Except for one thing. Just as much as Murphy had wanted Alex to be responsible, Timmie wanted it to be Davies. Davies, whom she didn't know. Who couldn't disappoint her or hurt her by being selfish and shortsighted and cowardly. Davies, who could kill anybody in town he wanted without making it a personal thing.

"There's something else to consider," Murphy said. "I can see Victor being killed to keep him quiet. I can see Jason being a warning or a mistake. But what about the other murder?"

The fact that it took Timmie so long to make the obvious connection betrayed just how badly Jason's murder had affected her. The fact that she'd been progressively forgetting it over the last couple of weeks betrayed how bizarre this whole deal had gotten.

Timmie had to follow Murphy's line of sight to where Ellen was saying her good-byes to her hosts to remember what had gotten her involved in the first place.

"Oh, God," she murmured, her stomach sliding. "I completely forgot."

Murphy nodded. "Why kill Billy?"

For a moment, the two of them couldn't seem to do much more than stare. "Could that have scared Ellen enough to keep her mouth shut?" Murphy finally asked.

"You mean, was it a message to her?" Timmie shook her head. "It's another one of those perception problems. I'm the only one in the known universe who thinks Billy Mayfield was murdered. And if it was to scare Ellen, don't you think she might have said something when she finally told us she'd been calling you? And if Billy was a present for keeping her mouth shut, why open it?"

"She only opened it surreptitiously. And don't forget, Cindy claims she was the one who called."

Timmie sighed. "Cindy would take credit for the invention of CPR if she could figure out how. No, I think I'd like to talk to Ellen before she leaves."

Murphy followed her across to where Cindy was helping Ellen pull on her coat.

"Ellen," Timmie greeted her friend. "I need to ask you an important question."

One sleeve still only half on, Ellen stopped dead. "Of course, honey. What is it?"

"Has anybody threatened you to keep your mouth shut about Restcrest?"

Ellen didn't so much as blink. "No, they haven't. I have to admit I've been living in mortal fear, waiting for somebody to figure out what I was doing. But nobody did."

"Me, either," Cindy said. "You don't believe me, but I did call, too. I wanted to help."

"Why do you ask that now?" Ellen asked.

Leave it to Murphy to cut through etiquette. "Nobody offered to get your ex-husband permanently out of your hair if you'd just keep quiet, did they?"

Ellen opened her mouth. She dropped her arm, dragging her coat on the ground. She paled so badly Timmie thought she was going to have to pick her up.

"What are you talking about?"

Timmie couldn't manage an answer. Neither, evidently, could anyone else. Ellen came up with it anyway. Her mouth closed, then opened again for another abortive attempt at speech. Her eyes filled with tears.

"I'm going home now," she said in a hush. "I don't think I want to hear about this anymore."

The worst part of the conversation was that when Timmie watched Ellen sweep out the door, she couldn't decide whether Ellen's reaction had been one of surprise, relief, or shame.

And then, inevitably, Cindy added her two cents' worth. "You just don't get it, do you?" she demanded, bristling and teary.

Timmie was still watching Ellen. "Get what, Cindy?"

Cindy was shaking her head, quivering with fury. "You think this is what, a game? She's your friend. She's just starting to feel better now that that asshole's dead, and you blame her for it? What's wrong with you?"

"That asshole was murdered, Cindy."

"And, so what? You think it's the same person who killed Jason? I'd say you shouldn't get mad. You should say thank you. I sure would."

And then she stalked off, too.

"Well, that was a success," Murphy said.

Timmie didn't say anything. She was too busy regretting her impulse. Thinking how it had ended.

Wondering, suddenly, about what Cindy had said.

"Murphy?"

He scowled at her. "I don't think I like that look."

Timmie didn't answer. She just walked through the thinning ranks of mourners until she reached a quiet corner back in the Florida room, where potted palms defied the frost outside.

She should have thought of it before. She might have if she wasn't still dreaming of trying to wash her husband's blood off her hands.

"Leary?" Murphy asked, close by.

Timmie kept looking out the window into a yard that had managed to maintain its elegant tailoring after the ice storm of the decade. "What if we've had it backward?" she asked.

"Backward? Is this going to make me itch?"

Timmie looked down to her glass, but she was out of water. As if that would help. "Well, think about it. If we use the theory we've been working on, Billy's murder doesn't fit."

"Not that we know of right now," he amended.

Timmie almost closed her eyes to better focus on imperfect logic. "Think about what Cindy just said, Murphy. I should be thankful. Well, if you think about it on the surface, I should. So should Ellen and Barb. And every family who buried an old relative." She opened her eyes, turned on him. "What do all those murders have in common?" she asked. "Billy Mayfield was abusive. He stopped hurting Ellen and the kids when he died. Victor was not just fooling around, he was going to try and sue Barb blind. Barb doesn't have to worry about that or his white-trash girlfriends hurting her little girls anymore. Each and every relative of those Restcrest patients was going broke trying to take care of their loved ones. They've been saved from that."

"And you have the insurance policy."

Timmie blinked. "I have what?"

Murphy squinted, as if testing her honesty. "Your ex-husband's insurance. You won't have to worry about affording your father's care anymore."

Now it was Timmie who opened her mouth without effect. Suddenly she couldn't breathe. She just kept staring at Murphy, waiting for him to laugh. "Murphy," she finally said. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Murphy's eyebrows slid up fast. "You can't tell me you don't know. I heard it from Micklind during the funeral mass. He said he heard it from one of your friends."

It took her a second to find her voice. A second or two more to have the courage to ask, "How much?"

Murphy was getting as quiet as she. "Quarter million?"

Timmie thought she was going to pass out, and not just from surprise. "He canceled that policy. I swear he did. He had to. He hated me!"

Heads were turning. Timmie barely noticed. She couldn't seem to look away from Murphy, who was, oddly, smiling. "He didn't hate his daughter."

Timmie should have said something. She couldn't quite manage it. Instead, she found herself stalking through an untidy cluster of mourners to get to Micklind, who was quietly standing with his back to the dining room wall, watching the crowd.

"Where did you hear about this fictitious life insurance policy?" Timmie demanded without preamble.

Micklind didn't react. "Not fictitious. And impressive enough to almost make me reconsider that alibi of yours. I heard about it from your friend over there."

Timmie turned to see him point at Mattie. She headed that way, trailing Murphy as she walked.