Carlene Thompson - Don

"If she was, would I be sittin' here all by myself at night? She's always out lately."

"With Hysell?"

"Who? Oh, that deputy. He won't marry her either. I told her. But she's not with him. I know 'cause he called here for her not half an hour ago. There've been other times he's called when she's out."

"You don't know where she goes at night?"

"No. She makes up excuses, but I can always tell when she's lyin'."

"How long has this been going on?"

"A week. Maybe two. She's been havin' lots of hush-hush conversations on the phone, too, and they ain't with that deputy."

"Then who?"

Mrs. Fisher shrugged. "Beats me." She pointed at the television. "There's Rhoda in one of them scarves! Can't she see herself in a mirror? Doesn't she know how stupid it makes her look?"

And don't you know this is a TV character from almost thirty years ago, not a real person? Nick thought. How reliable was anything she said if she couldn't distinguish fiction from reality? "Mrs. Fisher, do you think your daughter is going off at night to meet a man?"

"How should I know? Seems like the kind of trashy thing she'd do, though. Be just like her to start seem' someone respectable like the deputy and then sneak around behind his back." Her face contorted and she fell into another coughing fit. Nick rose nervously as she convulsed forward, sounding as if she were going to spew forth her lungs.

"Mrs. Fisher, please let me call the E.M.S."

"Wo!" she choked. "My show's on!"

"You're turning blue! I am calling the emergency squad."

Her tear-filled eyes looked huge as she glared through her bifocals. "You do and I'll tell 'em you broke in here and tried to rape me!" she snarled in a cough-ragged voice. "They'll believe me, young feller out prowlin' late at night, me here all alone and barely dressed!"

Good God, Nick thought. What was wrong with the women in this town? First Alison demanding he not touch her, now the irresistible Mrs. Fisher in her faded flannel and pin curls threatening to yell rape. She was spluttering to a halt. "All right, ma'am," he said in a placating voice. "I was just worried about you. I didn't mean any harm."

"You're gettin' on my nerves."

"I'm sorry. I'll leave now."

"Good," she rasped. "You got a cigarette on you?"

Nick looked at her, astonished. "No. I don't smoke."

"Well, hell." She sighed as if at the general unfairness of life. "Even if you had one, you probably wouldn't give it to me, like it would make any difference." Nick gazed at her silently. "All right. Before you go, Mr. Policeman, the least you can do is get me a beer."

Obediently Nick fetched a cold can of the cheap beer and popped the top. When he placed it in Mrs. Fisher's heavily veined hand, she didn't glance at him or the beer. She was smiling happily at the imaginary world on her television.

Paige hung off the bottom branch of the oak tree, then dropped. "You're getting better at climbing," Jimmy said.

Paige blushed with embarrassment, both from the compliment and from the memory of the first time she'd tried it and fallen on her head at Jimmy's feet, promptly bursting into tears. "Thanks. What's the big emergency?"

"We were going back to the Saunders house and take a picture of the serial killer. I got my Dad's Polaroid." He held it up proudly.

"You want to go tonight!"

"Sure. We can't wait forever. He could kill more people."

"Well, yeah, but…"

"But what?" Jimmy asked impatiently. "Your dad's car isn't here, so you don't have to worry about him."

"He called and said he'd be late. Mrs. Collins got all huffy. Not to him, but she called one of her friends and went on about how she can't spend so much time here because she's got all this church work. They're getting a new preacher and there's gonna big this big dinner for him-"

"I don't care about the church party!" Jimmy turned his head. "Oh, great," he moaned as headlights flashed across the yard. "Duck!"

They both hit the dirt. "It's my dad," Paige hissed. "He'll come right upstairs to check on me."

"Then climb up the tree and get in bed. I'll wait for a while."

"And if I don't come down you'll go without me?"

"I'll have to think about it," Jimmy said importantly. Ac tually he had no desire to revisit the creepy Saunders house by himself, but he'd never admit it. "Hurry. Your dad's going in the house."

Paige jumped, grabbed the low branch, and began a quick ascent. She'd come a long way since she first started climbing the tree, Jimmy thought proudly as if he'd had something to do with her progress. He sat down in the shadow of a tree to wait.

Paige was clambering over the window sill when she heard her father explode, "Dammit, Ripley!"

She tore across her room and down the hall. "What's wrong, Daddy?"

Nick rubbed his neck while Ripley sat in humped, green eyed wariness halfway up the stairs. "Your pain-in-the-ass cat jumped off the newel post onto my back."

"Daddy, he is not a pain in the ass, and Mommy used to tell you not to say things like that around me." She rushed to Ripley and cuddled his stiff black body. "You've hurt his feelings."

"His claws hurt my back."

"He's sorry, but it's his favorite trick."

Nick looked at his daughter's beautiful, distressed little face and melted. "Okay, I'm sorry I yelled. But I wish he'd find another trick."

"We'll work on one," Paige assured him earnestly.

Mrs. Collins hovered near the door. "I guess I'll be on my way, Sheriff. It's very late-" She was warming up to complain, but Nick's stormy face stopped her cold. "I'll see you tomorrow, Paige."

"Yeah, bye," Paige said absently as her father closed the door behind the woman. "You look awful tired, Daddy. Are you going to bed?"

"It's not ten o'clock yet." Nick's eyes narrowed slightly. "Why the rush to get me out of the way?"

"It was just a question."

"Yeah, sure." Nick rubbed his neck again. "I'm staying up. I have some things to think over. It's time for you to get ready for bed, though. I'll be up in a little while to tuck you in."

Fabulous, Paige thought dismally. How long was "a little while"? Paige slumped up the stairs holding a reluctant Ripley. Shortly after eleven Nick gave his sleeping daughter a kiss as Jimmy Jenkins crept silently from the lawn and began pedaling for home.

There would be no trip to the Saunders house tonight.

At the clinic Natalie often put in eighteen-hour shifts that included performing three or four surgeries. Even after one of these days, she did not feel as tired as she did when she and Lily said good night to the last of the mourners, finished cleaning up the kitchen, coaxed a silent Oliver away from the stereo and into bed, and fixed a pitcher of martinis to take to the big, old-fashioned back porch.

They both kicked off their shoes and relaxed on old, slightly musty chaise longues. "This is the only place in the house Viveca hasn't remodeled," Lily said, wiggling her toes. "I remember when Mom bought this furniture for the porch. Ten matching pieces! She was horrified by her extravagance but at the same time so excited. That wasn't too long before she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis." Lily took a deep breath and added fiercely, "I will never allow Viveca to get rid of this stuff, even if I have to pile it all up in my basement."

"I'm sure Viveca wouldn't trash it if she knew how much the furniture means to you."

Lily gave her a long look. "I asked you not to be sweet and reasonable."

"I thought I'd give it a try." Natalie took a sip of the chilled gin and vermouth. "Okay. If she even attempts to remove it, I promise to come and lash myself to this chaise longue. If it goes to the dump, so do I. How's that?"

Lily burst into laughter. "I appreciate the passion, but it might be wasted. Viveca would have you both hauled off. She doesn't like you any better than she does me."