I glanced at the clock after I released Diesel from his harness. It was a little after five, and Azalea had left for the day. There was a pot of green beans on the stove, and when I peeked in the still-warm oven I found a chicken, mushroom, and brown rice casserole. There was a tossed salad in the fridge as well and, as usual, Azalea had prepared enough food for at least four people.

I checked Diesel’s bowls, and Azalea had taken care of them already. She might fuss at him sometimes, but she wasn’t about to let anyone in the house go hungry. Diesel examined them before loping off to the utility room.

The doorbell rang. I hoped it wasn’t Kanesha Berry, dropping by with more questions.

Julia Wardlaw stood on my doorstep, looking wan and tired.

“I apologize for dropping by like this without calling first,” she said as I stepped aside for her to enter. “But I wanted to see Justin before I went home.”

“You’re always welcome here, Julia,” I said. “You have an open invitation to visit whenever you like.” I shut the door and examined her with concern.

“Thank you,” she said.

“How are you? And how is Ezra?”

“I’m tired, but Ezra’s doing better, thank the Lord. They’re keeping him one more night, and he should be able to come home tomorrow.”

“That’s good,” I said. “Why don’t you come on in the kitchen and sit down. Let me get you something to drink, and I’ll go get Justin for you, if he’s here. I just got home myself, and I haven’t seen him yet.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Julia said as she followed me. “Right now I don’t feel up to climbing those stairs, I have to say.”

Diesel came to greet our visitor, and Julia petted and talked to him while I poured her a glass of the sweet tea Azalea had made.

As I climbed the stairs I thought, not for the first time, about having an intercom system installed. But then I reflected that I could always use the exercise.

Puffing slightly by the time I reached Justin’s door, I knocked.

“Come in.”

I opened the door and took a step inside. Justin sat at his desk, working at his computer. He tapped the keys a moment longer before he turned to greet me. “Hello, sir.”

“Hello,” I said. “Your mother is downstairs. She’d like to talk to you.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll be right down. I need to do one more thing to this”—he indicated the computer with a quick nod—“but that won’t take two minutes.”