After the story ends, Carsie is:

Choices:
A. not enough information
B. In her fifties
C. In her thirties
D. In her twenties
In her thirties
The Marshall police were looking for the killer, but they had no evidence or witnesses. The case would go cold in a hurry.
Carnie was ready to check out of her room--not because of any fear of getting caught--just from boredom. She hadn't sold the old lady's jewelry, but had plenty of cash anyway.
Carnie flipped open her cell phone and dialed.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Sis, how are you doing?"
"Fine. What's going on?"
"How about if I come stay with you guys for a few days before the wedding?"
"You mean now?"
"Yeah. If you don't mind."
"Uh...sure, that'll be fine."
"Great. It'll be like old times."
"No, no. I can't party all night and get drunk." Carsie laughed.
"Okay. Maybe not exactly like old times. But we'll have fun. See you in thirty minutes."
"Thirty minutes? Where are you?"
But Carnie had already hung up.
It was hard to believe that her sister, Carsie, had wormed her way into the heart of the wealthy doctor. Sis had a lot more patience than she did. She would have just slit his throat and skipped town with his fortune. Surely Carsie hadn't actually fallen in love with the nerd. Maybe her biological clock had started ticking too loud to ignore.
Carsie was about to turn 31, and Carnie was only a year behind her. But unlike her sister, Carnie didn't need a man to support her and give her babies. Anything she needed she would get for herself, thank you very much.
But it would be hysterical to watch Carsie go through the whole 'until death do we part' shtick. Would she actually have the balls to wear a white dress? If the color of the dress indicates the purity of the bride, maybe she should go with midnight black.