I was so surprised by what Holly said, and I knew I didn’t respond with the right amount of concern. She must think I’m a coldhearted bitch. I wouldn’t blame her. Sometimes I was one and I knew it. I don’t know why she irked me so. Okay, yes, I know why she irks the ever-loving hell out of me, and when I tell you why, you can add petty and judgmental to the long list of my poor qualities.

My little sister was a martyr. I don’t know why she always acts like she’s being persecuted, but she does. She doesn’t want to stay home with Momma? Well, Momma ain’t home, so honey, go on, go over the causeway and go get that life you’re always mumbling about not having. And even if Momma does come home, there’s no one keeping you locked in, is there? Well, to hear her tell it, she was going to be blamed for Sharon’s death, which was absurd.

And she’s afraid of her own shadow. She’s never even had a parking ticket, much less a speeding ticket. The only people she’s really comfortable around are generally under five feet tall. Go figure that one out. Except for Archie.

And this stupid torch she’s been carrying for Archie? He’s not even that interesting, if you want my opinion, unless you are all hung up on the history of religion, which I am not. Although he was soon to be on the market again.

Sharon was dead? Found in our yard? It didn’t make sense. I’d call Holly as soon as I had a little time and see what the whole story was. But hey, ding-dong, the witch was dead. A cause for discreet celebration to be sure.

The bedroom door opened and Char stepped out into the living room.

“Wow!” I said. “Just wow!”

Celery green was definitely her color.

“You look like a movie star!” I said.

“Thanks!” Char said. “I love that it shimmers when I walk. Watch.”

Char sashayed through the living room to the front door and back to the bedroom.

“I hate to tell you this,” I said. “But this apartment is no longer worthy of your star power.”

“As soon as I have my own little club, we’ll move,” Char said. “Your mother is Christian Siriano!”

“I’m happy with it,” Momma said.

“You should be,” I said. “Wait until Suzanne sees this!”