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short-sleeved suits. You know, like Janet Reno.”
    Sister looked puzzled. “I’ve never noticed Janet Reno wearing green eyeshadow.”
    “But she wears suits like hers. One night I saw her at a party and she had on white patent-leather shoes. Can you believe that?”
    “Good Lord,” Sister commiserated. “I hope she at least had on a white dress.”
    “A short-sleeved navy suit. And dark red lipstick. Janet Reno.”
    We were wandering away from the point here, to say the least.
    “Exactly what does Alan say?” I asked, sitting back down.
    “He says she’s the most intelligent woman he’s ever known.” Lisa held the paper napkin to her eyes again.
    Sister gave a little snort. “Not if she wears white patent-leather shoes after five o’clock. And with a navy short-sleeved suit. Where is this woman from?”
    Lisa shrugged an “I don’t know” shrug.
    “Listen,” I said, “does Alan say he’s in love with her? What does he say is going on?”
    “He says he’s confused.”
    “Probably those white patent-leather shoes. Does she have big feet? Not that it matters.”
    “Shut up, Sister.” I rapped my knuckles on the table, a tactic I had often used at school. “Just shut up about the damned shoes.”
    Lisa looked up in surprise; Mary Alice frowned at me, picked up her Coke, and sipped it.
    I took advantage of the momentary silence. “Have you talked to anyone about this? A marriage counselor?”
    “Alan said he didn’t want to.”
    “Men always say that.”
    I gave Sister a hard look.
    “Well, they do. You just have to go on and make the appointment and then tell them. You ask me, you haven’t got much to worry about, though. A woman named Coralee in her forties who dresses like Janet Reno and wears white patent shoes with a navy dress? No way, Lisa.”
    “You think so?” There was a hopeful look on Lisa’s face, the first I had seen.
    “Absolutely.”
    I gave up. Might as well. There wasn’t anything I could do about the situation, anyway. Alan and Lisa were going to have to work this out. I’d worry about it, of course, and hate this woman named Coralee Gibbons for rocking the boat. But it wasn’t my boat. Of course, my grandsons were passengers. I hopped up.
    “I’m going to make you a cream cheese sandwich,” I told Lisa. “That’ll go down easy.”
    “Make me one, too,” Sister said. “I need something to go with the Coke.”
    “I thought you just had lunch.”
    “All I had was chicken salad and orange rolls.” She turned back to Lisa. “Do you know, Betty Ethridge has a friend from somewhere up north who said she couldn’t believe people from Alabama would eat chicken salad with orange rolls. Made Betty mad. She says she told her we even eat boiled possums with orange rolls. The woman probably believed her. Beats all.”
    “We do eat some strange stuff,” Lisa said.
    “Like what?”
    “Boiled peanuts.”
    “Boiled peanuts aren’t strange.”
    I was fixing the sandwiches and half listening to their conversation. Next door, Mitzi’s car pulled into the driveway.
    “Mitzi’s home,” I said. “I’m going to run the casserole over to her.”
    “Arthur’s first wife died,” Sister explained to Lisa.
    “Mr. Phizer was married before?” Lisa was as startled as we had been.
    “And the first wife was murdered. Poisoned yesterday at the Hunan Hut. We saw it all.” To emphasize what we had witnessed, Sister lolled her head to one side and shook a little.
    “Good Lord!” Lisa’s eyes widened. “What happened?”
    I thought Mary Alice’s dramatics had made that clear enough.
    “The police think somebody killed her, apparently.” I handed each of them a sandwich. “It’s real sad. She was at the Hunan Hut having lunch with Arthur.”
    Sister nodded. “A pretty woman. Couldn’t walk very well what with the poison and circulatory problems.” She took a bite of her sandwich.
    “The first wife?” Lisa looked from one of us to the other. “Mrs. Phizer’s