"Up here," I yelled. "What's Zoe's number?" I asked Erin. She told me, and I punched it in as Ambrose's footsteps approached.

"How long can it take to get a coat, woman?" He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Erin.

"Woman?" I said, amused. The phone was picked up at Zoe's house. I asked for Meghan, and in two seconds she came on the line.

"Erin's here," I said.

"Where? Is she okay?"

"Home. She's fine. She just stopped by to pick up a book for school, then couldn't get in because we don't have the extra key outside now."

"I'll come get her." "

I can bring her over," I said, and to Erin, "Go get your book." She turned and went up the stairs to her room.

"No," Meghan said. "I want to talk to her, and it would be better if it wasn't in front of her friend."

"Yeah. About that. Don't be too mad at her. She didn't know she'd be worrying you. She doesn't know why you sent her to Zoe's."

Meghan sighed. "She'd barely talk to me on the way over here, and besides, I hadn't thought of a good answer anyway. I didn't want to scare her."

"I know, I know. But she wants to know what's going on. We have to tell her something. You can blame it all on me," I said.

"It's not your fault." When I didn't respond she said, "Anyway, I'll be right home."

After we hung up I turned to Ambrose and gestured him into the kitchen. "You heard what happened?

He nodded. "Everything okay now?"

"Yes. And no. We still have to figure something out to tell Erin so she'll understand why she can't be here, put her on her guard a little without terrifying the poor kid."

"Try the truth."

"What, that her mom's afraid her grandmother is going to kidnap her?" The words, finally said, seemed almost silly. Except I'd seen the look on Meghan's face when Grace was in our kitchen, and that hadn't been silly at all.

"Well, that's one reason. The other is that someone came after you, and I suggested it would be easier to learn who did it without everyone being worried about whether Erin would be safe or not."

"We can't tell her that," I said. "She wouldn't understand."

"Right," Erin said from the doorway. "I'm not stupid, you know. What did you do, Sophie Mae?"

I glanced at Ambrose, then rubbed my hands over my face. "I don't know, Bug." Ambrose rolled his eyes. I added, "At least not specifically."

"Is it because of what happened to Walter? Did you find out why he died?"

Ambrose threw up his hands. "What is it with the women in this house?"

Erin smiled at him.

The front door opened, and Meghan came in. She went straight to Erin and enveloped her in her second bear hug of the day. But this time Erin didn't struggle, just waited until her mom let her go.

"I'm so glad you're okay. But we need to talk," Meghan said.

"We sure do. I know someone's after Sophie Mae, but maybe you could tell me more about Grandma kidnapping me, 'K?"

Meghan turned disbelieving eyes on me, and I went back to rubbing my face with my hands. Ambrose chose then to clear his throat and say he was going to go let Mrs. Gray know everything was all right.

Traitor.

"C'mon, Mom. You can tell me in the car. They eat early, and I don't want to be late for dinner." She tugged her mother toward the door, the surliness from earlier in the day completely gone.

I hoped Meghan would regain the ability to speak on the drive over.

THIRTY-FIVE.

I COULDN'T WRANGLE THE picture of Cherry and the Hanover boys from Barr Ambrose, but he did allow me to make a copy of it at the police station. It was a pretty good copy, and, after much wheedling and begging on my part, he also let me have a copy of the driver's license picture.

"Use it wisely," he said, and his face held reluctance when he handed it over. I knew he would have insisted on going, but he had two other cases he'd neglected all afternoon, and his shift was already over. I wondered if the department paid overtime, or if Barr had to eat all the extra hours he worked.

Still, with high hopes I buzzed over to Caladia Acres, armed with the photocopies and the pictures and mementos Ambrose had declared unrelated to the murder investigation. Perhaps the sight of them would shake Tootie out of her funk.

Ann, the nurse who seemed to be always on duty, flagged me down as I carried in the carton.

"Here to see Tootie?"

I nodded. "How is she?"

She grimaced, and it was enough to convey Walter's mother wasn't any better than when Meghan and I had seen her on Sunday. "Did Meghan come with you?" she asked.

"Not this time," I said.

"Well, can you tell her she's got the gig?"

"What gig?"

"She called and wanted to set up a time to offer ma.s.sages to the residents here"

"Oh. I didn't know."

"And next week we'll ask the board to approve the cla.s.ses she proposed for the nurses and attendants, to train how to give hand and foot ma.s.sages to those residents who request them."

"I'll tell her."

It was dark by the time I'd pulled into the parking lot, and Tootie hadn't turned on a light in her room. I didn't want to wake her.

"Tootie?" I called softly from the doorway.

A rustle, then a soft voice out of the darkness. "Yes?"

"It's Sophie Mae." I put the box on the floor and walked in, using the light from the corridor to find the lamp I remembered from before, fumbling for the switch for a moment before turning it on.

She had plummeted downhill, far more than I'd gathered from Ann. She looked out at me from dull sunken eyes, her unbraided hair spilled across the pillow in a snarled ma.s.s. At only a few minutes after six in the evening, I didn't think she'd gone to bed early. She'd never bothered to get up. Someone had turned the thermostat too high. The stuffy room smelled of dust... and I realized with a start that I could smell Tootie herself.

"Good G.o.d," I said, and marched out to the reception desk.

"What's going on? She hasn't even had a bath lately."

Ann nodded. "I know. We've tried. She fights us. It's the only time she shows any animation at all now. At some point the doctor will prescribe tranquilizers just so we can clean her up."

I stared at her. "Drug her? To give her a bath? That's barbaric."

Ann looked apologetic. "So is the alternative."

Shaking my head, I went back to Tootie's room. Pausing in the doorway, I studied her. Her eyes were open, but she was staring at the ceiling.

"You have to stop this," I said.

Silence, then finally a little sigh.

"You have to stop this pity party of yours "

She blinked.

I took a deep breath, crossed my fingers, and followed my instinct. "Walter's death had nothing to do with whatever feud you two had going on, and nothing to do with anything you ever said to him. In fact, he must have taken some of what you said to heart, because after spending so long mentally crippled by losing his wife and son, he put that aside and got on with living. He kicked the booze. He fell in love with a woman named Deborah Silverman and asked her to marry him. He helped hundreds of kids-maybe more-with money he won from the lottery and donated. Even dead he's helping people. He was a good man. And you know what else? He was pretty darn strong after all. You had a lot to do with that. He was his mother's son. He didn't commit suicide, Tootie. Someone killed him. The police are investigating it as a suspicious death as we speak."

She turned her head, and her eyes met mine. At least I had her attention now, though her face remained expressionless.

"I have something to show you. Will you at least sit up in bed long enough for that?"

Nothing. Then a light shift under the covers. A deep breath, and she moved again. I went over and helped her sit up, then plumped her pillows, and a.s.sisted as she settled back into a more upright position.

She glared at me as I went and got the box. Good. Better anger than nothing. I unloaded the framed photos, one by one, setting them on the coverlet.

"These are from Walter's house, what I managed to get out before it burned down. This one is of you, isn't it?"

She glanced at the picture I held, of Tootie in her youth, standing in a shirtwaist dress in front of a house, and looked away.

Putting down that photo, I picked up another one. "What about this one?" I'd selected the one of Walter as a little boy, giggling open-mouthed as a beagle puppy lapped at his chin. Hallmark would have snapped it up in a second.

Her eyes flickered to me, and her hand crept out from under the covers. She took the picture from me, considering it for several moments. Then she drew it to her chest.

"I'll keep this," she said.

"Tootie," I said, exasperated. "You can keep all of them."

She shook her head. "I don't want all of them. I only want this one.

"Well, what about his stuff?" I took out the Bible and the chicken bank. She shook her head.

"There are other pictures," I said.

"I only want this one."

I regarded her for a few moments, and her eyes sparked in rebellion. She'd shown the most animation when the Caladia Acres staff had tried to make her do something she didn't want to do. There was life in the old girl yet. Just had to find the right b.u.t.tons to push.

"I'd like you to look at one more thing. Well, two, actually."

She turned her face to the wall. It was like dealing with a stubborn six-year-old.

I stood up, started putting the pictures back in the carton. "No? Okay. Probably just as well. You wouldn't remember who the people were anyway. It was a long time ago. And Mrs. Gray has told us most of what we need to know. You know Mrs. Gray-Walter's landlady? Oh, she said you'd know her as Mavis Smart. Anyway, she's told the police enough, I suppose, though it's too bad we can't find out for sure who's in these pictures, since it would probably help find Walter's killer. But I wouldn't want to bother you, Tootie..."

My words had spilled out as I got ready to leave, and I hadn't tried to be tactful. Tact wasn't working with Tootie, and it couldn't hurt to try and startle her out of her funk. But still, I was unprepared for her reaction.

She hissed.

I whirled in surprise. Tootie Hanover's eyes blazed at me. I controlled the urge to smile.

"So am Ito take it you do want to help?" I asked, feeling smug.

"Walter rented from Mavis Smart? Is that who I talked to on the phone that day you went through his things?"

"Um, yeah. Why?"

She barely breathed the words: "That wh.o.r.e."