Bessie nodded. “That’s right. She wanted to find out about the living arrangements—simple questions she could’ve asked Miss Hamer, if the old lady had a phone, which she doesn’t. Miss Jamison wanted a bedroom for herself and one for Miss Lake, and asked about DessaRae—whether she lives in. One odd question I remember: she especially wanted to know whether many people came to the house.”

Far away to the south, purple clouds were piling high and thunder rumbled. Her shoulder had made the right call—they would get rain before dark. Which was good, Bessie thought. The shrubs could use a good watering.

Liz chuckled. “I suppose you told her that nobody ever goes to that house—except for you and Doc Roberts.”

“Yes, I did,” Bessie said. “To tell the truth, I thought that might change her mind. But it actually seemed to make her feel better.” Another rumble of thunder, this one closer. “I got the idea that she and Miss Lake don’t much want to see people.”

Verna harrumphed. “Well, if that’s her intention, she’d better change her style, because people will want to see her. In fact, Bailey Beauchamp made an extra trip around the courthouse square, just so he could get a better look at that red dress—and what was inside it.” She paused. “You’ve met them?”

Bessie nodded. “I went over to say hello yesterday morning. I talked to Miss Jamison, but not to Miss Lake.” She paused. “There’s a bit of a mystery there.”

The thunder seemed to have broken the quiet of the neighborhood. A screen door slapped shut somewhere close by, and the sound of a neighbor’s lawnmower being pushed across the grass came through the hedge. Down the street, some boys called to one another, and a dog barked excitedly.

“A mystery?” Liz asked, looking puzzled. “You mean—”

“When they got here,” Bessie said, “Miss Lake was wearing a big floppy hat and an old-fashioned black motoring veil that completely hid her face. She didn’t take it off. She just went straight upstairs to her room and that’s where she has stayed. She never comes out, DessaRae says, not even to eat. Miss Jamison takes her meals to her and brings back the empty plates.”

“Ah,” Liz said, nodding. “Sally-Lou told me about that.”

Verna blinked. “Takes her meals to her? That’s odd, don’t you think?”

“No odder than anything that goes on in that house,” Bessie said with a wry chuckle. “There’s no such thing as ‘normal’ where Miss Hamer is concerned.” She was silent for a long moment, feeling the words rising inside her, an irresistible force, like lava from some long-dormant volcano. She hadn’t talked of this to anyone, not since it happened, all those years ago. And now—