After a few minutes, May straightened and took the tissue Skye offered. “I loved her so much. We weren’t just mother and daughter, we were friends.” May wiped away a lingering tear. “It was funny. She was always in total control of everything in the house until Dad came home from work, and then suddenly she turned into a meek little lady. When he was gone she was a tiger-we’d play music real loud and sing, but when he was there we had to be quiet and make sure we didn’t disturb him.” May’s voice faltered. “It was almost as if Mom was afraid of him.”

“I really don’t remember Grandpa,” Skye said. “My earliest memories of Grandma are going to her house to help her bake and hearing about her childhood. She never wanted to talk about her adult past, so I was really surprised when she decided to tell me the family history.”

“When we hired Mrs. J, Mom finally realized she wasn’t immortal. She didn’t want those stories to die with her.”

“But they did. It was too late.” This was a side of May Skye rarely saw and she wanted to keep the conversation going. “You seem to have had a different relationship with Grandma than your siblings did.”

“Ever since Dad died, Dante’s treated Mom like a child. And he’s always whining about having to sell off his land because the housekeeper was so expensive. He wanted us sisters to take eight-hour shifts and get rid of Mrs. J.”

“You’re kidding!” Skye was surprised by the extent of her uncle’s self-centeredness.

“No.” May smiled ruefully. “And Mona and Minnie were always afraid of her.” May smiled sadly. “She was-n’t one to mince words and they don’t like to hear the truth.” She paused and patted Skye’s hand. “You remind me of her. Not afraid to tell it like it is.”

“I thought you didn’t like me to do that.”

May touched Skye’s face. “It’s just that I’m afraid for you. You have such a strong sense of right and wrong that you make a lot of people uncomfortable. And you never know what a nervous person will do.”

Skye glanced at her watch as she hurried into Scumble River Junior High School. It was five after one and she was late.

Just as she was about to knock on the principal’s closed door, Skye remembered. Simon was supposed to come over to her house that afternoon. He’d be ticked if she wasn’t there. She’d better call and hope she caught him before he left.

She turned back to the secretary’s unoccupied desk, snatched up the phone, and dialed Simon’s number. She got his answering machine at his house, his assistant at the funeral home, and his pager; she left messages everywhere.

It was now quarter after and Skye knew Neva would be seething. At first she frowned when no one answered her knock on the principal’s door; then she smiled and sat down. No secretary, no principal, she could easily have been waiting fifteen minutes for someone to tell her where the meeting was.

Ursula Nelson, the school secretary, rushed around the corner and came to a halt when she spotted Skye. “Why aren’t you with Mrs. Llewellyn and Mr. Doozier?”

“Where are they? I’ve been waiting here for quite a while.”

“They’re using the art room. The art teacher is sick today so it’s available.”

“Why aren’t we using Neva’s office?” Skye nodded toward the closed door.

“Mrs. Llewellyn felt it would be unwise to meet with Mr. Doozier in such a confined, windowless space,” Ursula said.

“I guess she really is afraid of him.” Skye picked up her briefcase.

As she headed down the hall, Ursula called out, “I was only gone a few minutes. You couldn’t have been waiting long.”

The small art room smelled of turpentine and glue. Scraps of construction paper were scattered on the faded blue linoleum. The windows were open, but there was no breeze to ruffle the paintings thumbtacked to the bulletin board.

Neva and Hap Doozier sat facing each other across a long table. Neither was speaking. Skye would have recognized Mr. Doozier without Ursula’s warning. He was short and skinny like his brother Earl, although not as densely tattooed.

Skye assessed his mood by his clothing. He appeared to be dressed for a Saturday night date, in tight blue jeans, a belt with a huge silver buckle, and a shiny western-style shirt. As she stepped near the table, the stench of his cologne mixed with the alcohol on his breath was overwhelming.

She extended her hand. “Hello, I’m Ms. Denison, the school psychologist. Sorry I was late, but I didn’t know where this meeting was being held.”

Mr. Doozier looked at her outstretched hand and gingerly gave the three middle fingers a hurried squeeze, releasing them as if they were infectious. “Hap Doozier. My kid’s Cletus.”

Neva started to speak as Skye eased into the molded plastic chair. “Mr. Doozier has been telling me that Cletus is a liar, and we are not to believe any further stories he tells us.”

“Oh?” Skye raised an eyebrow. “I spoke with his teachers yesterday afternoon, and they all felt him to be too impulsive to make a very good liar.”

Frowning, Mr. Doozier leaned forward. “It ain’t no one’s business in this school to go talkin’ about my boy. Not to his teachers, or to no caseworker from the government.”

Skye forced her hands to remain still and looked Mr. Doozier in the eye. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I know you care for your son and want the best for him. That’s what we want too.”

He pounded his fist on the table. “I give the boy everything he needs. He ain’t got no mama or brothers or sisters. It’s just him and me. No one has got a right to tell me how to raise my own kid.”

Speaking in a neutral voice, Skye said in a low tone, “I’m sure you do what you think is best, but maybe we could help you find ways that might work better.”

Mr. Doozier’s face turned red and veins popped out alongside of his neck. “No one tells me how to punish my own flesh and blood. If I think he needs to be whupped, I’ll whup him, and no DCFS bitch is goin’ make me stop.”

Skye glanced nervously at Neva, who sat with her mouth partly open and her expression trancelike. “Mr. Doozier,” Skye said, “I hear you saying that you don’t like people to interfere in your business, right?”

He nodded grudgingly.

“Well, if you continue to hit Cletus, we have no choice but to keep calling the Department of Children and Family Services. They then have no choice but to send a caseworker. If this continues, DCFS will ultimately have no choice but to take Cletus away from you. Is that what you want?”

For a brief moment, Skye was sure she had succeeded in talking some sense into Mr. Doozier, but within seconds he lunged out of his seat, making the chair fly backward. Leaning on the table with both fists, his face a dark shade of crimson, he sputtered, “Ain’t no one doin’ no such thing. Y’all think you’re so smart in your fancy clothes, with your fancy degrees, but Cletus and I can disappear with the snap of my fingers. Then what you and DCFS goin’ do?”

When neither woman answered he seemed to become more enraged. He grabbed one of the chairs and flung it at the window. The glass shattered into a spider web of cracks. “But I ain’t goin’ nowhere, because all you old maid busybodies are goin’ quit stickin’ your noses in my business, or you’re goin’ get hurt worse’n that window.”

Neva and Skye sat in stunned silence for long minutes after Hap Doozier stomped out of the room.

Finally Skye shook her head. “Forget about registering guns, register six-packs. Each can of beer takes you closer to shooting yourself in the foot.”

Neva stood up and smoothed her skirt. “That guy fell out of the stupid tree and hit every branch on the way down.”

They walked down the hall, glancing around nervously as they proceeded through the empty corridor. Both breathed a sigh of relief when they reached Neva’s office.