"Bastardy papers?" Sister asked. "You think Judge Haskins would kill somebody because they found out his great great grandfather was born out of wedlock?''

"Of course. One of the hazards of genealogy." Trinity Buckalew tapped her forefinger against the document. For once, neither Sister nor I could think of a word to say.

Five

s this woman hitting on all cylinders?" I whispered to Mary Alice. Trinity Buckalew had asked directions to the "little girls' room" and disappeared down the hall. The document proclaiming Clifford Adams Taylor a Georgia bastard still lay on the coffee table; I picked it up. "Would anybody really commit murder over something like this?"

Sister shrugged. "She seems to be sensible. So I assume they would."

"But why?"

"Lord, Patricia Anne, I don't know. Some people just set a store by having a nice family, I guess."

"You mean a legal one."

"Whatever." Sister got up, straightened her back, did a couple of loosening-up sideways stretches, and said she was going to locate the morgue in the yellow pages and reckon how it was listed.

"Dead Layaway?"

"Not a damn bit funny!"

I didn't think so, either. But the truth was that Meg's death had shaken me, and when I get upset my gut reaction is to joke about what's upset me. I figure

it's as good a way as any of coping. Better than some. But it drives Sister nuts.

"Act like you've got sense!" she hissed, turning and heading for the kitchen.

Chastised, I sat and looked over the valley and drank my Coke. I heard the sound of a toilet being flushed, footsteps down the hall, and Mary Alice's voice as she talked to either Bubba Cat or to the morgue.

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" Trinity was standing beside me pointing to the bastardy document. "But people have killed for less."

Hard indeed. "It just seems so unimportant."

"Not to a person trying to establish his lineage."

"I guess so."

Trinity Buckalew sat down in the poppy-splashed chair. I noticed that she had combed her hair and put on some lipstick while she was in the bathroom. She sighed and looked out over the valley. "A whole world out there," she said.

I nodded.

"Meg will be cremated. It's her wish to have her ashes sprinkled on Mobile Bay."

I nodded again. There were no jokes in me now. Meg Bryan would go to no more weddings; she would enjoy no more lunches. I felt tears sting my eyes.

"There, there." Trinity reached across and handed me a Kleenex.

"What's the matter?" Mary Alice asked, standing in the door.

"Your sister is a remarkably empathetic woman," Trinity said.

Mary Alice looked at me suspiciously. I wiped my eyes.

"I called the morgue," Sister said.

"Well, we might as well get this over," Trinity started to get up, and the wicker screeched.

"No." Sister sat on the sofa and looked at us, and Trinity settled back down. "You don't have to identify the body, Trinity."