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wrong?”
    “Come here, darling.” She held out her hand and Skye came to take it. “Listen very carefully to me. Your father is dead. He’s been murdered.”
    Skye gave a little shriek and pulled her hand free. “No, no, no!” she cried. She turned to Jill with a look so angry Nelson stepped up beside Jill. “That isn’t true! That can’t be true!”
    Jill said, “I’m so sorry, Skye, but it is true.”
    Skye’s eyes searched Jill’s face. “How? Where did it happen?”
    “At the art fair in Excelsior.”
    “Excelsior? Oh, yes, he said he was going to be there. He always tells me where he’s going to be. Sometimes I come and sit with him . . .” She turned on her mother. “I told you I wanted to go, but you wouldn’t drive me!” There were tears in her eyes, and in her voice.
    “I told you, darling, the real estate agent is coming today and I have to be here for him . . .” She thrust her fingers into her hair. “I suppose I should call and cancel. Or should I? This is important, I think he has someone seriously interested. But of course our plans may change now, with this happening. Or will they? I can’t think, my brain is simply whirling! I don’t know what to do, this is impossible, I can’t take it in!”
    “It’s not important, nothing’s important! Oh, what does anything matter! Daddy’s dead, my daddy’s dead! If I’d been there, this wouldn’t have happened!”
    “What could you have done?” The two stared at one another for a horrified second, and Mrs. McFey said, “For heaven’s sake, darling, if you’d been there, I might have lost you, too! Oh, my God, I might have lost you, too! ” She reached to touch her daughter, but the child flinched away. Mrs. McFey looked at Jill. “You suggested a drink, I believe.” She looked back at Skye, who had covered her eyes with both hands. “Darling, could you go get your mother a little brandy?”
    Skye dropped her hands and said dully, “I could have stopped it, I know I could have stopped it. I should have been there.”
    “No,” said Jill firmly. “Don’t take any blame for this. This is not your fault. It’s a very sad thing, losing your father, but I doubt very much if you could have done anything to help him. And your mother’s right, you could have been hurt yourself.”
    Mrs. McFey began suddenly to weep, folding herself in half so her forehead rested on her knees, hands falling to her ankles. Skye sat down beside her, touching her lightly on her back. “It’s all right, Mommy, I’m here.” She looked up pleadingly at Jill.
    Jill was not very good in situations like this. Her own reaction to pain or sorrow was to become silent. When others abandoned themselves to grief, her first reaction was to step back.
    Nelson was different. He moved to kneel beside Pam McFey, placing his hand on her shoulder. “This is scary and awful, and I know you’re hurting,” he said. “But it’s very important that you try to get it together and listen to us, just for a short while. Then you can take the time you need to be alone, and to cry. But you see, we can’t leave until some questions we have are answered.”
    Mrs. McFey didn’t straighten, but the weeping began to slow. “Yes, yes,” she muttered. “I understand.” Nelson stood, nodded at Jill, and went back to his place.
    “Now, first of all,” said Jill, “are you and Mr. McFey divorced?”
    Mrs. McFey straightened with a huge effort. “I’ve filed the papers, but the decree hasn’t gone through yet,” she said tiredly.
    “When did you last speak with your husband?”
    She sat up, thinking. “I don’t know—wait, he called me last week, something about a court date, a conflict. He was going to another fair, somewhere in Wisconsin.”
    “I talked to him yesterday,” said Skye in a low voice.
    “What did he say to you?” asked Jill.
    “He—he wanted to know if I could come sit with him in his booth on Sunday, today. I said I’d ask, but Mommy said she