The aroma of fresh coffee hit my nose as I entered an empty kitchen. Stewart Delacorte, the second of my two current boarders, had probably prepared the coffeemaker last night and set it for the morning, bless him. I poured myself a cup, added some half-and-half and sweetener, and had a few sips before I went out to fetch the paper.

I decided on cereal and fruit for breakfast—a healthy change from the delicious, but cholesterol-laden, meals Azalea prepared during the week. I kept telling myself I should make more of an effort to eat healthy during the week instead of only on the weekends, but Azalea’s old-fashioned Southern cooking was irresistible. Now that she had recovered from the health problems she suffered around Christmastime she seemed more indefatigable than ever. She didn’t even ask her sister Lily to help out, as she had done for a couple of months after her brief hospital stay.

While I munched my cereal and read the paper, I did my best to avoid thinking about poor Carrie Taylor for the moment. With the grilling I’d soon get from Kanesha Berry, I wouldn’t be thinking of much else.

No other member of the household—not even my cat—had put in an appearance by the time I rinsed my bowl in the sink and stuck it in the dishwasher. For Saturday mornings, this quiet was typical. I was the only early riser on the weekend. Just as well today, I thought, because Kanesha wouldn’t want anyone else in the room when she questioned me.

The doorbell rang about ten minutes after eight as I was enjoying my second cup of coffee. My stomach lurched. Back to reality, I told myself as I went to answer.

Kanesha Berry, grim-faced as ever, stood on the front doorstep. Her ever-present shadow, Deputy Bates, was not in evidence this morning, and I wondered where he was as I invited her in.

Kanesha followed me into the kitchen. “Sorry to have to bother you so early on a Saturday morning, Mr. Harris, but murder can’t wait.”

“I understand,” I said as I reached for the coffeepot and a fresh mug. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Yes, please.” Kanesha pulled out a chair and sat, and I noticed how weary she looked, her face drawn and almost haggard. “No cream or sugar.”

I ventured a question. “Have you been up all night?”

She nodded as she accepted her mug. “Domestic dispute on the north side near the county line, and then we got the call about Mrs. Taylor around five this morning.”

I decided to risk another question. As tired as she was, she might let me get by with it. “Who found her? Since she’s a widow, I thought she lived alone.”