“That is nice, isn’t it? Ecumenical. A Catholic, a Jew, and an agnostic. I swear, though, it’s not a perfect situation. If one of them has a birthday and I take him flowers, I don’t want the others to feel left out so I have to buy them some, too.”

“Only fair.”

Sister looked at me suspiciously. I bent to tie my shoe.

“Are you going to be at the conference all day?” I asked.

“It finishes at lunchtime. Then there’s the reading tonight.”

“And Major Bissell’s hanging in there?”

“Actually, he’s pretty good. The story he brought to be critiqued was a mystery where they caught the killer because of a matchbook. They figured out he was left-handed because of the way the matches were pulled out. Think about it, Mouse, how you pull matches from a folder. Which side.”

“He was writing about what he knows.” I slipped on a nylon windbreaker. “Be careful going down 98 if the fog hasn’t lifted. You want us to wait for you to go to lunch?”

Sister shook her head no. “Some of us will probably eat down there.” She turned the volume up on “Today,” where Martha Stewart was busy demonstrating herbs that would grow happily on your kitchen windowsill. “This woman,” Sister grumbled, “obviously does not have a Bubba Cat.” Which made me think of my Woofer and miss him. He loved to walk in the fog, skittering from lampposts to trees as if the moisture had brought out all kinds of messages.

Eddie Stamps from next door was sitting on the stile drinking a cup of coffee. The fog was so dense, I wasn’t sure it was him until I approached the steps.

“’Morning, Patricia Anne,” he said. “I saw your daughter a while ago. She said she was going running.”

“’Morning, Eddie. Which way did she go?”

“Toward the jetties.”

“If she’s not back in a little while, I’ll head that way.” I sat down beside him on the bench. “Rough news last night. How are you this morning?”

“Okay, I guess. I stayed with Fairchild again. He was still asleep when I walked down here. I need to get out some, thought I’d take the boat out this morning.” He gestured toward the water. “Looks like it’s going to be a while, though. Suits me; I like the fog. Laura hates it.”

“Laura said you went with Fairchild yesterday to make the arrangements for Millicent’s funeral.”

“It’s in the morning in De Funiak Springs, that little chapel on the lake. You know where it is?” He leaned over to pick a sandspur from his pants leg and then threw it behind the stile, into the sea oats. “Those things hurt like hell when you step on them.”

“Have you heard anything more about Emily?”