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her. I never dreamed he didn’t come home. Isn’t that right, Lois?”
    Lois nodded, but for a second, I thought I saw a warning expression in her eyes.
    Marge looked back to us. “You tell that sweet boy not to worry. I know he didn’t kill Hank.”
    “It’s kind of you to be concerned about Zac, Marge,” Mama said. “He had a rough night last night and so did his mother. We’d better get home and check on them.” Mama stood and I quickly did the same. My mother could always be counted on to extricate us gracefully from an awkward social situation. And situations didn’t get much more awkward than this.
    Marge pushed to her feet and hugged me. The familiar smells of spearmint gum and perm solution transported me back to childhood. Marge was odd, but she deserved to know who killed her husband. And if I had my way, she would .
    The doorbell rang. Marge gave Mama a hug and excused herself to answer it.
    Mama squeezed Lois’s hand. “I’m glad you’re here with her.”
    “Thank you. She’d do the same for me.” Her solemn gaze flickered to include me.
    I nodded. “Have they made any arrangements yet?”
    “Poor Marge.” Lois dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “The. . .” She cleared her throat and glanced toward the foyer where a weeping Marge was enfolded in the rather large embrace of the church secretary. “The authorities say the body won’t be released for at least two weeks. Marge doesn’t think it’s fair to Hank’s memory to wait.”
    “Bless her heart.” Mama’s voice was soft with sympathy.
    “Yes,” Lois said. “She’s scheduled a memorial service for him at the church Monday afternoon. They’ll put a special notice in Sunday’s paper.”
    We hugged Lois and patted Marge’s heaving back one more time on the way out the door. When the latch clicked behind us, I glanced at my mother. “You did good, Mama. I felt sorry for Marge, but the air in there was too thick with weirdness.”
    She frowned. “Marge has always been a little. . .hmm. . .unusual, especially the last year or so, but today was strange, even for her. Poor thing. Even if she was under his thumb all those years, Hank’s death has to be hard on her.”
    “I know. I wish there were more we could do.”
    “We can visit her whether we enjoy her company right now or not.” If I’d said that, I’d have sounded like Pollyanna, but Mama just sounded gracious.
    I reached in my pocket for the keys. “Yeah, but there might be something else we could do, too.” Maybe if I lead up to this slowly I could slide under the Mama-meter.
    “What do you mean?”
    “I don’t know. We know a lot of people. Don’t you think if we tried we might figure out what happened to Hank?”
    Mama groaned as she walked around to the passenger side. “Jenna, honey. . .”
    “Don’t worry, Carly’s already given me that speech about minding my own business. You don’t have to.” That is one disadvantage to having a big sister. I hear every for-your-own-good talk twice.
    “Why do I get the feeling you didn’t listen to her either?”
    I slid into the driver’s seat and chose not to answer. As I turned the key, a black car rounded the corner. “Talk about the consummate politician. I never dreamed he would show up here.” I nodded toward the Mercedes that was the trademark of Lake View Mayor Byron Stanton.
    I should have known, though. The mayor was bound to be happy that Hank’s scathing editorials were a thing of the past, but he’d squeeze out a few tears for the public’s benefit, his classically handsome face twisted into a mournful expression.
    Mama nodded. “Looks like he even coaxed Amelia into coming with him. She and Marge haven’t spoken in years,” she said. “I wonder if they will today?”
    I braked. “Want to go back and watch?” I nearly laughed aloud at the look of distaste on her face. “Mama, I’m kidding!”
    “I know you are. It’s just always bothered me that two sisters who were as close as Marge and