“Evening, Mr. Harris.” Bates paused in front of me. “Why don’t you go on in, sir? I need to speak to everyone.”

“Certainly.” I walked into the parlor, and all eyes focused on me and the man entering behind me.

Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce occupied one sofa, and Helen Louise shared it with them. Stewart sat on the arm of the sofa next to Miss An’gel. Hank and Sissy Beauchamp sat in chairs nearby, while Morty Cassity stood staring out a window opposite the door. Teresa Farmer, now wigless and looking exhausted, sat with Clementine on another sofa. Cathy Williams must have left already—probably had to go to the hospital to deal with some emergency among her nursing staff, I speculated. Then I realized the catering staff wasn’t in the room, and I wondered where they were. Someone, perhaps Dr. Sharp, had probably sent them to another room where there were enough chairs for them all. There wouldn’t have been in here.

“Evening, folks.” Deputy Bates took up a stance in the middle of the room as I moved to sit on the arm of the sofa by Helen Louise. I put my hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. Her hand brushed mine gently as she gazed into my eyes. I wished there were room on the sofa so I could put my arm around her and draw her close. I could certainly use the comfort, and no doubt she could, too.

The officer continued. “I’m sorry to have to tell y’all this, but there’s been an accident involving Mrs. Cassity. Sheriff Tidwell is here and will be investigating. I have to ask y’all to remain here until the sheriff can talk to you. In the meantime I also have to ask you not to talk about anything to do with the accident until the sheriff has interviewed you.”

“Certainly, Officer Bates.” Miss An’gel spoke for us all. “We will do whatever we can to assist the sheriff.”

As we waited for the sheriff to appear, I finally felt my head clear enough to think about what I had seen in the kitchen. My forebodings of disaster for the evening had come true, and I wondered whether I had some sort of affinity for dire happenings.

Another murder. This made the fourth time I’d encountered a dead body, a potential homicide.

I chided myself. It could have been an accident. Vera might have been in a hurry, trying to rush down the stairs, when her hoops stuck. In trying to wrench them free she could have fallen and broken her neck.

I prayed again that it would turn out to be an accident. Tragic, but an accident.

But what was Azalea doing locked in the back stairway with Vera?

Could they have argued again? Did Azalea’s temper get the better of her? Could she have pushed Vera down the stairs in anger?

The arrival of Kanesha and Dr. Sharp cut my speculations short. Kanesha’s normally impassive countenance was gone, replaced by an expression of sheer fury.