Well, you do, too, Mace. But you could look so much better than fine. I dont know why you put on all those dark colors when I asked you to wear that beautiful pink pantsuit your Aunt Irene gave you. The woman can be a pill, but you cant fault her taste in clothes.

I told you I wasnt gonna wear the pink, Mama. That suit makes me look like an Easter egg on stilts. Martys the one that likes pastels, not me.

But the pink looks so pretty with your dark coloring, Mace. You dont even try to look nice.

Evening, Rosalee. I was saved by a middle-aged woman in a blue-flowered skirt and a sleeveless sweater. She dipped her head at Mama as she passed in front of the VW.

Hey, Delilah. Cmon over here and say hello to my middle girl, Mace. Honey, this is Delilah Dixon. Shes Pastor Bob Dixons wife.

Delilah walked to Mamas side of the car and extended her hand over the absent top. I took it, grateful for the interruption in Mamas long-running critique of my fashion sense.

Well, Delilah said in a sugary tone, we havent seen you here before, have we, Mace?

No, Maam, Im a sinner. Thats what I felt like saying, but didnt. Im not able to make it to church as much as Id like.

Mace is one of those Christmas and Easter Christians, Delilah. You know, the ones who crowd the pews on the holidays? They think the Lord will forget He hasnt seen them the rest of the year.

Well, Im here tonight and Im looking forward to the service, I said, heading off a tangent on my church-going habits. What will your husband be preaching on, Ms. Dixon?

Oh, I never know until the moment Bob starts his sermon. Delilahs drawl-free accent sounded Midwestern. I like to enjoy hearing it for the first time, along with the congregation.

I thought I noticed the tiniest smirk on Mamas mouth.

Well, I better get along inside. Delilah started for the church door, then turned at the halfway point. Were sure happy to see you tonight, Rosalee, she said in a voice that carried clear to the Pork Pit. I wasnt sure youd have the nerve to show up, considering.

Mamas back stiffened in the car seat. Why wouldnt I show up, Delilah? The only thing to consider is I had the bad luck to discover some poor souls body in my trunk.

Delilah traced a finger along the spine of the Bible she carried. Well, we did hear youd been hauled into the Himmarshee Jail. Her voice was loud enough to wake the crows roosting across the street in a magnolia tree. All of us were worried youd never get out.

Heads turned as other congregation members filed past.

As you can see, Im out. I wasnt charged with a thing, Mama said sharply. It was a misunderstanding, is all. By the way, Delilah, you might want to reread the Gospel of Matthew in that Good Book youre carrying. He writes all about the evil nature of false accusations.

Id planned to jump to Mamas defense, but she seemed to be doing fine on her own. Sputtering, Delilah flounced into church, her skirt a floral swirl around her sturdy legs.

I know its not very Christian of me, but I sure dont like that woman, Mama whispered to me. And did you see her in a sleeveless sweater? Shes built like a truck driver. With those big arms of hers, a three-quarter length sleeve would be much more flattering.

I aimed a sanctimonious look to the passenger seat. Doesnt Proverbs address gossiping, Mama? If I recall, the Bible says guard your mouth and tongue to keep yourself from calamity.

I couldnt resist the jab. But I was secretly glad Mama was focused on Delilahs fashion faux pas instead of mine.

Youre absolutely right, Mace. She looked contrite. It isnt nice to gossip. But I almost busted out laughing when she said how the congregation enjoys her husbands sermons. The only thing that keeps most of them awake is the promise of the Pork Pit when its over.

I patted her on the arm. Dont worry, Mama. The people who really know you would never believe you had anything to do with the murder. The Dixons are fairly new, arent they?

Just since this year. She formed an O with her lips in the mirror, and painted them with her favorite shade, Apricot Ice. Bob Dixon replaced Pastor Gooden, who everybody loved. And that wife of his doesnt help his case. Theres something a little off about the two of them, Mace. Shaking her head, she tossed the lipstick back in her purse. At least half-a-dozen members have quit since they arrived.

Making our way inside, we were forced to step around a card table stacked high with homemade DVDs. The covers showed a dark-suited man, looking reflective in a beam of light from a stained glass window. Walking the Path with Pastor Bob, the title said. I turned it over. Fifteen bucks, according to a bright red price sticker on the back. I returned it to the pile.

Mamas minister must have found a fancier church than Abundant Hope to stage his DVD photo. This one just had the store window, and not a pane of stained glass in sight.

Several people waved and smiled. But a few stared with cold eyes as we found two seats halfway down a row of folding chairs. Mama fiddled with a stack of church books under her seat, looking for a hymnal. Fortunately, she didnt seem to notice the nasty looks before the music minister hit the first chord on a portable organ.

A young man in the front row lifted a video camera to his eye. The red Record button lit. The choir burst into What a Friend We Have in Jesus. As Mama warbled along, I counted the fake lilies in pots lining a raised wooden altar. Id gotten to twenty-two, and started in on studying the Ten Commandments on three big panels against the wall, when a commotion broke out behind us.

I told you, I WILL NOT sit down. It was a woman, and she sounded on the verge of hysterics. I have something to say, and Im going up there to say it.

There was some quiet murmuring and shushing from behind us.

People should know. They should know! She let loose a wail, which sounded familiar.

I turned around to see Emma Jean Valentine being corralled toward the exit by a short man in a dark suit. Pastor Bob? Emma Jeans green skirt was two inches too short. A kitty-cat pin shone on the lapel of her neon blue jacket.

Delilah Dixon stepped in, trying to help steer her out the door.

Take your hands off of me! Emma Jeans eyes were wild. She raised her hand, and along with it a threatening-looking tire iron.

Mama clutched my elbow. Oh, my stars and garters! Emma Jean is fixin to murder Delilah and her husband, the preacher.

Emma Jean backed up, knocking over the card table display. The DVDs clattered to the floor. As the guy with the camera moved in for a closer shot, Pastor Bob swiped his hand across his throat, yelling Cut! Cut!

Now every head in the church was turned to the rear. Even the choir had quit singing to stare. Delilah and the reverend backed off a few steps. Emma Jean lowered the tire iron a fraction. She raised her other hand to her head to straighten a straw hat decorated with green-and-white daisies.

Most of you know me. Her voice rang out in the pin-drop silent room. I suffered a terrible loss this week when Jim Albert was murdered. And now Ive discovered something that hurts almost as bad as losing him. Ive been looking into a few things. Jim was cheating on me. And the woman he betrayed me with is a member here, supposedly a good Christian.

Shocked gasps rippled through the seats. A loud clap sounded on the floor by the choir. I turned in time to see a pretty blonde soprano stoop to retrieve the hymn book she dropped.

I just wanted yall to think on something, sitting here in this church: People arent always what they seem. Theres a woman here who tried to take away someone I loved. Shes here among you, pretending to be pious and holy. But really shes just a common whore.

Mothers covered their kids ears. The Reverend Dixon put out a hand to silence Emma Jean. She shook her tire iron at him, and his hand dropped like hed touched a hot stove.

God gave Moses the commandments. Emma Jeans voice rose like a preachers. All of you know the one about coveting thy neighbors wife. Well, someone here coveted the man who was going to be my husband.

She walked halfway up the aisle and stopped, tire iron raised like a staff. All eyes followed her as she looked slowly around the church, pointing her arm like a weapon toward any woman under seventy. For a long moment, her gaze held on the soprano. The young woman cast her eyes down as she fidgeted with a barrette holding back her hair.

Finally, Emma Jean broke her stare, speaking again to the full congregation.

Im not going to rest until I find out which one of you is the adulteress who seduced my Jim, she said. And when I do, I may break one or two of Gods commandments myself.

Mama and I spun on our stools in Gladys Diner, listening to the mechanical hum of a plastic cylinder with six shelves of revolving pies. The scent of sizzling hamburgers wafted from the open kitchen behind the counter. More than half of the dozen tables in the restaurant were filled. A harried waitress rushed by. Barrel-sized tumblers of sweet tea crowded her tray, and her forehead glistened with sweat.

Ill be with yall just as soon as I can, she said.

Take your time, Mama said. Were in no hurry.

Wed headed to the diner after services at Abundant Hope. Once Emma Jean dropped her bombshell, Delilah hustled her out the door. Pastor Bob immediately took to the pulpit, and signaled the cameraman to start rolling again. Aiming a pious smile at the lens, he acted like thered been no interruption from an unhinged churchgoer, screaming about adultery and murder.

With a rich tenor he launched into Are You Washed in the Blood? and nodded to the choir to join in. I thought the hymn was a poor choice, given the circumstances.

Id jiggled my leg and tapped my fingers through at least half of his long sermon. Mama pinched my arm and promised me pie if I stopped squirming.

So I did. And here we were, reviewing Emma Jeans outburst as we waited to be served.

Who was that girl in the choir she kept staring at? I asked.

Mama had her churchgoing hat on the counter, looking for missing pansies. Thats Debbie, she said. Shes as sweet as a sugar beet, and she has an adorable boyfriend. He was the one with the long hair, playing guitar on the stage. I cant imagine Debbie cheating on him with someone like skinny ol Jim Albert.

You never know what some women find attractive. I didnt add, just look at Sal.

More likely, Emma Jean zeroed in because shes the prettiest girl at Abundant Hope. Being pretty is a curse, Mace. Mama patted her hair, preening like a beauty queen.

Ill keep that in mind.

With a squeak from her rubber-soled shoe, the waitress slid to a stop in front of us. She pulled an order pad from the pocket of a forest-green apron, then licked the dull tip of a pencil. Im busier than a horsetail in fly season, Rosalee. Did yall decide?

Charlene, her name tag said. Thered been no Gladys at the restaurant since the namesake died, but the sign stayed as a memorial to the grande dame of Himmarshee dining.

Mama caressed the pie case like it was a lover. I know what I want. Her fingers traced the path of a butterscotch slice, rotating inside.

I ordered a hamburger and coffee. So did Mama. We each wanted pie. As Charlene hustled off, my eyes roamed the diner. It was all fake-wood paneling and country-themed knick-knacks. A butter-churn decorated one corner; a spinning wheel another.

Whos that sitting with Ruth Harris grandson? I whispered to Mama, as Charlene returned with our coffees. They look like refugees from a Metallica concert.

Whats a Metallica?

Theyre a heavy-metal never mind. I was just wondering how come he and the girl are dressed like that.

Mama answered in my ear. Ruth says thats the fashion among the teenagers these days. Black, black, and more black. Black hair, black fingernails, black clothes. She leaned way back on her stool and gave my own dark ensemble a meaningful look. They look like theyre going to a mortician convention.

I was gazing into the mirrored wall across the room, trying to convince myself I looked more sophisticated than mournful in black, when I saw Jeb Ennis walk through the door. A Western-style denim shirt covered his broad chest. The snap buttons gleamed like rare pearls. My hand flew to smooth my hair, knocking my coffee cup off the counter and right into my lap.

Ouch! Ouch, ouch! I yelped, hopping to my feet. Every head in the diner, including Jebs, swung my way.

Unlike the police station swill, this coffee was nice and hot. I clamped a hand over my mouth as I pictured red blisters bubbling like lava on my thighs.

Charlene, fetch my daughter some ice, Mama yelled. Shes drenched in coffee.

I wondered if it was possible to be any more embarrassed.

And hurry, honey. Mace might hurt herself again before you get here.

At least I had my answer about exponential embarrassment.

I watched in the mirror as Jeb pulled a white handkerchief out of his jeans pocket. He grabbed a glass of ice water off a table and dunked it in.

Here you go, Mace. Easing me back onto the stool, he tenderly placed the wet handkerchief over my lap. That should feel better.

He scooped a handful of ice from the pitcher Charlene held, and rubbed the cubes across the tops of my thighs.

Now my face felt hotter than the coffee burn.

I thanked Jeb and swiveled to the watching diners: Im fine, everybody, I announced. Thatll be my last performance of the night. Yall can go back to eating now.

Laughter lit the flecks of gold in Jebs green eyes. I think the patients gonna live. He bowed to the room, to scattered applause.

He placed his hat over his heart, and said in a lower voice, Mind if I join you, ladies?

Mama returned his smile with a dimpled grin and an adorable eyelash flutter.

I could practice in the mirror every day for a year, and never manage that flutter without looking like something was stuck in my eye. But when Mama does it, men swoon.

Mace, honey, move over a seat so itll be girl, boy, girl.

Ignoring her request, I slid my purse off the empty stool to my left. I patted the green-and-brown-striped plastic, giving him a wide smile. Yes, do sit down, Jeb. My voice was banana-pudding sweet.

Mama raised her eyebrows. Maybe you two young people would like to chat. Ill just go powder my nose.

As soon as she left, I wiped the smile from my face. Ive got a couple of questions for you.

Jeb cocked his head at me. Id been distracted by shiny shirt buttons and scalding coffee. But I hadnt forgotten what Id learned at the Booze n Breeze.

I had a nice little chat with somebody about your visits to Jim Albert at the drive-thru, I said as he sat down.

He gave me a puzzled frown. What are you talking about? Whod you talk to about me?

Im not going to say where I got the information. But it seems you two were a lot better-acquainted than you let on. Whyd you lie to me, Jeb?

His eyes darted to the counter. He lined up a napkin holder shaped like a horseshoe. He straightened a place mat with a red star for our little town above Lake Okeechobee on the map of Florida. Picking up a fork, he stared at it like the words he wanted might be written there.

I didnt lie, Mace. He finally looked into my eyes. I just left some things out. I hadnt seen you in years, and you ask me out of the blue did I know a man whod just been murdered. I did know him. But I really didnt want to get into how, especially standing in a parking lot with your sister firing dirty looks my way.

You could have said something, Jeb.

He pointed the fork at me. To get right down to it, I didnt think it was your damned business, Mace.

I batted his hand away, getting angry now. Not my business?

A trucker at the end of the counter glanced at us over the top of his menu. I lowered my voice. I suppose you didnt know the cops believed my mother killed Jim Albert. I suppose the news of her being jailed never reached that ranch of yours.

Surprise flickered across his face. It looked genuine.

Maddie and I were trying to find out who else might have had a reason to murder him. Then I hear how the two of you had a big fight.

Jeb clenched his jaw hard. Did you tell anybody else about that?

Not yet. I wanted to give you the chance to explain first.

My mind flashed back more than a decade, to the night Id caught Jeb with another girl at a popular lookout over the lake. Id given him the chance to explain then, too. I should have cracked his trucks windshield with Emma Jeans tire iron instead.