Could it be that Lowfield contained two murderers? That the deaths of her parents and Leona were not related? Sheriff Galton clearly believed the crimes were separate.

A familiar tension, resulting from the suspense of watching and waiting, caused Catherine’s muscles to tighten. She simply couldn’t picture someone she knew plotting the horrible death Glenn and Rachel Linton had suffered.

Her hand came down flat and hard on the glass.

It left a print, and she retreated into wondering for the hundredth time why her mother had bought a glass-topped table. Catherine had gotten out the glass cleaner and a rag, turning with relief to the mundane little task, when she remembered telling Galton she was a rich woman. She shook her head again.

That was something you just didn’t say.

The doorbell rang as Catherine was twisting her neck to look through a shaft of sun, checking to see if she had gotten all the marks off the table.

Does everyone in town want to talk to me? she wondered crossly. For a well-known recluse, I’m having lots of company these days.

Molly Perkins, the coroner’s wife, was standing with a casserole dish clutched in her hands when Catherine opened the door. Catherine had automatically looked up, and she had to adjust her sights down to meet Miss Molly’s washed-blue eyes.

Miss Molly began instantly. “I am so sorry you had such a horrible experience. I know you’re upset. I won’t stay but a minute, I just wanted to run this over to you. I knew you wouldn’t feel like cooking.”

Food, the southern offering on the altar of crisis. Catherine was bemused by its presentation now. Finding a corpse must be close enough to death in the family to qualify.

“Thanks,” she said faintly. “Please come in.”