From behind a limp curtain the elderly girl detective sees through a row
of windows: a hand petting a cobra, a woman’s shadowy profile, a small
stuffed .alligator. on. a. velvet. cushion. Clues to what?. The secret of life
and death is. only the clock. Down a long linoleum corridor of tarnished
numbers,. a door. clicks shut. .Evening light,. slanted, yellow.. She keeps
her deductions private, a silence filled up with land sakes, imaginary pie
in the. cold oven. .Ghost. granny,. in. worn print.dress,. in. favorite chair.
Who is in charge.

– Martha McCollough