Take a number, Tally thought wearily.

The coffeemaker finished doing its thing, and she stubbed out her cigarette, filled a large mug, and stepped outside into the cool September morning. The sun was just coming up, a rare sight for her. Also rare was the quality of the air, fresh and clean, blown free of the smells of carnival foods. Most days, by the time she reached the midway to open up the Guesser, the fry vats were already bubbling with hot grease, the cotton candy makers were going full tilt, and spicy sausages were sizzling on the grill—smells so familiar and pervasive that she never noticed them until they were no longer there. Like now. Here at sunrise, it was only the smell of dew rising from the grass and dirt beneath her feet. No music either, just the sound of birds twittering in the tall oaks that ringed the Agricultural Hall and an occasional car passing beyond the fences.

Carrying her oversized coffee mug and sipping as she walked, she passed the trailers of sleeping friends and employees. No one stirred or called her name, and she was glad to have this time alone. They had rallied ‘round last night after closing, and she was grateful for their sympathy, but she wasn’t ready for more speculation as to who could have killed Braz or why, or unasked questions about her connections here. Polly was the only one besides Arn and the boys that she’d actually told about being born in this county, but several of them knew about the farm and had heard that she was related to the judge who tried those guys with the knife. Since Polly wasn’t one to chatter, Tally put it down to Braz running his mouth to Skee Matusik, who could never keep his mouth shut, either.

Whereas Val wanted nothing to do with a North Carolina family that had ignored her existence almost from the beginning, Braz had been scheming how to exploit the relationship ever since she told them that the judge in their vandalism case was actually her father’s sister. Sooner or later, Braz would have made one of the Knotts aware of who he was, despite her expressed desire to remain anonymous and unrecognized.

Not that It mattered anymore. Not now that Deborah knew who she was. Not when she’d be meeting her grandfather and God knows who else day after tomorrow. When she telephoned Duck Aldcroft at the funeral home yesterday, he’d told her that the medical examiner would be releasing Braz’s body either today or tomorrow, so they could hold the funeral Tuesday morning if that’s what she wanted.

“Tuesday will be fine,” she’d said.

“Ten o’clock?”

“Ten o’clock. About the cost, Mr. Aldcroft. I hope you won’t mind an out-of-state check?”

“You don’t need to worry about that, Mrs. Ames. Mr. Knott’s already taken care of everything. All we need you to do is come over sometime before Tuesday and select the casket.”

She had protested in sudden anger, but the funeral director had been gently adamant. “I’m sorry if this is a problem, Mrs. Ames, but Mr. Knott is an old and valued customer and he’s already paid me. You’ll have to discuss it with him.”