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into the next county. So what?”
    Annie thought about Keith Landry, about the possibility of him being dead, laid out at Gibbs Funeral Home.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Baxter, that’s Parlor B, a Mr. Landry
.
Mr. Baxter is in Parlor A, ma’am.”
    But what if Keith wasn’t dead? Did that make a difference? Maybe she should wait to hear for sure. And how about Tom and Wendy? This was their father. She vacillated and considered putting the shotgun back in the basement, and would have, except he’d see the cut cord and know why.
    The police car pulled into the gravel drive, and she heard the car door open and shut, then his footsteps coming up the porch, and she saw him at the back door window, putting the key in the lock.
    The door opened, and Cliff Baxter entered the dark kitchen, silhouetted by the back porch light. He was wiping his face and hands with a handkerchief, then sniffed at his fingers and turned toward the sink.
    Annie said, “Good morning.”
    He swung around and peered into the dark alcove where she sat at the table. “Oh… there you are. Don’t smell no coffee.”
    “I guess not, if you’re smelling your fingers.”
    There was no reply.
    Annie said, “Turn on the light.”
    Cliff went back to the door, found the switch, and the kitchen fluorescents flickered on. He said, “You got a problem, lady?”
    “No, sir, you have the problem.”
    “I ain’t got no problem.”
    “Where were you?”
    “Cut the shit and put on the coffee.” He walked a few steps toward the hallway.
    Annie raised the shotgun from her lap and laid it on the table, pointed toward him. “Stop. Back up.”
    Cliff stared at the gun, then said softly, “Take your hand away from the trigger.”
    “Where were you tonight?”
    “On the job. On the goddamn job, tryin’ to earn a goddamn livin’, which is more than you do.”
    “I’m not allowed to get a paying job. I have to do volunteer work at the hospital thrift shop down the street from the
police
station where you can keep an eye on me.
Remember?
”
    “You hand me that shotgun, and we’ll just forget this happened.” He took a tentative step toward her and reached out with his hand.
    Annie stood and raised the gun to her shoulder, cocking both hammers.
    The loud metallic clicks caused Cliff to back up into the door. “Hey! Hey!” He put his hands to his front in a protective gesture. “Now sweetheart… that’s… that’s dangerous. That’s a hair trigger… you breathe and that’s gonna go off… you point that away—”
    “Shut up. Where were you tonight?”
    He took a deep breath and controlled his voice. “I told you. Cars stuck and stalled, bridge over Hoop’s Creek is out, panicky old widows callin’ all night—”
    “Liar.”
    “Look… look at these wet clothes… see the mud on my shoes…? I was helpin’ people all night. Now, come on, honey, you just got yourself all worked up.”
    Annie glanced at his wet cuffs and shoes and wondered if he was telling the truth this time.
    Cliff went on in a soothing tone, using every term of endearment he could think of. “Now, sweetheart, darlin’, that thing’s gonna go off, baby, and I ain’t done nothin’, sugar…”
    Annie saw that he was truly frightened, but oddly, she wasn’t enjoying this reversal of roles. In fact, she didn’t want him to beg; she just wanted him dead. But she couldn’t just kill him in cold blood. The shotgun was getting heavy. She said to him, “Go for your gun, Cliff.”
    He stopped speaking and stared at her.
    “Go on. Do you want people to know you died with your gun in your holster?”
    Cliff took a shallow breath, and his tongue flicked across his dry lips. “Annie…”
    “Coward! Coward! Coward!”
    A clap of thunder exploded close by, startling Cliff Baxter, who jumped, then went for his gun.
    Annie fired both barrels, and the recoil knocked her back against the wall.
    The deafening blasts died away but still echoed in her ears. Annie dropped the shotgun. The