Shit, I thought. The kid’s just screwed up. But I didn’t say it. Instead, I took my coffee into the bedroom, lay down on my bed, and opened my book. Lack of sleep and the breakfast pizza immediately took their toll. I was so sound asleep, the pounding on the door an hour later was incorporated into my dream as Fred hanging a picture on the wall. The sound of voices brought me awake, though. I peeked into the living room and saw Fairchild and a couple of Florida Marine Patrol officers. I ran a comb through my hair, brushed my teeth (on the mirror was a Post-it that Haley and Frances had gone to the outlet mall), and went to see what was going on.

The two Marine Patrol officers jumped up as I came in. One was a pretty young woman with curly brown hair, the kind of hair that I was sure drove her crazy frizzing in the high humidity of the beach. I knew, because mine did the same thing. The other officer was a man close to retirement age who had the opposite problem. You could have counted the hairs on his head.

“Patricia Anne,” Fairchild said, “this is Elaine Gregory and Tim Blankenship. They’re here to ask me some questions about Millicent.”

I shook both the officers’ hands and asked if they wanted to talk to Fairchild alone.

“Stay, by all means, Mrs. Hollowell,” Elaine Gregory said. “I understand you found Mrs. Weatherby’s body.”

“I didn’t look at her,” I admitted. “My sister did, sort of accidentally. And my daughter.” I sat on the sofa beside Fairchild. “You feeling better?” I asked him.

“Yes. Thanks.” But he was still very pale and the hands he kept running along the crease in his pants were shaking. Pants that Millicent had ironed. I looked away toward the water.

“We just need to ask you a few questions, Mr. Weatherby,” Tim Blankenship said.

“All right.”

Too placid. “He’s on medication,” I told the officers. And, patting Fairchild’s arm, “You don’t have to answer anything now, Fairchild.”

“It’s okay, Patricia Anne.”

Officer Blankenship cleared his throat and looked at his partner. She nodded. “Mrs. Weatherby didn’t come home night before last?” he asked.

“I’ve already told the Major Lieutenant about that. She had drinks at the Redneck Riviera with some friends and had a little too much. She went to sleep in the car in the parking lot.”

“Do you know who the friends were?”

“Some people from Blue Bay Ranch, I think.” Fairchild’s fingers quit creasing his pants. “I’m not sure.”

“We’ll check,” Elaine Gregory said.

“She’s never done anything like that before,” Fairchild looked at me. “Tell them, Patricia Anne.”

“She’s never done anything like that before,” I said, hoping I wasn’t lying through my teeth.