virginia?” I whispered back.

“Patricia Anne? Oh, Patricia Anne.”

“Where are you?”

“In a Holiday Inn Express in Nashville.”

“Why are you in Nashville and why are we whispering?”

“I don’t know.” A normal voice. “My ass is in a sling, Patricia Anne.”

“You mean with Luke? No way. He’s going to be so relieved to hear you’re okay that it’s not going to matter what you’ve done. He’s been worried to death, Virginia. Richard, too. He’s here trying to find you.”

“My baby’s there?”

“We just got back from Chandler Mountain looking for you.”

“Y’all stay away from Chandler Mountain, Patricia Anne. I saw what happened to Monk Crawford on CNN. God.” Virginia’s voice dropped to a whisper again. “I saw more than I should have.”

I shivered. “You saw who killed him?”

“Of course not. But I saw my own car right there on CNN with Monk in it dead. Snakebit.” Virginia began to cry. “He was a nice man, Patricia Anne.”

“I’m sure he was.”

“Good painter, too. The soffits never looked so good.”

Enough.

“How did you want me to help you, Virginia?”

“I’m going to be charged with murder, Patricia Anne.”

“You’re not going to be charged with murder, Virginia.”

“Why not?”

“Maybe because you didn’t kill anybody?”

“But I did. He’s lying right here on the floor.”

I caught my breath. “Who are you talking about, Virginia?”

“Spencer Gordon. I killed him.”

“Virginia,” I said calmly. “Hang up and call 911.”

“Told you my ass was in a sling.”