Catherine remembered smothering her dislike, to preserve the false face of friendliness she and Leona had always worn when they dealt with each other.

A waste of time, Catherine thought now. And it had been funny-peculiar, her calling like that.

Catherine really had needed help getting those filing cabinets up the collapsible folding stairs that let down from the attic in her father’s old office. And she had still been suffering from the “be nice to Leona, she has no family” syndrome. So she had accepted Leona’s help with protestations of gratitude.

Though why someone with no family would care to haul heavy things up flimsy stairs, any more than a person with seventy relations, is more than I can figure out, she said to herself.

“What did you talk about that day, Catherine?” asked Galton.

“Well.” She hesitated. “The largest things that had to be moved were filing cabinets that Father kept patient files in. Some people still haven’t asked for their files, to take over to Jerry’s new office. Leona was saying how nice it was that some people were so healthy that they hadn’t needed their records for such a long time; that now that the files were going up in the attic, it would be a lot of trouble when someone finally got sick and realized she had to have her records…I think I asked Leona if she had applied to be Jerry’s nurse; and she said no, she had heard he had a friend who was getting the job, a girl who was going to commute from Memphis. That’s all I remember.”

The sheriff ’s only response was a small movement of his huge hand. Catherine wondered if he had been listening. Then she thought clearly, He’s trying to decide how to ask me something.

Catherine grew nervous at this hiatus and lit a cigarette. To break the silence, she asked quietly, “How did she die?”