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Mantle snapped film into his camera, then got busy, shooting pictures of the corpse, measuring with a steel tape Mantle had on a spool, taking note of the trampled underbrush, and so on. Then Mantle called to me, wanting to know where I had been, “when you fired the shot that killed him.”
    â€œI’ll show you.”
    They rowed to shore again, and I stepped in the bow of the boat. Mantle headed downstream, then to the island’s far side. I had him pull for the tree and caught it, just as I had before, and pulled the boat in to jam it, exactly the same way. All three of us got out and headed for the stump where I’d picked up Jill, which was four or five feet from the corpse. Mantle spotted a twig, a fresh one on top of a bush, and looked at it with a glass. Then he wrapped it in a Kleenex and put it in his pocket. “I think,” I said, “it was cut off the tree by his shot.”
    â€œThat’s right,” he agreed. “It’s important. More or less proves you shot in self-defense.”
    The three of us got in the boat again and rowed back to the bank. Edgren said: “I broke Shaw’s gun, found one empty shell in the chamber. The rest of it, one twig cut off the tree, apparently by his bullet, corresponds with what Howell said.”
    â€œYou mean, write it up that way?”
    â€œIt all checks out.”
    â€œOK.”
    So we were done except for moving the body, recovering the parachute, and impounding my gun for evidence at the inquest that would have to be held. Mr. Santos refused to put the body on my boat. “We’d just be asking for trouble. If that thing should capsize, I’ve got two men in the river, we don’t mention that body, and God knows where I come out. You’ll have to call DiVola.” DiVola was a fire company down the river that had a bigger boat, an aluminum thing with an outboard. To call them, we all went back to the car, the sheriff’s car with a dashboard phone, and Edgren did his talking standing beside the door. But as we walked around the house I could see Mom inside, talking on the phone. I knew right away who to. It was Sid, her brother over in Flint, who got in it deep before long. Of course, she had to tell him about it, but right away I began to worry.
    I’ve already mentioned her left-handed way of talking. If she should get in it now and began telling it in a way that didn’t match up with what I’d said, and especially what Jill would say, if they ever got around to her, it could all get loused but bad. So I was nervous while Edgren talked, and hopeful when he hung up, that we’d be going down to wait for DiVola, but I was too optimistic. He had hardly turned around with the news “they’re on their way,” when the door opened and Mom was there. I hardly knew her. Her hair was all combed up with a blue ribbon on one lock, and her face was powdered to hide the freckles. She had on light tan pantyhose and her best blue dress, which was short, to show her goodlooking legs. Everyone turned, but she didn’t speak at first, just stood there staring at Mantle. Then: “Well, Mr. Mantle, howdy,” she sang out very friendly. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
    But Mantle gave a blank stare. Then: “Madam, do I know you?” he asked in a puzzled way.
    â€œYou certainly do,” she told him. “I’m Myra Howell, Myra Giles that was—Little Myra, they called me, to tell me apart from my cousin, Big Myra Giles, who’s two years older than I am. Mr. Mantle, I’m the girl that bit that bandit! Remember?”
    â€œOh! I place you now! And later, you were the girl Mr. Hanks called us about.”
    â€œI’d like to forget that if you don’t mind. Why, the idea, him calling the police about an argument two girls had. I never thanked him for it.”
    â€œYou were smaller then.”
    â€œI was only sixteen. I grew. You