"I understand, but I don't like the feel of it. Can you make a quick circuit for my sake?"

"All right. You might as well follow me. This won't take long, but you can see for yourself." She leaned over and picked up the whiskey bottle from the coffee table. "Here."

I took the bottle and waited while she snagged the highball glass and the pill bottles lined up nearby. "Her doctor's out of his mind. I've had this discussion with him a hundred times. They're old friends, so she comes along right after me and talks him into it."

She gave the kitchen a cursory look while she poured her mother's whiskey down the drain. She emptied all the pills into the trash, where I heard them rattling toward the bottom like a cupful of BB's. She tossed in the empty whiskey bottle. "I'll take care of this later," she said, referring to the overflowing trash can and the pile of dishes in the sink. "Things look fine in here. The place is a pigsty, but no more than usual."

I trailed after her while she looked into the bathroom and the second bedroom. The latter must have been her room as a kid, the one she'd been forced to share with Charisse. The twin beds were still in place, but most of the remaining space was taken up with piles of clothing, boxes, and miscellaneous junk. I nearly confided my suspicion about someone having entered my room, but I thought better of it. I didn't have proof and I didn't want to sound completely paranoid. Besides, it would only encourage her to ask questions I didn't want to answer.

As we were returning to the living room, she said, "I heard about Pudgie. It's horrible."

"News travels fast."

"Trust me, everybody knows by now."

"Who told you?"

"Todd Chilton called. He's a deputy –"

"I met him. Why did he call you?"

"Oh, right. He remembered I dated Pudgie and he thought I should know. From what he said, it was gross. At least I got that impression reading between the lines. He says you're the one who figured it out."

"Someone would have noticed before long," I said, thinking about the smell. I filled in a few brush strokes, avoiding anything of substance. I was certain Detective Lassiter would limit the information that reached the public.

"Why'd you stop by?"

"I had a question for your mom. I know this seems minor, but I was curious. The first time I talked to her, she said she'd gone to the police the day Charisse disappeared. But according to the police report, she waited a week. I was hoping she'd explain the discrepancy."

"She didn't tell you about the note?"

"From Charisse? Not that I remember."