"That's interesting. You know all about your family tree, then."

"Sometimes I think I know about everybody's family tree." Meg Bryan smiled. "Which is what caused the little scene a moment ago. I'm a professional genealogist, and Camille Atchison had me doing some research for her. Obviously, she didn't like my findings."

"Obviously." I thought of the anger on the woman's face.

Meg continued, "While I'm here, I'm going to Samford University and the Birmingham Public Library to do some work. Both of them are excellent research centers. Are you familiar with the Southern History Department at the library?"

"My first job was there," I said. "You're going to be rambling through some of the stuff I filed forty years ago."

"Oh, most of it is on computer now. You can just pull it right up."

"Un huh," I said, suddenly feeling a hundred years old.

"And my last computer is so small it's no problem to carry. Fits in my briefcase. The genealogy program I use is pretty good, too. DOS based, which is fine. I'm writing a new Windows one that's better, though."

"Un huh." I looked at Meg Bryan, who seemed to have sloughed about twenty years. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks were still flushed from the Camille incident.

"I tell you, Mrs. Hollowell, the world of genealogy is a dog-eat-dog world. You know?"

"I never thought about it before," I admitted. "But I think you may be right."

"Well, it is. Dog-eat-dog."

"But you enjoy it?"

"I'm a big dog."

And I believed her. This frail old lady had suddenly become Jessica Tandy with an overlay of pit bull, eyes narrowed and lips curled. I had been about to ask her what, specifically, had made Camille Atchison so angry, but decided it was none of my business and that she would tell me so, politely, but in no uncertain terms.

"For instance," she continued as we worked our way to the buffet table, "suppose you find Henry Hudson's maternal great grandfather. Absolutely perfect documentation. You better guard it like a setting hen or somebody'11 steal the nest egg. You know what I mean?"

I had no idea what she meant. Why would anybody be looking for Henry Hudson's maternal great grandfather? I nodded politely, though.

"Not just amateurs, either. Professionals. Are you a DAR, Mrs. Hollowell?"

"I don't think so."

' 'The Daughters of the American Revolution. Are you a member?"

"No."

"Oh, you should be. Your maiden name was Tate, wasn't it?"

I nodded.

"Incredible!"

"It's a fairly common name around here."

"I meant the cake." Meg Bryan stopped. "Would you look at that!"

In sixty years of attending weddings, I had never seen such a cake. It rose in many tiers of white icing decorated with marzipan flowers the same pink as the bridesmaids' dresses. On the top were rubric lilies that matched the bouquets the bridesmaids had carried.