Lizzy had learned a long time ago that there was no point in trying to fool Sally-Lou, but the situation was complicated, and she didn’t want to go into it now. “Just something I need you to do.” She hesitated. “It’s important, or I wouldn’t ask.”

“Like maybe spyin’ on those two ladies livin’ there, huh?” Sally-Lou asked. She pulled the pie tin toward her, picked up a knife, and slashed a vent across the top so juices and steam could escape.

“Sort of,” Lizzy said, and felt compelled to add, “It might be a little dangerous.” She didn’t really think so, but felt she should warn Sally-Lou anyway. They needed an insider in the house. An insider who had instructions on what to do, in case something should happen. Sally-Lou was smart, resourceful, and dependable. They could count on her.

“Dang’rous?” Sally-Lou chuckled. She began to crimp the pastry between her fingers, sealing the top and bottom crusts together. “Well, reckon I could,” she said judiciously. “Seein’s how it’s you that’s askin’, Miss Lizzy. And seein’s how I jes’ loves to do dang’rous things. Does ’em ever chance I gets.”

“Oh, good.” Sally-Lou loved drama, so Lizzy had been pretty sure she’d do it. But she had a mind of her own, and she was stubborn as all get-out, so you could never tell. “I have to go to the Magnolia Manor, so I’ll walk over with you and tell you all about it on the way.” Lizzy squeezed Sally-Lou’s arm. “Thanks. I’ll let Mama know, so she won’t fuss.”

Sally-Lou rolled her eyes. “Yo’ mama gone fuss anyhow. But I be used to it. Don’ you worry none.”

Mrs. Lacy was sitting in her white wicker rocking chair on the front porch, a tablet on her lap and a pencil in her hand. She looked up. “Oh, there you are, Elizabeth,” she said cheerfully. “I will be wantin’ that key again tomorrow. I’d like to take another look at the dining room. I think we can fit—”

“There will be no key, Mama.” Lizzy pulled a porch chair around so that she could face her mother, and sat down. It was time to lay down the law, in the only terms her mother would understand. “And no dining room, and no electric refrigerator. I had a frank discussion with Mr. Johnson this afternoon. About this house, and his efforts to come to some kind of accommodation with you, and your refusal. He told me—”

“You . . . you had no right to talk to that man, Elizabeth!” Mrs. Lacy cried. “This house is my business! You—”

“I had every right, Mama,” Lizzy broke in, feeling the hot anger boiling up inside her like a teakettle steaming on a hot stove. “You lied to me. You said that Mr. Johnson refused to negotiate on the mortgage. You let me think that Daddy’s annuity was ended and that you were destitute.” She pulled herself up. “Anyway, this house is my business now, not yours. I have bought it.”