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up.
    â€œI’ll take him down. Tenth Street entrance?”
    â€œYes. Don’t use the elevator. The lobby’s … er … crowded. Take the stairs—turn left out of here, across from the restrooms.”
    Tina and Henry moved a little. She said, “Hen, stay with Uncle Sadd every minute.”
    Henry said, “Will you give him some money, please, Sadd?”
    â€œSure thing.” Sadd took Hen’s hand, and they went out.
    *   *   *
    â€œWhere?” I heard myself say. “Where?”
    â€œIn the chapel.” Kit, who hadn’t moved from the door, leaned against it. “She’d told the lady in the flower shop there would be somebody asking for her and to please say Mrs. Folsom had gone to the chapel and would be right back.”
    Strains of “Silent Night” drifted up from that unending source on the street. Henry came to the bed and took my hand. He said, “How, Kit?”
    â€œShe was strangled from behind, very expertly. She was slumped over in the front pew. Pocketbook ransacked, of course.”
    â€œWho found her?” I think it was Tina’s voice.
    â€œDan and I did.”
    There was a pause, an empty few seconds, then Kit spoke again. “She was clutching something, and I got it out of her hand. I should have left it, but it looked like something religious and you never know what happens to personal effects in a situation like this. I thought you might like to have it, Mrs. Gamadge.”
    Kit put something in my frozen hand. Blurrily, I saw that it was two little squares of brown burlap on a string.

8
    The snow-packed window was the first thing I became conscious of in the low light of the room, then the presence of both D.N. and Sister Agnes, and then the feeling of being perched on the wretched bedpan.
    I said groggily, “What time is it?”
    â€œTwo in the morning,” said D.N. “Through with the pan?”
    â€œYes. Why do I feel like this?”
    â€œDr. Cullen gave you a shot.” Sister Agnes spoke very gently. “You said the woman who was murdered in the chapel was a friend of yours, and you were real upset.”
    Oh, real, real upset. I thought idiotically of Sadd’s repeated complaint that it should not be real but very. Sadd. Where was he? Where was the rest of my family? Gone home to bed, idiot. How much do you think they can take?
    D.N. started out with her burden. She said, “Your son’s here.”
    Henry came in, his outline in the dimness of the room so like his father’s. Sister Agnes said kindly, “Dr. Cullen said he could stay all night, and I’d have let him anyway.”
    â€œSister, you’re a saint.” Henry smiled at her, and she went out.
    â€œHenry, go home,” I said, weeping.
    â€œAre you okay?”
    â€œI’m absolutely and completely okay, and I’d give a million dollars to be able to go to the police.”
    He shook his head. “Can’t yet. There’s the small matter of evidence, you know.”
    I did indeed know, and my heart sank. “We’ll get it,” I almost shouted, and my head throbbed. “ Why did I have to have that shot?”
    â€œBecause you sort of went to pieces.”
    â€œWell, I’m together again, and I’d like some coffee.”
    â€œThere’s a pot at the nurses’ station. Be right back.”
    I lay staring into space, gradually realizing that the dead eye of the television was staring back at me. Should I turn it on and possibly be treated to the sight of Janet’s sheeted form being carried out, a prime item on the late-night news? Would it do me any good to see that? Would I benefit from the press’s gabby speculations? No. Kit’s terse report was all I’d ever need.
    Henry came back with the coffee, and I said, “Did Hen get picked up?”
    â€œYes. Tina and Sadd collected him. He had a great time. Kit said she knew it