“That was my second husband.” Rosabelle nodded. “Tom Thum. He was a dear man, but he died seven years ago. I married again not long after Tom passed.” She sighed. “Antonio Mingione. Handsome as the devil, but a rat. A complete and utter rat.”

“A rat? Where?” Dickce sounded alarmed as she arrived with a silver tray bearing a glass of tea and a pitcher. “Maybe Diesel will catch it for us.”

“Not that kind of rat,” An’gel said. “A two-legged one. Rosabelle’s current husband.”

“No, not current.” Rosabelle sniffled. “He died a year ago.”

“My goodness, how awful.” Dickce handed their visitor the glass and took her place on the sofa.

Rosabelle sipped at the tea. “I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to be back here, where people know how to make sweet tea.” She drained the glass, and Dickce refilled it for her. “Thank you, so kind, like you always were. I could always rely on the Ducote sisters for their kindness.”

The sisters exchanged wary glances.

“We’ve always done our best.” Dickce patted the woman’s arm. “Sounds like you are in need of kindness.”

“Kindness and sanctuary,” Rosabelle said. She burst into tears.

An’gel had seen this act before. No doubt the “rat” of a husband had run through her funds and left her destitute. The only way to deal with her was to be firm. “Buck up, now, and tell us what’s wrong.”

Rosabelle stared at her through streaming eyes. She looked so intentionally tragic An’gel wanted to smack her.

“Come on, now,” Dickce said gently. “Whatever it is can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, yes, it is. It’s murder.”

“Murder? What on earth are you talking about?” An’gel said.

Dickce spoke at the same time. “Who’s been murdered?”

Rosabelle glanced at each of them in turn. She drew a deep breath. “Me. I’m going to be murdered.”