No Neighborhood for Old Women (A Kelly O'Connell Mystery) by Judy Alter

and this morning. She just sat there.
    “Girls, come help me fix supper. You can start by setting the table.”
    They rounded the corner into the living room, giving long curious looks to Claire, who didn’t look at them at all. Then it was, “It’s my turn to set the table. You have to do dishes.”
    “No, you set the table last night.”
    “But that doesn’t count, because Miss Claire did the dishes.”
    I drew them into the kitchen, put Em to setting the table and Maggie to cutting up a salad, which was a definite step up in responsibility for her, and she was pleased. They were both quiet, though I noticed Em peeking into the living room now and then. Claire sat in the darkness, almost without moving.
    If dinner was a bit awkward last night, it was painful this night. The girls were silent, looking down at their plates and taking furtive glances at Claire, who poked at her food, pushed it around on her plate, and didn’t take one bite. My vegetable frittata, cobbled together again from Claire’s leftovers, wasn’t that bad. Claire just didn’t feel like eating.
    Within minutes, Claire excused herself, saying she wasn’t feeling well, and left for the garage apartment.
    “Mom, what’s the matter with Miss Claire?” Em asked.
    “What do you think?” Maggie said. “She’s in big trouble for shooting Mr. Guthrie.”
    “She shouldn’t have done that,” Em said. “But I hope she’s not in big trouble. She has to take care of Emily.” She paused a moment and then said thoughtfully, “Well, I suppose if she goes to jail I could take care of Emily.”
    Em was turning out to be heartless—or calculating, I wasn’t sure which. But it was the time to be honest with my children. “She’s in trouble,” I said. “We don’t know yet just how much, but it’s very serious to shoot someone.”
    “Mom, if she could shoot her husband, is it…I mean, is it safe for her to stay with us? What if she decided to shoot us?” Maggie was serious, and I rushed to put my arms around her.
    “Oh, Maggie, that won’t happen. She was angry with Mr. Guthrie—he was mean to her—and she lost sight of right and wrong in her anger. But she knows we’re trying to help her. She’d never hurt us.”
    “If you lose sight of right and wrong,” Em asked, “does God forgive you?”
    I wanted to tell her that God might be more likely to than mankind, but I didn’t. “I don’t know, darling, I just don’t know. But when you say your prayers tonight, ask God to be kind to Miss Claire.”
    “What about Mr. Guthrie?” Maggie demanded with seven-year-old logic that fair should be fair.
    “Uh… him too.” Okay, I only hesitated a minute.
    But a thought lingered in my mind—what if Claire indeed took her anger out first on Florence and then on Jim Guthrie? Had I taken a killer into my family, even if she seemed grateful and harmless?
    ****
    Joe and Theresa rang the bell just after we finished supper, and the girls greeted them with so much enthusiasm I thought they might literally sweep them off their feet. Theresa lived with us for a short time, while Joe seemed to be in deep trouble, and the girls loved her. After he turned his life around, Theresa and Joe married over the summer, a marriage Anthony objected to because of Joe’s gang background. But I had faith in both of them. They’d build a solid life together.
    “Joe wants to talk to you, Miss Kelly. He trusts you.”
    That was a good sign.
    The girls vied for their attention. “Joe, I have to show you my dog. His name is Gus, and he’s so smart. Want to go out in the yard and throw the ball for him?”
    “Whoa, Maggie. Can I talk to your mom a minute before we go outside?”
    I laughed. “You go, and I’ll bake some brownies while you’re out there. Just try to be quiet in case Claire is sleeping.”
    “Claire?” Theresa asked, and I told the whole story.
    “Wow, Miss Kelly,” Joe said, “you got a lot goin’ on around here.” And then Maggie