“Here,” she said, spreading them out on the glass-topped table. “The brochure says Blue Bay Ranch is nestled on 650 acres of prime woodland fronting Choctawhatchee Bay and bordered by Sellers Magee Bayou and Indian Paint Bayou.

“But look here.” She pointed to the top sheet of the photocopied stack. “Tod Abernathy bought 942 acres over there. Let’s see. Subtract 650 from 942. You’ve got roughly three hundred acres over there that Millicent didn’t put into Blue Bay. Two hundred ninety-two.” She looked up. “That will go to Fairchild, won’t it?”

“I’ll be damned,” Sister said. “I totally missed that.”

“So did I.” I took the paper and brochure and studied the figures again. “Reckon there’s a chance that acreage has already been sold?”

“Maybe,” Haley said. “We could ask Fairchild.”

“The insurance people are with him. He’s been talking about his property on the bay, but I just assumed he still felt like part of Blue Bay Ranch.” Sister took the papers from me. “Sellers Magee Bayou. That’s toward the Mid-Bay Bridge. I’ll bet you money this land goes from the bayou toward the bridge.”

“Maybe Laura would know,” I said. “We’ve got a couple of questions to ask Miss Laura, anyway.”

“I’ll call and see if she’s home.” Sister got up.

“Not many dull moments around here,” Frances said.

“Lord have mercy,” Laura said when she opened the door. “I almost didn’t recognize you, Patricia Anne.”

“It’s Summer Marigold,” I said. “It’s the same thing Sister has on her hair.”

“Sure looks different. I remember one time I put some coloring on my hair called Tahitian Night and, believe you me, it gets black in Tahiti at night. I like to have died.” She stepped back. “Y’all come on in. Just don’t look at the mess the apartment’s in. I’m getting ready to go to my sister’s, you know.” Laura was barefooted, had on snug knit shorts that appeared corrugated, topped by what must have been Eddie’s shirt. Since it was tie-dyed, it was either twenty years out of style or a year ahead. My bet was on the former.

“We just want to ask you something,” Sister said.

“Sure. Come on in. You want a Coke? I’m ready for a break.”

“Thanks.” Sister and I sat on the sofa while Laura clunked ice into glasses and brought in a tray with three Cokes. “I swear I can’t believe all this.”

“Is Eddie okay?” I asked.

“Pretty good. Somebody’s taking him over to the driving range. Fairchild said he told you. About the Alzheimer’s.”

“We’re so sorry.” Sister said.

“Well, so far so good. Eddie’s always been a gentle man.” She grinned. “Always having to calm me down. And, in a way, he’s just getting gentler. And some days he’s still sharp as a tack.”

“And the prognosis?” I asked.