Sister looked imploringly at Lieutenant Bissell, who stepped forward and suggested that we all go in and sit down. Just at that moment, the elevator opened and Eddie and Laura Stamps, the couple who live in the apartment on the other side of Sister’s, got out. Like Sister, they had owned their apartment for years, but they had retired and moved from Atlanta three years ago to become permanent residents. In their mid-sixties, the Stampses both had the tanned, extra crispy skin of people who spend most of their time on golf courses and boats. They stopped when they saw us standing at Fairchild’s door with Lieutenant Bissell.

“Patricia Anne? Mary Alice? Is something wrong?” Laura asked.

“It’s Millicent,” I said. I remembered that Millicent had been her close friend and I couldn’t say the next words.

Laura walked toward us with Eddie trailing her. “What about Millicent?”

Haley answered the question. “She’s dead, Mrs. Stamps.”

Laura’s hands flew to her chest. “Dead? Millicent’s dead? Where’s Fairchild?”

“Here I am, Laura.” Fairchild’s voice was shaky and frail. Lieutenant Bissell backed up so the Stampses could get through the door to Fairchild. They both embraced him.

“What on God’s earth?” Eddie Stamps asked. “What’s happened?”

Fairchild shook his head. “She drowned.”

“Get out of the hall, everybody,” Sister demanded. “This is like playing sardines.”

We all followed her except Frances, who told me she was going to go find the aspirin, maybe a Valium, maybe several of each, and headed next door.

Fairchild and the Stampses sat on the sofa and the rest of us gathered around. There was a half-played game of solitaire on the coffee table, and a Gilligan’s Island rerun was playing loudly on TV. Lieutenant Bissell reached for the remote and turned it off.

Sister leaned forward. “Fairchild, Millicent didn’t just drown. She was killed. We found her body on the beach at the end of Holiday Isle. That sandbar down there where all the herons are.”

“Millicent was killed?” Fairchild still looked puzzled.

“You mean murdered?” Eddie Stamps asked.

“Yes, sir.” Lieutenant Bissell’s voice seemed to boom in relief that the word had finally been spoken. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, God!” Laura put her head in her hands, and Eddie put his arms around her shoulder. A large man whose white hair drew a perfect circle around a tanned scalp, his arm seemed heavy on her thin shoulders.

“Excuse me,” Fairchild said. He got up and made a dash for the bathroom.

Laura began to sob. “We were going to see if Fairchild and Millicent wanted to go to dinner.” Eddie’s fingers tightened on her arm.

“Let’s get out of here, Mama,” Haley whispered to me.