I didn’t feel like playing along with them. My eyes were still puffy from lack of sleep, I had a slight tail-ache, and I was worried about the nice man asleep on Sister’s bed who had just lost his wife so violently. I got up, went into the kitchen, and was putting on another pot of coffee when someone knocked on the door. Expecting Laura Stamps, who would be wondering where Fairchild was, I was startled to see the small, black-clad figure that looked up as I opened the door.

“Is my mother here?” she asked. “Tammy Berliner? She’s not next door.”

“No,” I said. “You’re Sophie?” The question wasn’t a rhetorical one; I truly wasn’t sure. That the blond, golden-skinned Tammy could have given birth to this child was indeed questionable. Standing before me was one of those big-eyed, waifish children you see on velvet paintings. Long black hair hung limply against the palest skin I’d ever seen. And the outfit she had on was a loose robe that reached the floor and seemed to be made of black gauze.

“I’m Sophie,” she said. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

“No problem.” Who was it who had told me Sophie was less weird since they had moved to Destin? “I’m Mrs. Hollowell, Mrs. Crane’s sister. Would you like to come in and have something to drink?”

Sophie scowled, and I realized that part of the wide-eyed look was caused by a liberal application of eye liner, deep purple shadow, and what couldn’t possibly be real black eyelashes.

“I’m looking for my mother,” she said. She turned and wafted toward their apartment at the end of the corridor.

“Nice meeting you, too,” I mumbled to myself.

“Who was that?” Haley asked as I walked back into the kitchen.

“One of the Addams family children.”

“Which apartment do they live in?”

I leaned across the kitchen counter. “It was Sophie Berliner.” I described her to Haley and Frances.

“Rebelling,” Frances said, forever the guidance counselor.

“How old did you say she is?” Haley asked.

“Thirteen or fourteen, I’d guess. Y’all want some more coffee?”

Frances got up and handed me her cup. “Neither fish nor fowl at that age. I wonder how close she was to Millicent. The black could be her way of showing mourning.”