“There’s a crowd here,” Fred said as we neared the chapel. Cars were parked on both sides of the road.

“Everybody loved Millicent,” I said. And then I realized not everybody. Somebody had definitely not loved Millicent.

Mary Alice and Fred had both insisted on driving so we had ended up taking both cars, Sister and Haley in one, Fred and I in the other.

“This is dumb,” Haley muttered to me while they were arguing.

“Don’t tell me,” I said. “Tell them.”

So as Fred pulled in behind a pickup with a Confederate flag decal on the rear window, the Jaguar pulled in behind us.

“We beat Mary Alice here,” Fred gloated.

Inside the chapel was as dark as the day. As we stood at the door looking for seats, Berry appeared. “We’ve got you places up front.”

“Up front” turned out to be the second row. In front of us were Fairchild and several people we didn’t know, Millicent’s brother and sister, I assumed, and their families. Beside us were Jason Marley, Laura and Eddie Stamps, and a pale woman who looked so much like Emily Peacock that she had to be her daughter Barbara. The Berliners sat behind us; Tammy leaned forward and patted my shoulder. Mary Alice leaned forward and patted Fairchild’s shoulder. He looked back, saw who it was, and covered her hand with his.

“Quit that!” I hissed in Sister’s ear.

“Quit what?” But Miss Innocent removed her hand.

The setting, I realized, was eerily like the movie Sister and I had seen a few days earlier. The gray, closed casket, covered with spring flowers, loomed large before us. I looked around, half expecting the villain with slicked-back hair and a bow tie to come sneaking in. Jack Berliner, holding Sophie’s hand, was the only one who wore a bow tie. But as the services began, it occurred to me that if Millicent’s death was not the act of a serial killer, which seemed highly improbable to me, then the killer was someone who knew her; someone who was sitting here in this chapel. I shivered.

“You cold?” Fred whispered. I shook my head no. Before me, Fairchild bent his handsome white head in prayer. Is it you, Fairchild? Rich Fairchild, the nude swimmer, already flirting with other women? Did Millicent make a cuckold of you? Was it more than you could take?

Or Eddie? Is it you? Are you raging at the world as your mind clouds? Or Laura? Are you so hungry for financial security? Or Jason? You had the most to gain, Jason Marley. Did you kill Millicent and then Emily to get their property? Who are you, Jason? What kind of person are you? What are you capable of?

Behind us someone was crying quietly; I knew it was Sophie. Millicent, I thought, you made a difference; you’re going to be missed.