Chapter Five
Beatrice’s breath caught in her throat. Miss Sissy was quickly backing up, spooked. Beatrice forced herself to be calm. “Miss Sissy,” she said, a peremptory note in her voice, “would you call for help? You’ve got your phone?”
Miss Sissy nodded and seemed happy for the distraction as Beatrice quickly strode to the other side of the sofa. She stopped. Henrietta lay on the floor, a heavy sewing machine on top of her head. It had apparently fallen from the sofa table next to her.
Beatrice picked up Henrietta’s wrist with shaking hands.
Miss Sissy was saying, “Calling Ramsay. No ambulance. Dead woman.”
Miss Sissy was right. Henrietta was a dead woman. Beatrice gently laid down Henrietta’s arm and stood up as Miss Sissy dialed Ramsay’s number. She couldn’t see any way this coul
