Page 52 of Death on Gallows Path

Clara offered, “I can give you names of the best funeral homes—”

“Oh, I can’t think about that yet.”

Zoley asked, “Who were those people who said they’d call you—? You know, when you’d have to . . . decide.”

“The coroner’s office.”

Pammy’s voice was so subdued not even Clara immediately tried swimming against the tide of the widow-in-mourning mood.

A pause spread.

“What about you and Bryon?” I asked Zoley.

“I called to tell Zoley,” Pammy said.

My wondering had been about their movements overnight Thursday to Friday. But I followed up on this thread. “And she told Bryon?”

“He’d already left for work,” Zoley said.

Clara went for blunt. “You were together all night?”

“We have separate bedrooms.” Zoley said it the way someone might say they had indoor plumbing.

No alibi. For either of them.

Another pause.

“Damon was a man of action,” Zoley said abruptly, having wandered toward the kitchen island. “He truly was, while others think they are. Like Bryon.”

Another pause.

Zoley shifted her weight and the sunlight seemed to make the animal-print leggings shimmer before she added, “Bryon’s been so . . . volatile lately.”

“He’s protective of you, Zoley,” Pammy said.

“Not protective. Possessive,” Zoley responded immediately. “He was possessive. He’s become volatile about it lately. Always thinking every man is after me and he couldn’t compete.”

“You know, Zoley,” I said, my voice dropping. “I was worried about you at the last training session. You looked . . . tired.”

I let my voice rise on the last word, making it a question. An inviting question, I hoped.

The silence that followed was heavy.

Possibly with my disappointment that she didn’t take me up on my invitation.

Pammy offered another wan smile. “I told her she looked positively haggard that night. And now, I must look far worse.”

“Oh, you both look better now,” Clara said innocently.

Pammy gave her a quizzical look, before saying with emphasis, “I wish I felt better. I’m afraid I’m truly exhausted. It was kind of you to bring the casserole, but I need to rest.”

Clara didn’t try to dodge that new-widow mood.

She patted Pammy’s leg briefly as she stood, while we both produced leave-taking and condolence phrases.

With Zoley accompanying us to the front door. Clara added more detailed instructions about serving the casserole.

“Thanks for coming by,” Zoley said shortly, holding the door open.