Murder Shoots the Bull
there.”
    “Really? Did their mother have any money?”
    “Lots, I think. Why?”
    “Because that’s the number one reason people get killed, except for being mad at each other. Speaking of which, what about Lisa?”
    “She’s asleep.” I rubbed my hand over my forehead where I felt a headache lurking. “I don’t have any idea what’s going on. All Lisa will say is that she doesn’t want to talk about it, and that Alan doesn’t love her any more.”
    “Another woman.”
    A definite twinge of pain over my right eye.
    “Surely not. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”
    “Of course it is. Alan’s smack dab in the middle of bimbo territory.”
    “Would you care to elucidate?” I got up, took the aspirin from the cabinet, and poured a glass of water.
    “He’s in his thirties, successful, handsome, been married fifteen years. He’s in an office surrounded by attractive women. Bimbo territory.”
    I chewed the aspirin thoughtfully.
    Mary Alice winced. “Why don’t you swallow those things like a normal person?”
    “They get stuck.” I held the bottle out. “You want some?”
    “No thanks. You take too many of those things.”
    “On days like today I do,” I agreed. I sat back down. “Bimbo territory?”
    “Absolutely.”
    I usually don’t put much stock in Mary Alice’s theories, but this one might merit some consideration. Alan is ourmiddle child and has always been the good, solid one. He’s never had the offbeat imagination of his brother Freddie or the mischievousness of his sister Haley. He’s dependable and kind and has always seemed contented with his lot. Surely he hadn’t fallen for some bimbo.
    “I hate the word bimbo,” I said.
    “Because you’re still a feminist.”
    “Possibly.”
    “Then tell me this. What would you call a cute twenty-two-year-old blonde who was coming on to Fred?”
    “Dead meat.”
    “Well, I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Sister said. “She’d have to be crazy.”
    “Hey, y’all. Hey, Aunt Sister.” Lisa stood in the doorway looking like something Muffin had dragged in.
    “My God, Lisa. What have you done to your hair?” Subtlety has never been one of Mary Alice’s strong suits. I cringed when I remembered this was exactly what I had said when I saw Lisa.
    But Lisa seemed too tired to take offense. She ran her hand through her hair absently. “It’s supposed to be a Spice Girl look. The boys said it looks like Old Spice.”
    “Here, honey,” I said. “Sit down. What do kids know? You want some lunch? I made some tuna fish salad. And I’ve got cream cheese, if you’d rather have that.”
    “You got any Coke?”
    “Sure.”
    “Get me some, too,” Sister said when I got up. “I had lunch at The Club and those orange rolls always make me thirsty.” Then, to Lisa as she sat down, “Debbie says you and Alan have had some kind of falling out. Is he running around?”
    Like Fred says, the woman has the nerve of a bad tooth. I held my breath expecting Lisa to collapse into tears or, worst-case scenario, though she has never seemed violent,bop Sister over the head with the sugar bowl and tell her it was none of her damned business. What I didn’t expect was Lisa’s answer.
    “Yes, ma’am. Her name is Coralee Gibbons.”
    I breathed again but not very well. My baby boy was in trouble.
    “Who is Coralee Gibbons?” I asked.
    “A woman who works in his office.”
    Sister flashed me a triumphant look and mouthed, “Bimbo territory.”
    But Lisa caught the gesture. “She’s not a bimbo, Aunt Sister. I wish she were.”
    I poured Coke and handed each of them a glass. “Tell us about her. And are you sure?”
    Lisa had begun to cry again. Sister handed her a paper napkin. Those paper napkins were coming in handy today.
    “He admits it. And she’s forty-five if she’s a day. She’s got grown children and she’s not even pretty.” Lisa looked up with tears welling in her eyes. “She wears green eyeshadow and

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