"Well, my Lord, Mouse. The woman's sister's dead. She may be falling apart. Probably is."

"Trinity Buckalew?"

"Yep."

"She sounds like a Quaker, doesn't she? Maybe a Shaker."

"Quaker or Shaker, she's going to be at my house in the morning. Probably falling apart."

"I'll be there," I promised.

After Sister left, I put Woofer out and went to see if Fred wanted a cup of hot chocolate. But he was asleep, lying on the bed with his clothes still on and his glasses hanging on the end of his nose. When I slipped the glasses off, he woke up and blinked.

"Mary Alice gone?"

"And everything's locked up."

He got up and went into the bathroom. When he came back, he had on his pajamas.

"You're a nice man," I said.

"Tell me about it." He lay down and closed his eyes.

"You're wise. You understand about celebrating life. You're pretty."

He snorted.

"Well, I think you are." I rubbed his shoulder.

"You have nice hair, lots of it, and cute buns."

He snorted again. And again.

"Fred?" But he was snoring away. I fixed myself a cup of hot chocolate and watched the late news. The anchorwoman didn't mention a suicide at the courthouse.

"Trinity Buckalew," the formidable woman standing at the door said. If I hadn't just seen Julia Child on Good Morning America dumping mashed potatoes into a bowl of rutabagas and getting paid a fortune for it, I'd have sworn she was standing here at Mary Alice's house holding out her hand.

"Patricia Anne Hollowell." My hand was engulfed by Trinity's.

"This is the Crane residence, isn't it?"

"I'm her sister. Won't you come in? We're so sorry about Meg."

"Yes. Well," she stepped inside and looked around, "we all knew it was going to happen some day."

"She was depressed?"

"Of course not." Trinity Buckalew leaned forward and examined the hall tree. She was wearing a bright blue cape that swung forward like wings. "Interesting," she said. "Who made this?"

It was her husky, authoritative voice, I realized, as well as her size, that reminded me of Julia Child. "I have no idea," I admitted. "It belonged to our grandmother."

She pushed her bifocals up so she could look through the bottom part. "Interesting."

"May I take your coat?" Somehow "cape" wouldn't come out. "My sister's on the phone, but

she'll be here in a minute. There's coffee on the sun-porch."

Trinity Buckalew straightened up and slipped her cape off. She also removed the matching blue felt hat that reminded me of the ones Daddy used to wear. "Thanks." She handed them to me and I immediately hung them on the hall tree, which she could have done herself, of course, but I was being polite.

"How tall are you?" she asked.

"Five one. Why?"

"Just wondered." She stretched, reaching both hands toward the ceiling. "Stiff from the drive," she explained.

"Come have some coffee, then." I pointed toward the sunporch.