That poke passed as criticism from Marty. Petite and pretty like Mama, our librarian sister was normally as gentle as a baby lamb. I’m somewhere between the two of them: Not as sweet as Marty; not as scary as Maddie.

“We’re okay,” I said. “Ronnie isn’t.”

I filled them in. Maddie looked sad; Marty shuddered when I described the murder scene.

“Has anyone told his wife?” she asked.

Carlos came to the window just in time to overhear Marty’s question. “No telling what she’s heard by now. I’m still amazed at how news travels in a small town. That’s not to say it’s always accurate.”

The Himmarshee Hotline was surely humming. It wouldn’t be long before half the town arrived to check out the crime scene.

Carlos had his cop face on. “Mace, I need you to come back in and tell me exactly what you saw, and when. And then I’d like you to translate for your mother.” He nodded to the table where Mama still sat. “She’s obviously upset, since the man was a neighbor. But she keeps going off on tangents. Something about food for a hundred and fifty and some kind of tool.”

“Tulle,” I said. “It’s a fabric. You tie it around three candied almonds as a wedding favor. But believe me, Carlos, you really don’t want to know.”

A battered white Plymouth screeched into the VFW parking lot. Even after the driver parked half onto the grass and shut off the ignition, the engine continued to knock. A wild-eyed woman flung open the car door. She leaped out, eyes scanning the growing crowd.

“Uh-oh,” I said to my sisters, who still stood outside the open window. “Heads up. Here comes Ronnie’s wife. She’s probably heard something, and she’s fearing the worst.”

The three of us straightened, waiting to see what Alice would do. You could almost see the terror rising in her eyes as she checked each face, failing to see her husband’s familiar features. I’ve always been single, but both my sisters are married: Maddie for twenty years; Marty for more than ten. I imagined they were running through in their minds how it would feel as a wife to be on the receiving end of the official confirmation Alice Hodges was about to get. I didn’t need to have a husband to know it would feel awful.

As I watched from inside the window, Marty started toward Alice.

“Honey, why don’t you let me take you inside? It looks like the skies are going to open up again at any moment out here. No sense in getting wet.”

Marty’s voice was kind and soothing. I was glad she got to Alice first before Maddie steamrolled her.

“Where’s my husband?” Alice asked, her voice laced with anxiety. “Where’s Ronnie?”

“Let’s go in.” Marty spoke calmly and slowly, as if to a child. Maddie followed our little sister’s lead, approaching quietly from Alice’s other side. She didn’t say a word, which is rare for Maddie, just took one of Alice’s arms while Marty held on to the other.

I looked around for an officer. The policemen—and one woman—who’d come in behind Carlos were busy starting to shoo people from the lot. The chief was out by the street, talking to the Himmarshee Times. Yellow crime scene tape was going up. I don’t think anyone official noticed my sisters escorting a middle-aged woman in a faded housedress and sensible shoes. She didn’t register as the wife of the murder victim inside the VFW.

“Mama,” I called over to the table where Carlos had asked her to wait. “Run over to the kitchen and tell Carlos Alice Hodges just got here. Somebody needs to come take care of her.”

I knew first aid, since we’ve had our share of emergencies at Himmarshee Park. If Alice were to collapse or go into shock, I’d know what to do. But Carlos would want to talk to her. By the time a young policewoman stopped my sisters at the front entrance, Mama had found Carlos. He strode across the rental hall to the door.

“It’s okay. Let them through,” he said to the policewoman.

She stepped aside, and Maddie and Marty entered the dining room. Alice walked, white-faced and fearful, between them.

“Are you in charge?” she asked Carlos, and then her words tumbled out without waiting for his answer. “I got a phone call. Someone said there’d been a murder. My husband was here early this morning, preparing for an appointment. I haven’t been able to reach him on his cell phone. I’ve told him and told him not to go off and leave it lying on the front seat of his car.” She stopped talking, took a couple of shallow breaths. “What good is a cell phone if you never have it with you? I’ve told him …” Growing softer, her voice finally petered out.

Carlos nodded at me, and then to a chair at a nearby table. I pulled it over. He introduced himself and invited Alice to sit. I moved back to the window, giving them privacy.

“I don’t want to sit down.” Alice’s voice rose in anger. “I want to talk to my husband.”

Marty gently eased her into the seat, and Maddie applied a little pressure to her shoulder to keep her there.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” Carlos said, and he did look sorry, all knitted brows and sympathetic eyes. “There’s been an accident.”

An accident? Only if Ronnie had a career I hadn’t known about as a knife-throwing circus contortionist.

“Mrs. Hodges, your husband is dead.”

Alice recoiled from Carlos’ words as if he’d slapped her. “That can’t be. I just made him oatmeal this morning.” She passed a hand over her eyes, as if fixing in her mind the image of Ronnie eating breakfast. “Are you sure it’s him?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Carlos said. “He had his wallet on him with ID, and several people have confirmed his identity.”

Alice shook her head, limp gray hair falling into her face. Her hands were busy, kneading the hem of her dress. Marty leaned over and brushed a few strands of hair from Alice’s eyes. Maddie gave her shoulder an awkward pat. Carlos watched. His dark, intelligent eyes registered Alice’s every sound, every twitch.

Mama walked silently to my side. “That poor woman,” she whispered. “I can never see a new widow without thinking of that day in the hospital, twenty-one years ago, when they told me your daddy was dead.”

That’s something you don’t forget. I still remember Maddie, Marty, and me standing in the street, watching Daddy disappear in an ambulance after his heart attack. That was the last time we saw him alive.

“Honey, Alice looks like she can use a drink. The manager got here to unlock the bar and office so the police can look around. Why don’t we go see if we can find her a drop of sherry?” Mama paused. “Maybe something stronger.”

I glanced toward Alice, who was now struggling to rise from the chair. Stooping down next to her, Marty spoke softly, urgently. Maddie clamped a principal’s grip on her shoulder. Alice’s eyes were dry, and blazing with anger.

“I want to see him! You can’t keep me from seeing him!” she said to Carlos. “Just let me in there for a minute. I need to make sure it’s Ronnie.”

Alice was flying through those five famous stages of grief in record time. We’d already seen denial and anger. Now, she was bargaining. All that was left was depression and acceptance.

“I’m not sure Alice will take a drink,” I said to Mama. “I think she’s a teetotaler.”

“Desperate times, Mace.”

In short order, we found the manager and some brandy. Mama took a little nip for herself, and then got a fresh glass and the bottle, and we headed back to the dining room.