Oh, Mace Im Im sorry. Donnie was flustered. I sure didnt mean that the way it sounded. Of course its better that youre alive.

Thats all right, Donnie. I thought of babysitting him. Teary eyes on the floor, hed stammered out an apology for breaking his mamas vase. I know what you meant.

I was approaching Himmarshee. Id been so intent on talking to Donnie, I could barely remember getting there. Luckily, it wasnt an auction day, when the traffic on the highway would be busier.

Listen, I better get off the phone. You being in law enforcement, Id hate to tell you how little attention Ive paid to my driving this morning.

Donnie chuckled. Youre not the only one, Mace. Have you seen all the things people do in their cars these days? I saw a girl yesterday with a hamburger in one hand, putting on her mascara with the other.

Did you bust her?

Nah. She poked herself in the eye and dropped the hamburger in her lap when she saw me in my uniform. Nobody pays attention to the road anymore, Mace.

Donnie was right about that. And, on this morning at least, that wasnt a good thing.

Mama stood on the walkway in front of her house, tapping her foot and staring at her watch. The color of the day was yellow, from the chiffon scarf around her neck to the sling-back sandals on her feet. Standing in the bright morning sun, she looked like a four-foot-eleven-inch lemon slush. Her white puff of platinum hair could have been a straw, peeking out over the rim of the slushy cup.

Teensy was barking, spinning like a circus dog, on the other side of her living room window. Mama turned to blow him a final kiss, and rushed to the car. I thought youd never get here, Mace.

I looked at my watch. Mama, its only twenty-five minutes after eight. Im early.

Settling into the seat, she glanced again at her wrist. So you are, Mace. Im sorry. Im as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. I barely know Pastor Bob. I cant imagine why hed call me for this meeting about Emma Jean.

I told her about my own strange call.

She never even bothered to show up, Mama, after calling past midnight.

Thats nice, honey. She turned the rearview mirror to apply more lipstick. Fishing a tissue from her purse, she blotted. Now, what do you suppose Pastor Bob is going to want me to do about Emma Jean?

I have no earthly idea, I said sharply. And theres no sense in worrying about it now. Why dont you wait the five minutes itll take us to drive over? Then you can ask him yourself.

She aimed a glare at me. You know, little Missy, youre not too old to spank. No one likes a girl with a smart mouth.

I punched on the radio. Theyd just started a news break. We arrived at Abundant Hope before theyd even finished the weather. Temperatures in the nineties. Afternoon thundershowers. Not exactly news in central Florida in September. Still, it was the height of hurricane season, and the northern edge of the county was still recovering from a relatively weak storm in June. So the fact nothing new was gathering strength in the tropics was a hopeful sign.

Someone peered out of the mini-blinds of the storefront churchs window, following our progress into the parking space. All I could see were heavy eyebrows and dark eyes. Within moments, Pastor Bob opened the front door and walked out to greet us. His eyebrows needed a trim, but his smile was as blinding as a Hollywood actors. And just about as authentic. The work in his mouth had surely financed a brand-new luxury car for some dentist somewhere.

The pastor raised his hands skyward. Isnt this a beautiful morning, ladies? Its a gift from God.

Not to be sacrilegious, but if God had asked me what kind of day to send, Id have requested a break from the summer swelter. It wasnt even nine oclock, and already the sun was baking the VWs roofless interior. The temperature on the Big Lake Bank sign read 94 degrees. We peeled ourselves off the sticky car seats and joined Pastor Bob on the sidewalk.

He escorted us through the entrance, by the card table of DVDs, and past folding chairs now stacked against scuffed walls. When we came to a small office to the side of the pulpit, he motioned us into two steel-frame chairs, thinly upholstered in a black, scratchy fabric. Then he took his seat behind a tidy desk, his small frame nearly disappearing in a leather chair befitting the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. He leaned toward us, elbows on the desk, and straightened the monogrammed cuffs on his powder blue dress shirt.

Now, he said, showing us a mouthful of teeth, what can I do for you this morning?

Mama and I looked at each other. Maybe he had us confused with a mother-daughter counseling appointment. Not that we couldnt use it.

Were here about Emma Jean, Mama said. You called and asked me to come by?

Oh, my goodness gracious! Rosalee! Im sorry. I wasnt expecting you to bring someone else along.

This is Mace, my middle daughter.

I nodded hello as I tried to place his accent. Flat, Midwestern, a bit nasal. Ohio, maybe, or Illinois.

Youll have to forgive me, ladies. Last night was such a muddle. And Im still having a bit of trouble placing everyone in the congregation.

Mama smiled sweetly and said, Perhaps you should ask your lovely wife for help. Delilah seems to know all the lambs in your flock quite well.

I pinched her on the leg to stop her from being catty. She pinched me back.

By the way, Mama continued, where is Delilah? I was expecting her.

Pastor Bob pressed his lips together. He started fidgeting with one of his silver cufflinks. His eyes did a quick scan of his desktop. Then he looked at the ceiling, like maybe his wife was hanging up there behind the fluorescent light. Before he got up and lifted the Persian rug to look, I figured I should say something.

My mothers just asking because we spoke to her last night before all the trouble started. And then the two of you seemed to work together as a team, the way yall got Emma Jean quieted down and hustled out the door. Were a little surprised Delilahs not here, too.

He leaned back and turned his fingers into a steeple, which he rested against his chest. Well, its always something when youre a ministers wife, he said. She was called away suddenly. A member of the church has taken ill.

Really? Mama asked. Who?

Youve got me there, Mrs. Deveraux. He showed his teeth again. I thought of fairy tales and wolves. Im just awful with names. But even so, its a confidential matter. Im sure youd appreciate the same treatment if you came to us about a health issue or for counseling.

Mama looped her wrist through the strap of her purse and set it squarely on her lap. Im not much for counseling. She held onto the purse with both hands, like she was afraid Pastor Bob might ask her to pony up for psychotherapy.

Well, people seem to want that kind of thing these days. Im going to offer another DVD: Ending Emotional Pain with Pastor Bob. What do you think, Mace?

I thought he wasnt setting any sales records with his first DVD. The only time I saw them move was when Emma Jean stumbled into the display table.

I dont know much about marketing, I answered.

He flushed. Marketing sounds so crass. Im talking about helping people.

In that case, why dont we see how you can help in this situation? I put my hand on Mamas shoulder. You may have heard my mother was briefly detained in connection to the murder of Emma Jeans boyfriend. Weve been trying to find out who really killed him. But somebody doesnt seem to want us to do that. Some strange things have been happening.

I filled him in on the stuffed dog and the warning note. I mentioned thered been another threat, but kept things vague since we still hadnt told Mama about my narrow escape on the highway. She thought my Jeep was just in the shopagain. I summed up Emma Jeans behavior.

You both know her. Do you think Emma Jean could be behind any of this? I asked.

The minister tapped together his fingers. Mama picked at a piece of lint on her pantsuit.

Is she violent?

Pastor Bob said, She did look awfully comfortable with that tire iron.

Mama scowled at him. Well, I dont believe it. She shook her head. I think what Emma Jean needs right now is some proper Christian charity, not condemnation.

Im perfectly willing to render that charity, if only I could find her, Rosalee. More teeth. Delilah and I called several times after services last night, and again this morning. We didnt reach her. I was hoping you had.

Thats when I repeated what Id said in the car about Emma Jean calling, but not showing up. This time, I had Mamas complete attention.

___.

A half hour later, wed about exhausted the topic of Emma Jeans troubles. Sitting on that itchy black chair in the pastors office, my mind started to wander to work and the day ahead. I needed to stop at the poultry plant and buy a dozen whole chickens for Ollie. That alligator was about to eat up the annual operating budget for Himmarshee Park.

I shifted my wrist to get a look at my watch. Pastor Bob caught me. He must get a lot of practice at that from the pulpit. Clearing his throat, he stretched his toes to the floor and pushed back the leather chair.

Ladies, its been a pleasure speaking to you both. I only wish the circumstances were better. Im praying for Emma Jean. I hope you are, too.

He seemed to stare extra hard at my lapsed self as he said that. It was my turn to look down at his desk.

He walked around and enfolded Mamas right hand in both of his. Dont worry, Rosalee. When we find Emma Jean, were going to take care of her. The Bible tells us to help up a companion who falls. He pulled Mama up from her chair, acting out the verse.

Woe to him who is alone when he falls and doesnt have another to lift him up. Ecclesiastes 4:10, he recited.

He turned to me. Youre certainly a good daughter, a companion for your mother.

Placing one of his boy-sized hands on my shoulder, he gazed at me. His green eyes were piercing, especially against those white teeth. His hand lay there so long, I started feeling uncomfortable. His clammy fingers wriggled. I shifted my shoulder, trying to get out from under what felt like a flopping catfish. Then, just before he removed his hand, he kneaded the bare skin on my upper arm like it was dough and he was a baker.

Could I have imagined it? I searched his eyes, and saw the slightest flicker. Cmon, baby. Im ready if you are, it said.

Ewww.

Grabbing Mamas elbow, I moved her as a barrier between Pastor Bob and me. I backed out the door of his office and into the church.

PleaseCallMamaIfYouHearAnythingAboutEmmaJean, I said, the words squirming out like tadpoles in a creek. WeveGottaGo.INeedToGetToWork.

I rushed Mama past plastic lilies and pulpit, across dark blue carpet and out the door.

My stars and garters she protested as I pushed her onto the sidewalk. What in the world?

Dont ask questions, Mama. Just get in the car.

Pastor Bob stood in the churchs front window. He pulled open the blinds, watching us go. He looked just like Ollie the alligator right before I toss a raw chicken into his waiting jaws.

Mamas head swiveled like a one-eyed dog in a butcher shop.

I was telling her all about Pastor Bobs stroking and come-hither stare. Shed look at me for a second, then snap her head toward Abundant Hope, disappearing in the distance behind us. Me, the church. The church, me. I think she expected the minister to jump in his car and chase me down for some nookie-nookie.

Well, I never! Mamas lips formed a disapproving line. That is just about the awfulest thing I ever heard, Mace. I knew there was something off about that man. Hes a predator in pastors clothing, plain and simple.

Oh, cmon, Mama. I laughed a little at how nadve she seemed. Its not the end of the world. He thought he saw the chance for a little somethin on the side, and he decided to go for it. Hes not the first man to do it. He wont be the last.

Once Id put a few blocks between me and the lecherous Pastor Bob, I eased off the gas. Unclenching the grip shed had on the window crank, Mama snapped her seat belt shut.

Hes not just a man, Mace. Her face was as serious as a sermon. Hes a man of God. Theres supposed to be a difference.

Tell that to Jim Bakker and Jimmy Swaggart. I seem to remember they were famous ministers, and they had a little trouble with the ladies, too.

She ran a hand through her hair. I imagined stray strands scattering in the wind. Thats not fair, Mace. Those scandals happened a long time ago. And the majority of religious men are good, righteous leaders. Theyre not out to jump the bones of anything that moves.

Thanks for the compliment, Mama. Maybe my knockout looks and sex appeal tempted that poor pastor, just this once. Did you ever think about that?

She took a long look at me: sleeveless collared shirt in park-department green; shapeless matching trousers in olive drab. I wore heavy-soled black boots, laced up past my ankles. No lipstick or blush. No perfume, either. The parks animals dont like it, and it draws mosquitoes.

Honey, I love you to death. Mama put her palm on my cheek. You can be an awful pretty girl, when you try. But lets face facts. Youre no Marty.

Mama had a point. My little sister draws men like flies. Usually, I just draw the flies.

Mama put her hand over mine on the stick shift and patted. I feel guilty, Mace. If I hadnt dragged you to church, you wouldnt have had to put up with that awful man attacking you. Just disgusting, thats what he is. And how about those DVDs? Its not right for a pastor to be so intent on selling himself.

I turned on the radio. Another weather report. Still hot.

Maybe he wants to be a celebrity, like everybody else in America, I said. And he didnt really attack me, Mama. Honest. It was no big deal. Well tell my sisters, and itll give us something to laugh about. Lord knows we havent had too many laughs these last few days.

I like that idea, Mace. Another pat to my hand. Now, Ive already put you out more than enough this morning. Why dont you let me out of the car, up there at the corner? Right there by the pawn shop and your cousin Henrys law office. I can walk the rest of the way to the beauty shop.

I glanced down at her sandals with their three-inch heels. My feet felt sore just looking at them.

Thats four blocks, at least. You are not walking to work in those shoes, Mama.

Its okay. I dont want to put you out.

I rolled my eyes at her. Mama, asking me to drive a hundred and seventy-four miles, round-trip, to the airport in West Palm Beach to pick up a relative I barely know is putting me out. Dropping you off at Hair Today on my way to work is not. Still, I dont know why you insist on wearing heels. Its not like people dont already know youre short.

Easy for you to say, Miss Five-Foot-Ten. She put her foot up on the dashboard to admire her lemon-hued shoe. These are ridiculously uncomfortable. But havent you ever had a shoe that you loved just for the way it looks, Mace?

I ran mentally through my footwear inventory: leather ropers for riding, waterproof boots for work, sneakers or loafers for any other occasion.

Nope. Cant say that I have. We passed Petes Pawn, with its roadkill armadillo sign. Now, are we agreed that its not too much trouble for me to drive you whats now three remaining blocks to work?

She straightened herself in the seat; her hair barely grazed the headrest. Im just trying to be considerate, Mace. You dont need to get snippy.

I could use some of that consideration the next time Cousin Whatever-her-name-is flies in to visit, and you volunteer me to pick her up at the airport.

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared out the windshield.

All of a sudden she reached out, turned down the radio, and yelled, Stop! Stop right there, Mace. Stop the car!

Mama, I cant stop. Im doing forty miles an hour. Ive got cars in front of me and cars in back of me.

No wonder she had that fender-bender that started everything at the Dairy Queen.

Okay, slow down, then. That next street there, with the used car for sale on the corner? Thats Emma Jeans street. I remember from one time Sally and I gave her a ride from bingo.

As we approached, I read the street sign out loud: Lofton Road.

Thats it, Mace. She leaned forward, peering out the windshield. Lets drive by to see if shes okay.