Jolene handed her a glass of tea and plopped down on the couch in front of the fan. The hot air lifted the russet hair that had escaped her ponytail. Dulcie saw with clarity that her older sister’s hair was a shade darker than her own.

“I have to stay here. If I leave, the killer won’t give me the ending of the story.”

“You already know the ending,” Dulcie cried.

“No, I don’t. There is so much I don’t know. If I’m who you say I am, then I don’t know why our mother was killed. I don’t know who saved me. I don’t know who it is I have to fear.”

Dulcie couldn’t believe this. “You think the killer is going to confess all to you?”

“I do. Why else give me the other parts of the story? He—or she—wants me to understand.”

Dulcie was shaking her head. “It’s too dangerous. The killer can’t let you live once you know, don’t you see that?”

“I’ve made up my mind. The killer won’t act until he’s finished the story. He wouldn’t kill me before then.”

“There is just one flaw in your logic. What if the killer isn’t writing the story?”

“He is. No one else knows what happened that day but the killer.”

And Jolene, Dulcie thought with a shudder. But she could see her sister wasn’t going to change her mind. At least Jolene wasn’t completely denying that she was Angel and she seemed to have pulled herself together. “I swear you’re as stubborn as—”

“You?”

She stared at Jolene for a moment then began to laugh. “We are sisters. You’ll see. That’s why you can’t expect me to sit back and wait all weekend.”

“I didn’t expect you would, knowing you just the short time I have.”

“We have to find the killer before you get the last of the murder story,” Dulcie said, with renewed determination. She pulled a pad and pen from her purse and began making a list of what they did know.

“Midge Atkinson befriended Laura, then her husband had an affair with Laura. Both definitely suspects. Midge should also know who the friend was who Angel played with at the creek. Also there is the rainmaker and a man named Ben Carpenter who knew Laura.” She looked up. Jolene had an odd expression on her face. “Is something wrong?”

“No.”

“It’s not much, but at least it’s a place to start, right?”

“I still think the answer is in the murder story.”

“We’ve both read it a dozen times—”

“I’m going to read it again. There has to be something in it that points to the killer.”