"How are things going at your house?" he asked as we continued on our way.

  His question made me realize even further how much things had changed. We used to talk daily, keeping abreast of the details of each other's lives. Now, living right next door, we'd only spoken once since Sunday. It was so strange; it was almost as though our wonderful Easter holiday had never even happened.

  "Well, I told you all the wild critters are out. The police don't have any leads on the graffiti artist. The electrical work is being repaired this week, and the restoration people came and tore out the downstairs flooring."

  "So, not much longer, huh?"

  Now it was my turn to give a worried glance. "Francis, if you've had enough of all of us in your house, we can figure out something else. Really, I mean it. You've already been too generous."

  "No, no, no!" he said with some of his old exuberance. "If you hadn't come, I would've never gotten to stay with Dean. It's been a nice vacation for me, too."

  "Okay," I said. "I believe you." Changing the subject, I asked, "So what exactly are Dean's plans for the place? Is he staying for sure?"

  There was another moment of silence. All these pauses were so unlike Francis that I was starting to wonder what he was hiding.

  "Well," he said, "Dean didn't want me to say anything yet, but I should probably tell you as my next-of-kin."

  "Oh, my!" I said with a chuckle. "I'm not sure I want to hear this. It sounds dire."

  Francis stopped walking and looked at me with a flat expression. Then he said in a droll tone, "You're really an overly dramatic person sometimes, Maggie."

  In that second, I knew without a doubt that those words had come straight from Dean's mouth. Francis had even used Dean's tone of voice as he'd said them.

  Luckily, I'd been raising teenagers for the last eight years, which meant I was well-practiced at reining in a knee-jerk response that would likely only make matters worse. "So, tell me what's going on," I said, trying to act calm.

  "Well, it turns out that Dean's sister found a buyer. She didn't realize Dean was staying at the house, and they went ahead and started the paperwork."

  "Someone bought it sight-unseen?"

  "Yes, just an investor. So, Dean was going to quickly buy that person out, but he wasn't able to get ahold of the funds because his broker in New York got COVID."

  I tutted in what I hoped was an encouraging way, even as my internal emergency radar shot up. This couldn't be good.

  "So, I bought it from the investor. But only because I could get the funds faster and easier. The plan was that he'd pay me back, but then we started thinking." He stopped talking at that point.

  I felt my eyes widen, but I hid my reaction from Francis. "You started thinking…?" I asked in what I hoped was an encouraging way.

  He shrugged. "Actually, we thought we might live in my house and fix his up as an Airbnb. He's only going to pay me for half. That way, we can own it together and make a return on our investment."

  "You'd be roommates?"

  "Yes," he said with some of his old enthusiasm returning. "And business partners! How about that?"

  I couldn't think of one thing to say. I weighed my options, and none of them were going to be taken well. "Yes, how about that!" I finally repeated.

  I turned to look at him with what I hoped was a positive facial expression and watched as his face dropped into a scowl. "Dean said you'd react like this."

  "Like what?"

  "Like you think he's dishonest or taking advantage of me."

  "But I haven't even said anything!" I protested.

  "I can tell that's what you think, though."

  We walked on in silence for a few minutes as I tried to figure out what needed to be said. Francis's own words that I'd overheard about being lonely resonated in my head, alongside Sam's lecture about a grown man being happy in life. As we reached a shady spot under an elm tree, I put my hand on his arm, and he stopped walking.

  "Francis," I said. "It's true that I've been a little jealous of you and Dean. I'm not used to sharing you with anyone. But you're an adult. It's your money. It's your life. Why wouldn't I want you to do what makes you happy?"

  He looked up at me, and his voice grew tremulous. "Really?" he asked.

  "Really-really," I assured him. I gave his arm a squeeze, and we started walking again.

  Ward trotted along at a good pace, and we had to quicken ours to keep up. "I'm glad you feel that way," he said. "I told Dean you weren't like that."

  I felt confusion contort my face. "Like what?"

  "You know, quick to judge, suspicious. Mean-spirited," he said.

  "He thinks I'm mean-spirited. Me?" I flushed at the unfairness of that statement. "Francis! Everybody who knows me thinks I'm a freaking ray of sunshine! You said so yourself!"

  Francis bit his lip. "Well, I mean, he's heard you giving me a hard time about not redecorating Lois's house."

  "That's not mean-spirited! That's helping you give free rein to your own wants and needs! Your own creative freedom! It's your house now, not hers." I felt my eyes start to burn at the outrageousness of Dean's opinion of me. "He should've met Lois if he wanted to see mean-spiritedness," I blurted.

  Now it was Francis's turn to pat my arm. "It's okay," he said. "He just doesn't know you very well, and he's worried about people taking advantage of me."

  "But we've offered over and over to get out of your house and you've refused. How else would he think I'd be taking advantage?"

  "Well, you know how you love to redecorate, and you won't spend the money to do anything to your own house anymore, so you keep pushing me to do something to mine."

  Again, I could almost hear Dean's voice saying those words, getting them into Francis's head.

  "But didn't you tell him we already did my house just a few years ago? I've got two kids in college and a husband who hates change! Did you tell him that?"

  Maybe it was my imagination, but Francis seemed to suddenly realize he'd said too much. "Look," he said, walking faster. "Dean thinks we need to quarantine separately now since the spread of the virus is worse and you're in healthcare. Y'all just stay at my house as long as you like, but don't plan on us coming over for meals anymore. We'll do our own thing, okay?"

  I stopped walking and hoped Francis would stop, too. We needed to discuss this like rational people.

  But he didn't even seem to notice. He just kept going down the street.

  Away from me.

  Back to Dean.

  And I didn't have any choice but to let him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  I was truly low in spirit the rest of the day. I tried to hide it, but I wasn't doing a great job. My favorite patient, Dr. Fletcher, tried to cheer me up. "About those dogs of yours…" he said between swallowing exercises.

  "Shirley and Mo?"

  He nodded. "What breeds are they?"

  "Well, Shirley's a full-blooded Welsh corgi, but Mo's a rescue."

  "Ah, a breed of coalescence."

  "A breed of what?" I asked.

  "An organic unit that results from many combined elements," he explained, affecting the tone of a lofty professor.

  I nodded with a glum face. "Yeah, he's a mutt."

  His brow furrowed, probably because I hadn't chuckled. He tried again. "You know, I had a dog once. Happiest breed of dog there ever was. He wasn't smart, but nothing could bring his spirits down."

  "What kind was it?"

  "Best we could tell, he was a full-blooded idiot."

  That one did it. I laughed, and I could tell Dr. Fletcher was beaming behind his mask. "You got me," I said.

  "Good," he said. "You've got too much sunshine in you to be all mopey."

  See, Dean? I thought. I'm a freaking ray.

  As we were finishing the session, my phone vibrated in my pocket with a message. I told Dr. Fletcher good-bye and saw myself out, checking my phone as I went.

  It was a message from Brittany.

  My first thought was that Mrs. Castinelli was having some kind of medical trouble. My second thought was that she had some information about the murder. It turned out to be neither.

  Lula wants me to let you know she's going to be calling you from jail.

  Jail?

  Yes, she turned herself in, and she's cooperating with them. She wants you to answer when she calls. It might say 'jail' on caller ID, or it might be a random number. Just answer, okay?

  I guess, I typed. I don't want to get roped into doing her more favors, though. How's Mrs. C.?

  But there was no more communication from Brittany.

  And I got jumpier as the afternoon stretched into evening, wondering what the heck Lula could want.

  Around ten, the dogs started barking out the back window, the same way they had the first night we were here. This time though, they were beside themselves for almost an hour. I'd been waiting on Lula's call all day, and my nerves were already stretched taut. With the addition of barking dogs, I was close to snapping.

  "That possum must be back," Jenna said.

  Anna walked to the back door and turned on the floodlight. "I still say raccoon," she said.

  "What if it's the graffiti artist…" asked Evan in a creepy voice.

  "Hush, Evan," I told him, more harshly than necessary as I rechecked that the alarm system was on and made extra sure the doors were locked. They all looked at me as I turned to go upstairs. "Turn off all the lights when you come to bed," I said.

  "She's very touchy lately," one of the girls whispered.

  "Dad said she and Francis aren't getting along," the other whispered.

  "Maybe it's because we're out of her secret dessert desire, tiramisu," whispered Evan.

  One of the girls smacked him. "Ow!" he yelped.

  "For your information, Evan," I called from the top of the stairs, "my secret dessert desire has never been tiramisu. It's actually buttermilk pie."

  "See?" Evan whispered to his sisters. "We haven't had any pie for weeks. No wonder she's so cranky."

  "Haircuts for the house at two o'clock," I bellowed upstairs. "Be down here or be scraggly!" I remembered too late that they were all in online classes and Sam had a conference call. Hopefully, they were all muted.

  At the last minute, I'd called Francis to see if he and Dean wanted a trim.

  "Dean says no thanks," Francis told me.

  "What about you?" I asked.

  "Dean says we should probably start being more careful about who we're around. You never know who's contagious."

  "Okay," I said. "Just checking." I hung up the phone and flared my nostrils in disgust. Dean says, Dean says, Dean says. Oh, well. Their loss.

  By that afternoon, I'd set up Francis's courtyard off the kitchen with a swiveling barstool and a set of towels. I'd found an old plastic poncho to serve as a cape. Carolyn arrived in the same silver car I'd seen her loading that suitcase into as I'd parked beside the salon last week. Was she a thief? I didn't want to consider it, but possibly. That business was between her and Patti, though. I just wanted my hair fixed.

  Carolyn came in looking pretty in a pink floral mask. Her hair was pinned up, and the purple tips were out of sight, as usual. She admired Francis's home all the way through the front door, down the hall, and out into the courtyard, where she got out her supplies and set them up on the bistro table. "You know, I drove by here once with my roommate. She did a market analysis on that sweet yellow house next door."

  "No way!" I said. "I met her! Tall with great bone structure? Looks like a supermodel?"

  She laughed. "That's Bernadette," she said. "She actually did model internationally in the 60s and 70s but hated the high-flying lifestyle and all the big cities up north."

  "So, she gave it up to become a glamorous real estate agent in Birmingham, Alabama?" I asked, pulling the plastic poncho over my head.

  I could hear the smile in her voice as she began parting my hair. "She grew up here. Came back from New York and bought her grandparent's farmhouse outside of Bessemer. She raises chickens and prize-winning tomatoes now."

  "And you rent a room in the farmhouse from her?" I asked.

  "Yes. She still travels and wanted someone who could take care of the place while she's gone. After my divorce, it was a nice, quiet place to be."

  "Have you heard anything from Patti lately? Did you tell her you've quit?"

  She shook her head. "I left her a note. I haven't gotten any response. I guess she hasn't been by the salon in a few days."

  One by one, everyone came downstairs and had a haircut. By the end of the afternoon, I had one-toned hair again, Carolyn had assured me I still looked more like Annie Lennox from the Eurythmics than someone who'd had a bona fide beauty botch-up, and the kids and Sam were trimmed up and happy.

  "We'd love to have you stay for dinner," Sam told her. "It's just leftovers, but they're tasty if I do say so myself. We have more than we'll be able to eat in a week."

  "You know what?" Carolyn said. "I'd love that. I'm so tired of being at home I could scream. Sometimes I just ride around in my car to get away."

  Sam grinned. Nothing made him happier than having someone new to feed. He looked at me. "Why don't you guys take the dogs for a walk, and I'll get dinner ready."

  So, I got them harnessed up, and Carolyn and I stepped out onto the front porch. I had Shirley's leash and she held Mo's. "Should we take our masks off?" I asked. "Since we're outside?"

  "Let's do it," she said.

  The cooler air was refreshing on my lower face, and I pulled in a deep breath. The afternoon sun was slanting across the lawn as we set out, chatting about all the changes brought about by the pandemic in the last month.

  "It was probably wrong of me to come over here with your family," she said. "Aren't we supposed to be 'safer at home' or whatever they keep saying on the news until this thing gets under control?"

  "Yes, but mental health is important, too. Besides, we've all been wearing masks all day, even out in the courtyard. You can sit on the other side of the room during dinner if it makes you feel any better."

  "I feel selfish, but it's been wonderful," she said.

  And that's when a white van drove slowly past us.

  I wanted to stop and stare, but instead I glanced quickly at the front fender and the right hubcap. Yep, same van! This time it said Ronnie's Roofing on the side.

  "Carolyn!" I whispered. "See that van?"

  "Yeah?" she asked, watching it pass.

  "I could swear it's the same van I keep seeing over and over again, but each time it has a different company name on it."

  She turned around and squinted. "Don't all white utility vans look alike to you? They do to me."

  "That one has a dented front fender on the right side and red paint splattered on the hubcap."

  Carolyn frowned and looked at me with concern. "I don't know…" she said. "I think maybe you're being paranoid."

  "No, I swear it," I said. "I've seen that exact van three different times now."

  "How would it have different company names each time, though?"

  I shrugged.

  She leaned close. "Do you think you have a stalker?"

  I snorted.

  "Maybe it's someone who's obsessed with Annie Lennox," she whispered, and then we both guffawed with laughter as we continued down the street. It was nice to feel likable. Who needed Francis and Dean, anyway?

  We came back around the block and headed up the driveway. "How about a glass of wine on the patio before dinner," I asked, expecting the dogs to head towards the front door as usual. Instead, Shirley stopped, tilted her head to listen with a giant ear, and began dragging me towards the backyard.

  "Uh-oh," I said. "Looks like we're getting ready to have a game of 'Pounce-A-Mole.'" I strained at the leash to keep Shirley from veering towards wherever the innocent little mole was hiding underground. I pictured him sitting with his family around a tiny wooden dinner table in their cozy burrow, unaware that their dad was about to get ripped out through the ceiling. Shirley wouldn't be persuaded. She dug her toenails in and pulled as hard as she could in the opposite direction, which was towards Francis's carriage house.

  "Shirley!" I scolded, embarrassed to be unable to control my dog.

  She ignored me and heaved herself across the lawn. It was like trying to drive a tank with a busted steering component.

  The next thing I knew, we were behind the carriage house. Francis kept this area natural since it was under a giant magnolia that shaded the ground and kept much from growing. Mo had followed us, dragging Carolyn along, too.

  The magnolia tree was so big that its roots protruded from the dirt, making nooks and recessed places all around the base. Nature's varicose veins, I thought irrationally.

  Shirley pulled me around the tree until we reached a soft spot in the ground between two particularly wide roots. The dirt looked freshly disturbed. She paused and lifted one foot in the air, turning her big ears left and right to pick up the sound waves from whatever lurked underneath. And then she pounced and dug with the speed of a drumroll, throwing dirt left, right, and straight into my face.

  "Shirley!" I cried. "Stop!" But she couldn't be halted, even as I jerked and pulled her harness while dodging clods of clay, dead leaves, and small rocks.

  "Do you hear that?" Carolyn asked suddenly as I screeched again.

  I shut up and saw that she seemed to be listening to something.

  "What's that noise?" she asked.

  Shirley paused in her attempts, turning her ear to the left and almost putting it against the ground.

  "It sounds like a cell phone ringing somewhere," I said.

  Shirley took up her goal again, and suddenly, something ghastly white appeared under her frantically digging front feet.

  At this point, I wrapped my arms around Shirley's midsection and lifted her off the ground. She squirmed and wriggled, but I held her out of the way as I bent to look at what she'd uncovered.

  A cell phone that sounded as if it might be buried in a shallow area close by played the muffled notes of Jimi Hendrix's "Purple Haze." The white thing protruding from the ground had two nostrils.

 

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