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sister out to lunch.”
    For a moment Janice was horrified, thinking she was going to cry. She instantaneously had the feeling that Henrietta was another Miss Caroline. She was brusque where Miss Caroline was quiet; she was huge where Miss Caroline was small; she was dark where Miss Caroline had been fair. But like Miss Caroline, she was reaching out a helping hand.
    “Do you really mean that?”
    “Of course, I do,” Henrietta said, her brown eyes sparkling. “Wouldn’t have said so if I hadn’t meant it. Let’s have lunch and then we’ll see what I can do for you.”
    “I need advice more than anything else. Lance Gordon and his family have been helpful, but I’d like to talk to someone who knew the Reid family well.”
    Henrietta steered her to the church parking lot adjacent to the motel. “On second thought, let’s go to my house to eat.Restaurants are always crowded on Sunday. I often take someone home with me for lunch, so I’m ready for company.”
    She stopped beside an old car that had a battered front fender. “Hop in,” she said. “I don’t live far from the church, but with my bad knees, I can’t walk any distance.”
    Janice pulled forward the passenger’s seat of the two-door car, and Brooke scooted into the back seat. Janice sat beside Henrietta, who started the car, shifted the standard gears, roared the engine and shot out of the parking lot with a speed that jerked Janice’s head backward.
    When Henrietta slammed on the brakes and crawled past the church, Janice saw Lance standing on the steps. She waved, wondering if he was looking for her.
    Henrietta was a tall, stocky, mannishly built woman. Her hair, which had once been auburn but was now mostly iron-gray, was braided into a long pigtail and wound around her head like a halo. Her brown eyes were keen and penetrating.
    She chatted about the morning service until they reached her home, a one-story brick house, located on a spacious lot two blocks east of the main street. Flower beds dotted the rich, green turf of her lawn. Baskets of blooming red geraniums hung from the porch ceiling. With scraping gears, Henrietta maneuvered her small car into the garage, then guided Janice and Brooke into the kitchen of her home.
    “This is the first house I’ve ever owned. My husband and I lived in rented houses. And after he died, I took care of invalids. I’d move into their houses, sometimes for a year or two at a time, so I didn’t need a home. I was in demand all the time, for I gave good service, if I do say so myself that shouldn’t.”
    Henrietta continued to talk as she put her purse and Bible on a dresser in the bedroom and shrugged into a large apron that hung on the back of the kitchen door.
    “After the mansion got too much for your uncle to keep up, he bought this house and moved to town. I took care of him for about five years. Several weeks before he died, he deeded the house to me.”
    With a glance at Brooke, she said, “Some people made nasty comments about it. But I’m a God-fearin’ woman, and I was John’s housekeeper and nurse—nothing more.”
    The inside of the house was immaculate and Henrietta rustled around getting their lunch on the table. She removed a hamburger-and-rice casserole from the oven and gelatin salad from the fridge. She took a coconut cream pie from a kitchen cabinet and cut it into six pieces.
    “Wow! And you didn’t even know you’d have company!” Brooke said, her eyes widening as she watched the speed with which the meal appeared on the table.
    Henrietta laughed heartily. “Well, I like to eat, too,” she said, patting her ample stomach. “And never knowing when the notion might strike me to ask somebody to Sunday dinner, I always fix a little extra.”
    After asking their preference of beverages, Henrietta poured a cola for Brooke, and made iced tea for Janice and herself.
    Although Janice was eager to hear what Henrietta could tell her about her relatives, she listened quietly as