“I was eyeing the funnel cake,” remarked Godfrey.
Wilfreda struck ten keys as if they were evil siblings, and an enormous harmony enveloped the crowd. Like a weary climber attempting steep stairs, the ancient woman pulsed a lugubrious rhythm with her ivory. The air grew heavy and warm.
An attractive ash-blond woman who was approximately Oswell’s age and wearing a shapely (and somewhat immodest) lavender dress called out, “T.W.”
The sheriff turned to this woman and replied, “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
“The Widow Evertson seems to want your company,” observed Lingham. “She’s dressed herself up noticeable.”
Grinning, Beatrice looked at Lingham and shook her head. “Dad replaced me before I even left the house.”
“No I didn’t,” defended T.W. “The widow just wants some company, is all.”
