“That’s pretty darn puzzlin’. And something else bothers me about what you told me. Rita always answered the door herself, so her not bein’ right there to see why you came is strange. She wanted to know everything. Never had hired help screenin’ folks at the door even though she could afford to. George was always there behind, mind you. But I mean, the kitchen in that house probably has five rooms and ten folks runnin’ around cleaning the chicken for dinner. Yup, the Rita I knew would greet a guest herself.”

Despite his love for Tom’s mother, the concern in Ed’s voice told me that Ritaestelle’s predicament bothered him.

“Got any suggestions as to how I can reach her?” I said. “Even if she is beginning to suffer from Alzheimer’s or is perhaps on a medication that makes her confused—”

“Why do you keep sayin’ she’s losin’ it? Six months ago she was fine.” I heard a tinge of anger in Ed’s tone.

“Because she said she thought she knew who I was, I guess. Plus that wild look in her eyes,” I said. Just a feeling, I added to myself. Maybe Ed was right and I was the one a little off about this.

“If there’s anything wrong with Rita, the town surely knows,” he said. “Sit around at one of them fancy-schmancy outdoor cafés on Broad Street. Or go to that park in the center of town. Strike up a conversation. You’ll find out plenty.”

“I would, but the chief of police pulled me over on the way out of Woodcrest.” I recounted my interaction with Chief Shelton.

“Nancy Shelton is still bein’ a sourpuss, huh?” Ed said.

“You know her, too?” I said.

He sighed heavily and rested both hands on the table. “Here’s the deal. I’m from Woodcrest. Wrong side of the tracks, but I was born there. We, meaning me, Rita, Nancy, Rita’s cousins and a bunch of others, all went to the same school. We all graduated within two or three years of each other. Rita went right through every grade with me, even though her parents kept tryin’ to send her to a place for rich kids. She wanted to be with her friends, and she always got her way.”