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wondered if Cill and Conway had some bad blood between them. Or maybe Cill was smarter than she looked, and wanted to get the focus of the investigation off her. Whatever it was, Cill was finished talking about the subject.
    Darla resumed her questions. “Last night, when the two of you were leaving the Clarion Hills nursing home—”
    “Assisted care facility,” said Cill.
    “When you were leaving,” said Darla, “you didn’t walk with Tommy to his car?”
    “His chariot, you mean?” Cill said. “That’s what Tommy called it. He was so proud of that car. Had that rolled and tucked Naugahyde seats.”
    “The police report says you waited on the porch of the assisted care facility with the residents and orderlies while Tommy walked to the parking lot,” said Darla.
    “I think I know where you’re going with this,” said Cill. “You’re wanting to know do I think we’re all just some random atoms floating about the universe without purpose, or was it the hand of the Almighty? And being a Christian woman, I’d have to say me and Tommy wasn’t meant to go hand in hand to our maker. But I know he’ll be waiting at the pearly gates for me.”
    “Don’t you usually walk with Tommy to the car?”
    Cill put her right forefinger on her lips, like she was miming someone thinking over a question. “Well now, sometimes I do and sometimes I just don’t. Depending.”
    “Depending on what?”
    “How big is the rocks?” said Cill. “The ones in the parking lot. Unless it’s got asphalt, then I don’t give no never mind. But if there’s big ole stones, I got me on them long spikey heels, the kind that bumps one up buttwise, makes the fellas stare at you. If I’m wearing them, I can’t do no navigating over big stones.”
    “And that’s why you didn’t walk Tommy to the car last night?”
    “God’s hand was in it, too,” said Cill, like she’d thought and prayed on the matter.
    “Do you know of anyone else, aside from Conway, that might have reason to harm Tommy?”
    “You might had a notion it was someone from the Elvis community,” said Cill, shaking her head, “but I don’t think it was.”
    “You mean Elvis fans?”
    “The other Elvis tribute artists,” said Cill. “I forgot, you ain’t from Mississippi. Let me just tell you, Mississippi has got lots and lots of Elvis tribute artists. And different types, too. There’s Young Elvis, Army Elvis, and Vegas Elvis—some call this older Elvis—Tommy was Vegas Elvis ’cause he thought he fit the part more, lookswise. There’s also Gospel Elvis, Cowboy Elvis. Them’s the main ones.”
    Cill put Darla in mind of Bubba from the movie
Forrest Gump,
the part where he was naming the different shrimp preparations.
    Cill continued: “The lack of available Elvis artists in the marrying pool is why I up and moved here from Kentucky. They got Elvis tribute artists there, of course. Elvis is everywhere, but it ain’t on the same level, numberswise, as Mississippi. I wanted me an Elvis husband, so I had to come to where Elvis come from. And when I heard Tommy singing ‘Are You Lonesome Tonight,’ the rest, as they say in history books, is history—only this is one of them sad chapters in the book.” She took a deep breath. “Anyway, I don’t think it was one of the other Elvis artists. I never heard any of them talking bad of Tommy.”
    Darla remembered that Tommy came in last at the yearly Elvis impersonating contest in Tupelo. Jealousy was likely not a motive.
    “If Tommy has a computer here at the apartment, I probably should take it with me,” said Darla.
    “It’s right here,” said Cill. The laptop in a black carrying case was leaning against the side of the sofa, zipped up and ready to go.
    Darla wondered if Cill knew someone would be coming for it. “Did you use this, too?” she asked.
    “Computers ain’t my thing,” said Cill. “But I did make Tommy take off all those dirty pictures. That was all before we met. Being as how