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Hazel. I’m afraid we have no air-conditioning, but there’s usually a breeze off the bay, and this side of the house is shaded by the two big oaks. Matthew, where are you?”
    A small terrier dashed through the doorway and hurled itself at Grace. Bailey moved to the far side of the dining table.
    Laughing, Grace scooped up the small buff-and-white animal and cradled it against her ample breasts. “This is Precious,” she said between wet, exuberant dog kisses. “I’m afraid we spoil her terribly. Matthew says I treat her like a child.”
    Bailey began to wish she’d never accepted the invitation for coffee.
    Grace waved toward a chair. “Perhaps I do spoil Precious. We were never blessed with children. Sit down. I’ll get the coffee. I won’t be a moment.” Still carrying the squirming animal, she hurried away.
    Relieved that the dog was gone, Bailey glanced around the dining room. China figurines of gold-and-white shepherdesses and gaudy bric-a-brac covered the darkVictorian tables and the fireplace mantel. Two large windows were covered with heavy floral drapes that matched the fading wallpaper and the flowered carpet.
    Bailey stifled a sneeze, thinking that the maid must have given notice quite a while ago. The room could have done with a thorough cleaning. The elaborate arrangement of plastic flowers that took up much of the table was as dusty as the multicolored crystals on the chandelier overheard.
    The high-ceilinged room was large enough for the massive china cupboard and server, but four other pieces of furniture, two more side chairs, more artificial flowers, and two gaudy
Gone with the Wind
lamps made Bailey claustrophobic. Maybe she should abandon the dark roast and make a run for it, she thought.
    Footsteps behind her registered just before a male voice proclaimed, “Welcome to Tawes, Miss Elliott.”
    Bailey turned to see a tall, lean man with wire-framed glasses and a thin, graying mustache stroll through the doorway that led to the front entrance hall. “Pastor Catlin?” She half rose from her chair, but he waved her to stay put.
    â€œI am, yes, I am.” He fumbled with the knot on his crooked tie. “At least, I was this morning.” Chuckling at his own joke, he tucked a pipe into his pants pocket and extended a bony hand. “Call me Matthew. Everyone but Grace does. When I hear anyone address me as Pastor Catlin, I think they’re speaking to my father. He was pastor here for nearly sixty years.”
    Bailey nodded. “I see.”
    â€œIt’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said. “A real pleasure. I hope Grace has been treating you well.”
    â€œWell, well,” his wife echoed as she swept in from the kitchen, carrying a silver tray with steaming cups of coffee and a plate of what Bailey guessed must be the promised apple cake. “Matthew, dear?”
    The pastor withdrew his hand before Bailey could shake it, and took the tray from his wife. “This is heavy. You should have called me.”
    â€œI did. Several times.” Grace sniffed. “Is that pipe tobacco I smell, Matthew? You know it sets a bad example for your congregation.”
    â€œThe church is for sinners. What use is a pastorparishioners can’t feel superior to?” He handed Bailey a cup and saucer. “Cream?”
    â€œPay no attention to him.” Grace sat across from Bailey. “Matthew fancies himself a comedian. Sugar? I’m afraid I have none of the pink stuff left. I took what I had to the committee meeting this afternoon.”
    Bailey shook her head, stirred cream into her coffee, and took a sip. “This is delicious. Thank you.”
    â€œOur guest was wandering through the graveyard. She says she’s interested in the history of the island,” Grace said. “I told her that you knew all there was to know about Tawes.”
    â€œNot everything,” he corrected. “A little.