CHAPTER SIXAlice Gould’s simple act of disengaging the torn and crushed velvet petals from her daughter-in-law’s dead fingers was small and unobtrusive enough in itself. Its implications were appalling. Even at that moment, still balanced on one foot on the running board of Andy Thorp’s car, with Sandra Gould sprawled inert and so terribly silent on the seat, I recognized a few of them. First, and above all, it meant that we tacitly and definitely accepted the fact that Rosemary Bishop was in some way involved in whatever had happened. Second, it meant that both of us pledged ourselves to keep the fact from getting out—lined up on Rosemary’s side, as it were, against Sandra—and became quite simply accessories after whatever the fact might turn out to be.
“I’ll stay here, Grace,” Mrs. Goul
