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about a time for every purpose under heaven. And don’t forget the seven years of plenty and seven years of famine. Could this be your time to lie fallow?”
    “What?” She drew up her furry shoulders so that she resembled the king of the beasts in his royal ruff. “What the bleeding hell do you take me for—the Virgin Queen? I’m not made of stone, you know. I’m a Woman In Love.”
    “And he’s married …”
    “In a manner of speaking.”
    “Horoscopes always leave out the juicy bits.”
    “The wretch left him years ago. Just upped and walked out one foggy winter’s night. My angel still can’t talk of it without turning white as a ghost. The old story. He found a note on the mantelpiece. And wasn’t one of them Hallmark cards, I can tell you that.”
    “Didn’t care enough to send the very best!” Awful of me to be so flippant, but for the first time since this nightmare started, I was beginning to think this was all a storm in a teacup. So long as no one got shot. Mrs.Malloy gave the gun a buff with her furry cuff and laid it on her lap. Savour the moment. Do not consider the possibility that it might be one of those trigger-happy models ready to go off if she crossed her legs.
    “If the wife is out of the picture …” I ventured.
    “Out of sight don’t mean out of mind.” Mrs. Malloy’s rouged cheeks quivered and her eyes grew misty under the neon lids. “For some reason he can’t forget her. I tell you, Mrs. H, I’ve done me bloody best to shut him out of me heart, but it’s no cop. From the moment—a fortnight Tuesday—when our eyes met across the crowded bingo hall, I’ve known me fate. In all England or out there in the great blue yonder, there’s none but Walter Fisher for Roxie Malloy. Life’s not worth a salt twist in a packet of crisps without him. When Walter is near, I feel forty again. Me whole body goes snap, crackle, pop.”
    Jealousy, mingled with a bitter-sweet sadness, flamed within me for a moment, only to be quenched by the name Walter Fisher. Why did it ring a bell? A doleful bell.
    “Mrs. H, he’s come over two or three nights …”
    “For dinner?”
    “On business. He’s been talking to me about …”
    “Yes?”
    “Prepaying me funeral.”
    “You don’t mean …?” But of course she did! Her Mr. Heartbreak was none other than Chitterton Fells’s one and only funeral director and embalmer. I’d met the gentleman a few years back when he came to offer his condolences, along with a bill for services rendered, on the occasion of Uncle Merlin’s interment. Extraordinary! The man was such a weedy chap. Mr. Walter Fisher seemed as unlikely a sex object as … Miss Gladys Thorn.
    Lost in thoughts of Walter, Mrs. Malloy ignored my dumbstruck amazement. “Always the perfect gentleman, Mrs. H.”
    “Darn!”
    “Never so much as a hand on my knee. And then last night when I’d unbuttoned me blouse—just the top ones, on the off chance—he started talking about her . Mrs. Fisher. To hear him you’d think the woman was a saint. Never a cross word. Always bright and bubbly. Always laughing. Isn’t it enough to make you spit?”
    “Absolutely. Makes a lot more sense than killing yourself.” Torn between sympathy and irritation, I closed in on her, hands locked in prayer. “Come on, Mrs. Malloy, put the gun away. I’ll make us a nice cup of tea and we’ll try and figure how to reel in Mr. Fisher.”
    Blast! So far this had been a hellish day. But enough is enough. Already the babies had been left so long they had probably outgrown the clothes they were wearing. Without a “Pardon me,” I stepped up to the mat and plucked the gun from Mrs. Malloy’s knees in the same way I would have taken a rattle from Abbey or Tam.
    If looks could kill, I’d be needing Mr. Fisher’s professional attentions myself. “No need to mince words.” She huffed onto her four-inch heels. “You don’t mind me doing meself in, so long as it’s not in your house on