“Oh, some fella,” Leona Ruth said, screwing up her face. “It was yesterday afternoon, maybe five o’clock. Right after it rained, anyway. I heard a knock at my front door. When I went to see who, it was some man I’d never seen before. All dressed up an’ dapper in a three-piece suit and tie and hat, an’ not one of those Monkey Ward suits, neither. Shoes shined so bright, they looked like they’d been polished with a cold buttered biscuit. Said he was a visitor in town, which I already knew, o’ course, since I’d never seen him before, and I could tell he was a Yankee from the way he talked. Said he was looking for a couple of friends of his. One was a platinum blonde, he said. Had to be you!”

Bessie looked at Miss Jamison. Her eyes were growing large and the color was draining out of her face.

“What did he . . . What did he look like?” she whispered.

“Look like?” Leona Ruth pulled her brows together. “Well, that’s easy. He was wearin’ one of those snappy brim hats, but he took it off when he was speakin’ to me, real polite, an’ he was bald. Bald and shiny as a billiard ball. Kind of man, you see him once, you cain’t never forget him.”

“No,” Miss Jamison moaned. “Oh, no.” She was so pale that Bessie was sure she was about to pitch face forward in a dead faint. Her knees began to wobble and she put out her hand in a helpless appeal.

“Come on, honey, you gotta sit down before you fall down.” Beulah put her arm around Miss Jamison’s waist. Bessie, still wearing her pink cape, jumped up to help. Together, they got her to a chair and she sank into it. Beulah turned to Bettina.

“Bettina, honey, go and get Hank’s whiskey bottle. He hides it in the hall cupboard, second shelf, back corner, where he thinks I never look. And bring a glass of water, too. Hurry!”

“I don’t want any whiskey,” Miss Jamison whispered. “I’m all right.” But she wasn’t all right, Bessie saw. Her face was white and her fingers were trembling. She clasped her hands together tightly and looked at Leona Ruth. “Did he . . . Did the man say who he was?”

Leona Ruth was watching avidly, and Bessie knew that this story was going to be all over town before dinnertime. “Yes, he did. Gold is what he said. Mr. Gold.”

“Gold.” Miss Jamison gave a half-hysterical laugh. “Gold. That’s rich. Oh, that’s rich.”

“Why?” Bessie asked.

“Because his name is Diamond,” Miss Jamison said miserably. “Frankie Diamond.” She closed her eyes. “Oh, god,” she moaned. “What am I going to do?”

Bessie turned back to Leona. “What exactly did this fella say, Leona Ruth?”