“You see, we were looking at some pictures of Emily Peacock and realized immediately that she was left-handed and that whoever killed her hadn’t known that. They put the gun in her right hand, shot her in the right temple.” Mary Alice stuck her finger to her temple. “Bang.” It was a couple of hours later and she was explaining what “we” had discovered to Major Bissell. He and Haley had come in from a leisurely lunch at The Crab Trap and had been confronted with our news.

“I think Lisa Andrews from the sheriff’s department already knows this, Mrs. Crane. In fact, I understand suicide was ruled out pretty early.” Major Bissell ran his hand through his thinning blonde hair. “It was sharp of you to notice it, though.”

Mary Alice’s eyes narrowed and I stepped between her and Major Bissell quickly and inquired about lunch, which he declared had been great—good food, good company. He and Haley smiled at each other, a cat-that-swallowed-the-canary smile. I glanced at my watch. How long had they been gone?

“Lisa Andrews told Major about the phone call, too, Aunt Sister. Called him at The Crab Trap.”

“And we’ll look into it, ma’am. Keep our eyes open. Since the only thing you have in common with the two victims is ownership of your apartment here, though, I wouldn’t worry if I were you.”

“Thank God!” Sister smiled sweetly. Laura had called an hour ago to inform us that the sheriff’s department considered the call a prank. Some prank! The old folks at Gulf Towers were really on one today!

“We’re looking forward to your reading tonight,” I said quickly.

“I’ve never read in front of an audience before,” he admitted. “I’ll probably be pretty nervous.”

“Do you want me to read it for you?” Mary Alice asked.

Bless his heart, he thought she was being nice. In fact, that’s what he said. “That’s very nice of you, Mrs. Crane. If you see I’m not going to get through it, just shove me aside and take over.”

“I’d be happy to.”

Major Bissell took Haley’s hands, held them for a moment and said he would see her later.

“Tonight,” she promised.

“Have mercy,” Mary Alice muttered. She turned and headed for the balcony. “Patronizing punk,” she said to me as I joined her.

“I think he meant well,” I said in Major’s defense.