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‘old woman,’ yielding to fears and interfering with my daughter’s happiness...but my fears were justified,” she said and as I watched I saw all the color drain from her face. “Worse than justified, for how could I know of the terrible events to come?”
    Holmes opened his eyes and watched her like a cat.
    “Zona and Trout lived together as man and wife for the next several months. Then, on January 23 of this year—on that terrible, terrible day, Andy Jones—a young colored boy who had been sent to their house by Trout on some contrived errand—came tearing into town, screaming that he had found my Zona lying dead at the foot of the stairs. He said that he saw her lying stretched out, with her feet together and one hand on her abdomen and the other lying next to her. Her head was turned slightly to one side. Her eyes were wide open and staring. Even though Andy is a small child he knew that she must be dead. Andy ran to town and told his mother and she summoned Dr. George Knapp, who is both our local doctor and coroner. Dr. Knapp was out at one of the more distant farms and it took him nearly an hour to arrive.”
    Mrs. Heaster took a breath to brace herself for the next part. “By the time Dr. Knapp arrived Trout had come home from Mr. Crookshanks’ shop and he had taken Zona’s body upstairs and laid her out on the bed. Normally town women tend to the dead, washing them and dressing them for the funeral; but by the time Dr. Knapp had arrived Trout has washed Zona and dressed her in her best dress, a long gown with a high collar, with a veil covering her face.”
    Holmes leaned forward. “Describe the veil and collar.”
    “It was a white veil recut from her wedding gown so she could wear it to church.”
    “And the collar?”
    “Very high and stiff-necked.”
    Holmes pursed his lips and considered. “Pray continue,” he said after a moment. “Tell me about the findings of Dr. Knapp’s examination of your daughter.”
    “That’s just it, Mr. Holmes, there wasn’t much of an examination. Dr. Knapp tried, of course, but Trout clung to Zona throughout, wailing in grief and agony, abusing the doctor for disturbing his poor dear wife’s remains.”
    “Were you there, Mrs. Heaster?” I asked.
    “Yes, I stood in the doorway, shocked into silence by what had happened, feeling my heart break in my chest.”
    “Where was Trout Shue while the doctor was examining your daughter?”
    “Excellent, Watson,” Holmes said quietly.
    “He sat at the top of the bed, cradling her head and sobbing,” said Mrs. Heaster.
    “Did he order Dr. Knapp to stop the examination?” Holmes asked.
    “No, but he was so demonstrably overcome with grief the doctor relented out of pity and gave Zona’s body only the most cursory of examinations. Barely enough to assure himself that she was in fact dead. However,” she said slowly, “he did notice that there were bruises around Zona’s throat.”
    “Bruises? What did he make of them?”
    “Nothing, Mr. Holmes.”
    “Nothing?”
    “Nothing.”
    After a moment’s pause Holmes asked, “What did Dr. Knapp determine was the cause of your daughter’s death?”
    Mrs. Heaster sneered. “At first he called it an everlasting faint. I ask you!”
    “That’s preposterous,” I cried. “All that says is that he had no idea of the cause of death.”
    “There was a lot of such criticism,” agreed Mrs. Heaster, “and so when he filed his official report Dr. Knapp changed it to ‘female trouble,’ which shut every mouth in the county. No one will talk of such things.” She made a face. “People are so old fashioned.”
    “Was there any history of gynecological distress,” I asked, but she shook her head.
    “Nor were there any complications during the birth of her son. She was a healthy girl. Strong and fit.”
    I shot a covert glance at Holmes, who was as likely as anyone to steer well clear of such delicate matters, and indeed his face had a pinched quality, but his