“Have some news, good news, I hope,” Bessie’s father mentions in conversation, passing the potato salad around the outdoor picnic table on the back patio.
It’s one of those heartbreaking late August evenings, when you know the weather can switch from steaming hot to chilly in a flash, and you want to hang onto the last shreds of summer for dear life. At the back of the yard, the leaves on the maple tree are tinged with red and gold. As Bessie turns to look, a couple of them drift down to land on the grass.
The shrieks of little kids in a swimming pool echo from behind a neighboring fence. Their excited dog bark-bark-barks. From under the table, Miss Marple lifts her head at the sound, sniffs the air before settling back on her paws. The smell of barbecue drifts from several directions, i
