“Well, like I say, I won’t stay but a minute. I know you must be busy with company coming by and all.”

The plump little woman was trotting through the living room back to the kitchen.

“Company?” Catherine asked the air behind her.

But Mrs. Perkins apparently didn’t hear her.

Molly Perkins’s whole body tilted forward when she walked, giving her the effect of charging eagerly forward at life. Her enormous bosom made her appear in danger of falling flat on her face at any moment, which had added a pleasant suspense to her company when Catherine was younger.

Placing the casserole on the kitchen counter, Mrs. Perkins earnestly continued, “I do hope you like gumbo. All these years up here, and I still cook Cajun. I always fix too much for Carl and myself. I just got used to cooking a lot while Josh was growing up. Can’t change my habits now he’s married and gone, I guess.”

“Thank you,” Catherine said again, determined to get a word in somewhere. “And how is Josh?”

“We got a phone call from him and his wife Friday,” said Miss Molly happily. “They’re expecting. Carl is so excited. About that, and Josh is doing well in L.A.”

“I know Mr. Perkins is proud of him,” Catherine murmured. Her conversation with Perkins at the tenant shack was the only one she could remember that didn’t feature Josh: his job, his wife (beautiful and of good family), and his brilliant prospects.

“I do wish they were settled here,” Mrs. Perkins said wistfully. “That’s why we built that big house. Not many young people do stay in Lowfield, seems like.”

Catherine slid the gumbo dish back against the wall. She couldn’t think of anything to say. As she remembered Josh, who was a few years older, the last thing he’d do would be to settle down quietly in Lowfield.

“I thought I saw a police car here this morning. I hope you haven’t had any trouble?” asked Molly Perkins with a forced air of casualness.