A Penny for Your Thoughts by Mindy Starns Clark

on a decorative wrought iron fence post. Compared to that—as well as plenty of other grisly scenes we had worked on—today had been a walk in the park.
    Marion stepped toward the fireplace, holding out her hands to warm them.
    “Thank you for fixing the fire, Derek,” she said. “I know September’s a little early in the season, but I just feel so chilled this evening.”
    “Fireplaces are nice,” I said noncommittally, thinking that the room was a bit warm. Outside, I hadn’t even needed a sweater.
    “Mother’s always cold,” Derek said to me, smiling. “We put up with it.”
    They exchanged banter while I studied the man in front of me, the man I had heard arguing with Sidra in this very room only a few hours before. Now he seemed calm and collected, the picture of hospitality as he went to the bar and offered me a drink from a glass pitcher of red liquid.
    “Thank you, no,” I said.
    “It’s not alcohol,” Marion said. “It’s juice. What’s it tonight, darling? Mango?”
    “Cranberry mango,” he replied, holding a small glassful toward me. “Try it.”
    I took a sip, surprised at the delicious tangy flavor. I usually hated cranberry juice.
    “Mother’s into nutrition,” Derek explained. “A glass of juice before dinner is one of her prescriptions for health. Kicks up the blood sugar, you know.”
    “We always have juice, except of course for Wendell,” she said. “With his diabetes, he can’t—” Marion stopped herself, suddenly realizing what she was saying. “Couldn’t, I mean…”
    She seemed suddenly pale and tired. Looking at her, I remembered it all well: the confusion, the shock, the assumption that the man who had always been there would still be there. Even after three years I still sometimes caught myself referring to my late husband in the present tense.
    Derek quickly took his mother’s arm and led her to the nearest chair.
    “Why don’t you have Angelina bring dinner to your room?” he asked her softly as he sat beside her, stroking her hand. “Callie and I can make do here. And Judith should be home soon.”
    “No, no, I’ll be fine. I’d rather not be alone right now, anyway.”
    At that moment, Angelina appeared in the doorway, announcing that dinner was served. Marion let Derek lead her to the table, which was set for five. Derek seemed surprised; once he had seated his mother, he rang immediately for Angelina.
    “Yes?” the maid asked, appearing silently in the doorway.
    “Angelina, I’m afraid Sidra will be taking all of her meals in the cabana from now on. Didn’t she tell you?”
    The girl shook her head, her face a blank.
    “No, sir. Nobody said anything to me.”
    She quickly set about removing the extra place setting as an uncomfortable silence settled around the table.
    “Shall I say grace?” Derek asked, glancing at his mother. She nodded. The three of us bowed our heads as Derek said a short prayer of thanks for the food.
    “I met Sidra earlier,” I said when he was finished, hoping to see what sort of reaction I could get. “She was very upset. Apparently, someone had vandalized a photograph in her apartment.”
    Derek and his mother stopped eating and looked at each other.
    “You’ve got to speak with Dr. Bell about Sidra’s medications,” Marion said to him. “I’m afraid things are escalating.”
    “She said that someone has been doing things to her,” I continued. “That someone wants her out of here—or wants her dead.”
    “She told you that?” Derek asked, a pained expression on his face.
    “I’m sorry, Callie,” Marion said, shaking her head sadly. “I’m afraid Sidra’s delusional.”
    “Delusional?” I asked. “She was upset, of course, but she seemed perfectly lucid to me.”
    They again shared a long look and were silent as Angelina entered carrying a tray filled with small plates of salad. When she was gone, Derek stood and put his napkin beside his plate on the table.
    “If you’ll excuse me,” he said