I turned off the highway onto the main street of the little village of Fairfields. The ladies of the town had been planting flowers along the margins of the street, poppies and chrysanthemums, iris and daisies and Scotch broom. I drove past a row of old frame houses, some very grand and some just cottages. At the very end of the street was the brick farmhouse the Morgans had bought and restored. Now Charles William and Irise were continuing the restoration. Already Charles William had built new porches along three sides. They were painted white with dark green shutters and ceilings of French blue. There was a driveway of mussel shells and a new brick sidewalk leading from the driveway to the house. The low branches of the old magnolia and elm trees were festooned with small oriental chimes and paper birds that whirled in the wind. Charles William was standing on the brick steps holding a coffee mug and waiting for me. He was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a pale blue silk pajama top. He was barefooted. “Dee,” he called out. “Come on in. Oh, divine, you’re here.” He cuddled me into his fine soft body. He held me for a long time. “We’ll call Derry,” he said. “She’ll know what to do. She handles things like this all the time. This is what she does, you know.” We turned and walked up onto the porch and in the front door. The front parlor had been painted a dark red. There were long red velvet drapes held back with wide velvet belts trimmed in gold braid. Golden sconces were along the walls. A huge crystal chandelier hung down from the center of what had been a farmhouse parlor. In the center of the room was the only piece of furniture, a six-foot-tall replica of the Parthenon. “It’s part of the set for a play,” Charles William said. “A production of Medea they did last month in Huntsville. I decorated the room to hold it. I had to have one ancient room. What do you think?”

“My God. It’s fabulous. What do you do in here?”

“Nothing. Anything you want. We could have breakfast here if you like. Irise is making waffles. Are you hungry?” He pushed a button on the wall. Music filled the room. “It’s Mahler,” he said. “Isn’t it divine?”

Irise appeared in the door. “It’s the Greco-Roman wing,” she said. “He had to have it.” She smiled and took my arm and pulled me out into the hall. “Come have breakfast. Charles William told me about your maid, but I want to hear it all. Tell us about it.”

“She may have done it. But if she did, she didn’t mean to. She has children. What will happen to them if she goes to jail?”