Catch a Falling Knife

area—Chapel Hill, Durham and Raleigh. This was a sign that the area was booming. But it also made driving more difficult.
    Once in Bethany I found the road to Eric Hoffman’s house without any trouble and was proud of myself. I spotted his place because of the gravel driveway with the pickup truck parked in it that looked like Albert’s. Another car stood in the driveway that I didn’t remember seeing before. I parked behind them and walked gingerly on the gravel toward the house, holding an umbrella.
    A deep growl reminded me of the presence of Monster, the dog. He came out of the open garage where he had been sheltered from the rain and stationed himself between me and the front door. He may have been a Great Dane; he was certainly big enough. I decided that since I might be coming here again I should try to make friends with him. “Good dog, Monster,” I said. I repeated this several times.
    He seemed to recognize his name and stopped growling. I advanced slowly to the limit of his leash so that he could sniff me, although I kept my hands behind me, not wanting to lose one in case his intentions weren’t honorable. I wasn’t able to hold the umbrella up so the raindrops, given force by the wind, became tiny stinging projectiles pelting my face and neck.
    In addition, I realized that my throat was exposed to Monster so I stepped back, beyond his reach, until he calmed down. I had King’s scent on me and he investigated this with his nose. Then I carefully reached out one hand and patted him on his head.
    “I see you’ve made a friend of Monster,” a female voice with a southern accent said from the front door.
    I turned and saw a woman of about Mr. Hoffman’s age. She looked familiar, probably because of the family portrait in their living room. She had the same dark hair and dark eyes as Elise, but her body showed the signs of good living, or at least a life in which food had not been scarce.
    I had prepared a speech for Mr. Hoffman, and seeing someone else took me by surprise. Of course I shouldn’t have been surprised to see his wife. I stammered for a bit, then remembered that talking about people’s pets is usually a safe thing to do. “He’s quite a dog,” I said. “He makes about two of my dog and she’s not small.”
    “He’s eating us out of house and home,” the woman said. “But my husband insists we need him for protection. Some protection. He barks a lot, but I don’t think he’d ever bite anybody.”
    “At least he scares people. My dog doesn’t even bark. A burglar could steal me blind and she would just watch and wag her tail. My name is Lillian Morgan, by the way. Professor Morgan. I knew your daughter slightly and I wanted to come and tell you how sorry I am about what happened.”
    “I’m June Hoffman. Where are my manners? Come on inside out of the rain.”
    At least the rain had helped me gain entrance to the house. As I walked toward the door I could see the dark circles under her eyes. It looked as if she had been crying recently. She wore dark clothes. As she led me inside she said, “Usually, I would be working, but I just couldn’t face it the day after Elise’s funeral. In fact, I haven’t been to work since last Wednesday.”
    “I’ve met your husband,” I said, trying to revise my approach to Mr. Hoffman to suit the current circumstances. “In fact, I talked to him early last week.” Actually, on the day Elise had been murdered, but I didn’t mention that.
    “Well, he’ll be glad to see you. He’s really broken up about this.”
    She took my wet coat and hung it on a hanger. We left the umbrella open in the entry. I took a handkerchief from my purse and blotted some of the water on my face so I didn’t look so much like a drowned rat. As we entered the living room I spotted Mr. Hoffman sitting down, his cane leaning against his chair. A book lay unopened on the table beside him, with a bookmark in it. He started to get up when he saw me, but remembering what a struggle this was for him I said, “Please don’t get up, Mr. Hoffman. I just wanted to come by to tell you how sorry I am about Elise.”
    Mr. Hoffman relaxed his efforts and said, “Please sit down, Mrs. …I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”
    “Professor Morgan,” Mrs. Hoffman said. “You’ve met her before.”
    She said this the way one would speak to somebody whose memory was impaired.
    “Morgan,” Mr. Hoffman said. Yes, that’s it. But I didn’t know you were a