The door opened and Haley called out, “Hey, y’all.” She came into the living room followed by Frances, Berry West, and the man I had seen Fairchild talking to on the stile the night we had walked back from the Redneck, the night before Millicent was killed. He was younger than I had thought that night, probably in his late fifties, but my view had been from above, and the light had been shining on what I had thought was a totally bald head. But there was no mistaking; this was the same man. I had seen his face several times as he looked up toward the apartments.

Berry hugged Sister and then me as I was introduced to him. A handshake would have sufficed, but the hug was nice; he smelled like The Flamingo’s grilled grouper with an underlay of expensive soap.

The other man was Jason Marley, who had apparently accompanied them to dinner.

“I told Jason how much we loved his pink house,” Frances gushed.

“It’s unbelievable,” I said, truthfully, shaking his hand.

Sister pointed vaguely toward the chairs. “Y’all have a seat. Can I get anybody a nightcap?”

“You have any bourbon?” Berry asked.

“Sure.”

“Bourbon and water then.”

“Same for me,” Jason said.

“I’ll get it.” Haley headed for the kitchen while we sat down. “Why didn’t you and Mama come to The Flamingo, Aunt Sister?”

Mary Alice and I looked at each other. “Your mama and I went over to Emerald Towers to see if we could locate Emily Peacock.”

“That was early, though.”

Mary Alice, Berry, and I were sitting on the sofa. Jason was in one of the rockers, and Frances had chosen a pillow on the floor on which she was perched as if she were riding sidesaddle. “Wait until she tries to get up,” Sister had mumbled. Now she said, “Emily was dead when we got there. She had apparently committed suicide.”

There was the silence of shock. Then we heard a glass crash into the sink, and Frances came up from the floor with such agility that I was right proud of her.

“You found another body?” She looked accusingly from Mary Alice to me.

I could sense Sister bristling. “Yes, we did, Frances. Too bad you weren’t there.”

“I wish I hadn’t been,” I said.

“You found a dead body?” Berry said. And then, “Jason, are you all right?”

Jason Marley was leaning forward, the palms of both hands pressed against his eyes. He didn’t look up when he said, “God, not Emily. Emily’s dead? What happened?”

“She shot herself, Jason.” Sister’s voice was gentle, but the words were harsh with finality.

“Oh, God,” he said. “Not Emily.”