“A dump,” Frances declared. “We’d go over there every time we went to see Aunt Isabel. She and Mama both thought Roosevelt was handed down, and they’d look at that pitiful little kitchen and say things like, ‘Here’s where the cook was fixing meatloaf the day he died.’ One time we were walking through the dinky, tiny bathroom, not even a shower, and Aunt Isabel looked at the toilet and grabbed her chest and said, ‘My God! He peed here. Right here in this toilet.’”

Haley and I both laughed, and Frances smiled. “Lord! How did I get off on that subject?”

“I always thought the place would be elegant,” I said. “Not big and pretentious, but elegant.”

“Don’t kid yourself. It’s worth a trip, though. He drove his own car around Warm Springs with all these hand controls, and they had the gate to the driveway fixed so that if he bumped it, it would open. Stuff like that’s interesting.”

We thought about that for a moment.

“And it was a pretty steep grade down to the house,” Frances added.

“We need to make the trip, Mama,” Haley said, grinning. She got up, collected the dishes, and started through the door. “Frances, can I borrow the car for a while this morning? I need to go into Fort Walton.”

“Sure,” Frances said, her mind obviously still on The Little White House. “Looks like Mrs. Roosevelt or even his girlfriend Lucy whatshername would have hung some curtains, doesn’t it? Or bought a refrigerator? They had an ice-box. And this was in the forties. They had electricity, so there wasn’t any excuse.”

When Frances ran out of things to say about The Little White House, I told her about Fairchild’s morning swim and Laura’s bruises.

“You don’t think it happened like she said?” she asked.

“I suppose it’s possible; I hope so.”

“How long have Eddie and Laura been married?”

“Forty-something years. Would a spouse start beating on the other after all that time?”

“Well, not usually. But anything could have happened, clinical depression, a slight stroke.”

Haley stuck her head out the door and asked for the car keys.

“In my purse,” Frances told her. “What’s she going into Fort Walton for?” she asked me as we heard the door shut. But I had no idea.

“Maybe she’s getting something to wear to Millicent’s funeral,” Frances said. “I’m sure she just brought beach stuff.”

“Which reminds me.” I pushed my chair back. “I need to call Fred and tell him to bring a suit, and me a dress and heels.”

Frances got up, too, stretching. “I’m going to put on my bathing suit and mosey on down to the beach. Do you think it’ll be all right with Haley for me to move in with her, let you and Fred have the middle room?”