While I waited, I paged through our newspapers slim pickings. The mayor and the bank manager of a First Florida branch squinted in a picture, their feet in dress shoes resting on shiny shovels. In construction hardhats, they looked like big-headed ants in business suits. I checked out the listings for births and deaths, making sure I didnt owe anyone a card. I read about the chances this season for the Brahmans, Himmarshee Highs football team. Reflecting the towns cattle-raising roots, the teams mascot is a two-thousand-pound Brahman bull. His names Bubba, and hes got his own e-mail address on the Internet.

And then I spotted a small item next to the police blotter, usually a repository for vandalism reports and drunken driving incidents. I scanned the story: Storm Funds Missing Hurricane Janet took a terrible toll on Jack and Donna Warner of Basinger. Their three-year-old daughter, Ashley, died when the storm destroyed their house in June. The child was struck on the head by a roof beam torn off in the hurricanes 100-mph winds.

Now, Himmarshee police are looking into whether the Warners and other families struck by the June storm have been victimized again.

Almost $5,000 is missing from a fund designated to help hurricane victims rebuild, according to sources at First Florida Bank. Himmarshee Police Chief Ben Johnson confirmed that money is gone, but would not specify a sum.

There are some discrepancies in the bank account, Johnson said. Were investigating the matter. Were still hoping theres a reasonable explanation. I hate to think anyone in Himmarshee would steal from people whove already been hurt so much.

The fund was begun by members of the Abundant Hope and Charity Chapel. Phone messages left on the churchs answering machine were not returned. The Rev. Bob Dixon, pastor at the church, could not be reached for comment.

Johnson declined to say whether any arrests are imminent.

I was staring at the newspaper, picking my lower jaw off the table, when Mama walked up. Mace, you wont believe what happened at Hair Today. She pulled out a chair and collapsed with a dramatic sigh.

I slid the Times onto her map-of-Florida placemat, right over our red star above Lake Okeechobee. Before you say a word, read that. I tapped the headline with my index finger.

Well, its about Delilah, Mama started in, ignoring me as usual.

Not another peep. I grabbed her glasses from her purse and slapped them in her hand. Go ahead. Read.

Mama clucked her tongue at the part about the Warners little girl. Her eyebrows shot up when she came to the missing money. At the end, her hand flew to her throat.

Jesus H. Christ on a crutch!

Charlene, clearing plates off an adjacent table, shot a surprised look over her shoulder.

Sorry, darlin. Mama slapped a hand over her mouth. Then she leaned in and whispered through her fingers. This is bad, Mace.

I know it, Mama.

Its real, real bad. I was going to tell you that Pastor Bob never did come back for poor Delilah today. Thats why Im so late. I stayed there with her. First, she was embarrassed. Then she got irritated at him for keeping her waiting. Finally, she got plain worried. The woman was in tears, Mace. She kept calling and calling him on his cell phone.

No answer?

Straight to voice mail. She phoned the church office, thinking he might be there. The beep on the answering machine went on forever. Delilah said that meant there were lots of messages. She couldnt figure out why.

I tapped the paper again. Ive got a pretty good idea, after reading that.

Finally, DVora offered to run her home. They dropped me off here on the way.

We both looked down at the Times.

What do you think it means, Mace?

Im not sure. But I aim to find out. A lot of little strands have been unraveling all around Jim Alberts murder. Money seems like a common thread. Now, here comes another string, leading straight to Pastor Bob Dixon.

___.

Delilah? Mama pounded for the fourth time on the Dixons front door. Let us in, honey. We just want to help.

We called DVora to find out where shed dropped Delilah. I was proud of Mama. She hadnt given away a word, just said she had something for Delilah shed forgotten to give her.

The house was modest, a one-story white stucco on a quiet street, only a couple of miles from the church. There was no car in the driveway. A wooden welcome sign with a clump of silk flowers in yellow and white decorated a front door painted robins-egg blue. A plaster cross hung beside the door, with a passage from the book of Joshua engraved in fancy letters: As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.

I doubt the Lord would consider it in His service to rip off hurricane victims.

Mama kept pounding. Finally, heavy steps sounded behind the door. Pale blue curtains rustled at the window.

Honey, we dont mean you a bit of harm. We figured youd need someone to talk to. Now, open up, Mama ordered through the door.

The door cracked. A thick pair of eyeglasses and one red-rimmed eye peeked out. Delilah opened up a fraction wider and looked both ways. Her face was a mess, but her hair looked terrific. Betty had done a remarkable job.

No reporters?

Not a one, Mama said.

That man from the Himmarshee Times has been calling ever since I got home. I finally answered and told him I have no idea what hes talking about. Bob handled all the money for the church and the house.

May we come in? I asked. The neighbors will wonder why were talking to a door.

She stood aside to let us by, then turned and stalked away. Suit yourselves. Her tone was hard. I suppose youve come to gloat.

The newspaper was on Delilahs otherwise spotless carpet, open on the hurricane story.

Were not gloating, Mama said. Were women, just like you. We feel for what youre going through.

A sniffle came from Delilahs direction. The hard shell was beginning to crack. Would you like a cup of coffee? she asked in a softer voice. I was just about to make myself a pot.

Before I could scream No More Coffee! Mama said, Wed love a cup. Thats very nice of you, Delilah.

As she busied herself preparing the pot, Mama and I took seats at the table. Images of butterflies were everywhere. They fluttered across the curtains. They danced on the coffee cups. They formed a butterfly bouquet in a vase on the table. The way Delilahs words stung, she was more like a wasp than a butterfly. And she was big, like a hawk. Yet, deep inside, she seemed to identify with the most fragile of winged creatures.

Or, maybe she just liked butterflies.

She poured a coffee for each of us. My bladder tightened in protest.

I may as well get right to it, Ms. Dixon. Mama and I read the story in this afternoons Times. Is it true?

She looked into her coffee cup, avoiding our eyes. A tear plopped onto the table, and her shoulders began to shake.

I dont know if the newspaper has it right or not. Sobbing, she took off her glasses and slipped them into a pocket on her housedress. Like I said, Bob takes care of all the financial matters. But she stopped, raising her light brown eyes to ours. Hers were filled with tears.

But what, honey? Mama stroked Delilahs thick arm.

Hes definitely gu guh gooonnnne. More sobs. He cleaned out all his drawers and his side of the closet. He even took the envelope the cashier at the grocery gave me yesterday. It had fifty-six dollars the store collected for the hurricane fund. I left it on the hall table until Bob could get to the ba buh baaaank, she wailed.

Mama pulled a boysenberry-colored handkerchief from her purse. She patted and murmured. I envied her ability to let bygones go, comforting the same woman whod razzed her about her jail stint. I hold onto a grudge tighter than Midas with his money. Im not saying Im proud of it.

Her sobs finally subsided into hiccups. The whole thing is my fault.

Why? I asked.

Dont be silly. Mama jumped immediately to Delilahs defense. What could you possibly have done to make your husband do an awful thing like this?

I said nothing, withholding judgment until I heard her answer.

I dont think this would have happened if I hadnt pushed Bob beyond his limit. Hed already been under a lot of stress because his plans to grow his ministry werent working. And then I come along and she couldnt finish the sentence. Im so ashamed to admit it Honey, theres not a one of us pure enough to cast a stone, Mama reassured her. Weve all done things were sorry for. Go on and say what you need to say. She brushed the well-coiffed hair from Delilahs forehead.

Its all because of me that Bob wasnt thinking straight. Delilah fiddled with her teaspoon. You know that woman Emma Jean came into the church shouting about? The woman who was having an affair with her man?

We nodded.

Well, that was me. Lord forgive me, I was cheating on my husband with Jim Albert.

Mama actually gasped. I kept my mouth shut, processing Delilahs confession.

She was silent, too. Staring out the window, she traced the wings of a butterfly on her coffee cup. Maybe she wished she were outside, floating peacefully from flower to flower on her trellis of Confederate jasmine.

Why didnt you say anything the night Emma Jean came to Abundant Hope? I asked.

Her head snapped around, and I thought for a moment she was going to slap me. She might be hurt and humiliated, but there was still a slice of mean in Delilah Dixon.

What should I have said? Excuse me, everyone. Im the wicked woman Emma Jean is yelling about. I couldnt do that. Im the pastors wife. Im supposed to be a model of propriety.

I wasnt letting her off that easy. You just stood there, as each of those fine churchgoers looked with suspicion from woman to woman. I flashed on the pretty soprano. The way Emma Jean had stared, even Id suspected her. Thats not right. Its not Christian.

Mama put a warning hand on my wrist. Hush, Mace. Delilah knows shes done wrong. But shes got all sorts of trouble right now. Her husbands gone. So is the hurricane money. She doesnt need you piling on.

Delilah got up for the coffee pot. She raised her eyebrows to me. Not unless you want me to pee right here on the butterfly-covered cushion of your kitchen chair, I thought. But I just smiled and shook my head.

No, Rosalee. Your daughters absolutely right. I wanted to confess. I really did. But I simply couldnt get out the words that night in front of everyone. I prayed and prayed about it, asking God to help me do the right thing. Id decided to ask Emma Jean for her forgiveness, but she vanished before I could do it.

We sat, listening to the tick of a butterfly clock over the kitchen sink. A Monarch hovered at twelve oclock; a Swallowtail at six. As I studied the specimens for each hour, a mini lepidopterology course, Mama eyed a store-bought package of pecan cookies on the counter.

Delilah, honey? She licked her lips. Would you mind if I took a couple of those cookies? I never had lunch today.

She glanced over her shoulder at the bag, but made no move to get up. She seemed completely defeated. Of course, Rosalee. Help yourself.

Mama started struggling with the indestructible packaging. She put it between her knees and tugged. She turned it this way and that, trying to find a tab to rip. Delilah took the cookies without thinking, as if she was accustomed to being the one in the house who opens lids and unsticks drawers. The tendons in her forearms flexed like steel cables as she forced open the bag.

Youre awfully muscular, Delilah. Do you exercise a lot? I asked.

My heavens, no! A tiny smile creased her mouth. Wouldnt I be a sight in a leotard?

Delilah spread her anvil-sized hands, staring at them as if they belonged to someone else. No, I never needed to exercise. Ive always been strong. My father was German and my mother Norwegian. They were both from hardy, peasant stock. All my brothers and sisters were big, too. But I was the biggest. My father used to call me Schweinchen, which means piglet in German. He meant it as an endearment.

Thats a nice memory, Mama said.

Not really. The kids at school took my fathers nickname for me and turned it into pig fart.

I pictured a heavy little girl in glasses, ridiculed and teased. Sympathy for Delilah was beginning to come easier.

But then I looked again at those big hands, dwarfing the butterfly mug as if it were a dolls teacup. What kind of damage could they do? Jim Albert was dead, tossed like a sack of garbage into Mamas trunk. First Emma Jean vanished. And now Delilahs husband had, too. Several of those unraveling strands seemed to start with the woman sitting across the table from Mama and me.

Emma Jean called me the night she disappeared, I said, watching carefully for Delilahs reaction. She knew who Jim was cheating with. She told me she was going to confront the other woman. So, youre saying the confrontation never happened?

Delilah continued to stare at the table. My question hung in the air. Finally, she looked up with narrowed eyes. Thats just what Im saying. She filed the sharp edge from her voice. Mace, I dont know who Emma Jean believed was the other woman. Maybe there was more than one. I do know I cheated with her boyfriend. I asked God and my husband to forgive me. I was going to ask her, too, even though I was terrified after seeing her waving that tire iron.

Youve just been telling us how strong you are. Why would you be scared? I said.

Emma Jeans nearly as big as I am. Shes ten years younger. If there was ever going to be a confrontation, I dont know that Id come out ahead.

I looked over at Mama. She was munching on her fourth pecan cookie, looking thoughtful.

Whyd you do it, Delilah? she finally said.

I had no idea what she was talking about, and Im used to deciphering Mama Code. Delilahs eyebrows were so tightly knit she looked like she was trying to do higher math.

Mama clarified. I mean, whyd you cheat on your husband in the first place?

Delilah sighed. Was it sadness? Or was it relief Mama was only asking about sex?

I only did it once, you know? She touched the tight, beauty-shop waves in her hair. They sprang back. Id gone to the drive-thru to pick up some sodas for the youth groups pizza night. Jim was there. He complimented me; told me how nice I looked in blue flowers. I looked like a pretty flower myself, he told me.

If Delilah had been wearing the same floral dress wed seen her in at church, Jim Albert had been a liar as well as a weasel.

I couldnt remember when a man last acted with me that way. I liked it. It made me feel young again. She lifted her eyes to us. I thought I saw the passage of sad and lonely years reflected there. You may not know it by the way Bob acts in public, but Ive had to put up with a lot from my husband. Bobs a serial cheater.

I shot a quick glance at Mama. Both of us remembered the creepy scenes with Pastor Bob in his office and at Hair Today.

Its humiliating. Delilah dabbed at her eyes with Mamas handkerchief.

I was back to feeling sorry for her.

It got so bad at our last church, the board forced Bob out. We prayed and prayed about it. He begged me to forgive him. Again. Things were good for a while, but then I saw the signs he was starting to slip. Again. And then, one night, Bob never came home at all. The next day, I met Jim Albert for the first time at the Booze n Breeze.

Youd had all you could take. Mama patted Delilahs hand, perhaps thinking of all those nights she waited to hear the key turn in the lock with Husband Number 2.

Thats right, Rosalee. And when Jim Albert started flirting, I was ripe. I still didnt know who Bob was playing around with, but I was certain he was playing around. Again. A couple of days later, I went back to the drive-thru, and there was Jim. I didnt have the first feeling for him. A man with a diamond pinky ring, can you imagine?

She was married to a man with whitened teeth and clear-polished fingernails. Myself, I didnt see how a pinky ring was that much worse.

He told me he had some special cartons of soda at discount prices in the back. I knew full well that was malarkey. But I didnt care. He left this girl with funny braids in charge.

I flashed on Linda-Ann, the slacker clerk.

We went to his office and he locked the door. Delilah traced the rim of her butterfly cup. We did it right there, on a stained couch of brown-and-white plaid that smelled like stale cigarettes. I remember looking at a bare lightbulb on the ceiling. A Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders poster hung on the wall. The poster was crooked, and the beige paint was peeling.