Tears dropped as dark spots on the front of Delilahs pink housedress.

I didnt feel a thing. She hid her face in the lacy handkerchief.

Mama stroked her hair. Let it all out, honey.

Something had been niggling at me throughout Delilahs confession. I thought and thought. Her sobs slowed to whimpers. Finally, it came to me.

Ms. Dixon, did you say you asked your husband to forgive you?

She lifted her face from the handkerchief. Oh, yes. I got down on my knees and begged. But Bob was furious. Angrier than Ive ever seen him. I was actually frightened hed hurt me. And I never felt that way about him or any other man.

He must have gotten over it, Mama said. He seemed sweeter than strawberry pie at the beauty parlor.

Delilah blew her nose. Mamas hankie wasnt up to the challenge. I tore two squares from the paper towel roll and handed them over.

She spoke from behind a wad of towel. Her voice was bitter. Oh, Bobs a very good actor. Hes had a lot of practice, pretending he isnt cheating.

So he was angry youd been with Jim Albert? I asked.

She nodded, her eyes wide. When he stormed out of the house that night, he was in an absolute rage.

Delilah, honey? Mama and I exchanged a look. Did Pastor Bob own a gun?

Maddie taped crepe paper to the wall at the VFW lodge. The garland was as straight as the center line on a flat stretch of Florida highway. Marty followed behindunsticking the tape, draping the paper, and tying it into festive bows.

Hmph. Maddie looked over her shoulder. Youve got it looking like a fancy birthday cake, Marty.

Thats kind of the point, Maddie. I was supervising. It is a party, after all. Its supposed to look pretty.

Id hardly call a pot-luck prayer breakfast a party. What are they going to do? Put top hats on the biscuits?

Marty made a final paper loop-de-loop. For once in your life, could you not criticize everything, Maddie? She tied a purple bow onto a gold streamer, keeping her eyes on her hands. This is a big deal for Mama, even if its not exactly your style.

I was afraid Maddie was going to toss the heavy tape dispenser at Martys head. Ever since that promotion, our little sister had become more emboldened about speaking her mind.

Hmph, Maddie huffed, as if she had plenty to say. But when she looked at Marty, tongue peeking sweetly from the corner of her mouth in concentration, Maddie put down her would-be weapon.

Explain to me again why were here while Mamas off cavorting with her obnoxious boyfriend? Maddie said.

Fiance, I corrected. Theyre going to be married, whether you like it or not.

With all the excitement over going to jail and getting engaged, Mama had almost forgotten about her churchs annual Save a Sinner breakfast. Thats not the official name. Its shorthand for my sisters and me. The members of Abundant Hope invite as many non-members as they can, plying them with a lavish, Southern-style breakfast. All the church ladies and a few of the men bring their specialties. The hope is guests will be so caught up with food and fellowship, theyll commit themselves to the Lord between the homemade biscuits and the egg-and-sausage casseroles.

Mama remembered at the last minute she was supposed to be in charge of decorations. Meanwhile, Sal had made dinner reservations at the new country club. He wanted her to meet his golfing buddies and their wives. Since it was another opportunity to show off her engagement ring, Mama hadnt hesitated. Which is how my sisters and I wound up spending our Friday night at the Veterans of Foreign Wars lodge, picking up the decorating ball that Mama had dropped.

I stood back to admire our handiwork.

A Welcome banner hung across the stage. Jesus held out a beckoning hand on a color poster, with John 3:16 inscribed in big type across the bottom. The churchgoers know the Bible verse by heart. But, for the less faithful, there was a cheat sheet beside the poster: For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

White plastic cloths covered all the tables; a vase of silk irises and marigolds decorated each one. Purple and gold are the school colors for Himmarshee High. Supplies in those shades are always left over, so they get used for just about every party in town, except funerals.

Well, sisters, it looks as good as its gonna look. I said. Lets eat.

I opened the box of pizza wed ordered. We all took a seat at the one table we hadnt decorated. In the morning, it would be crowded with platters of grits and red-eye gravy; biscuits and fruit butter; country ham and sweet potato pancakes.

Maddie helped herself to a pizza slice from the pepperoni-and-sausage side. What I dont understand is how they think they can still throw this big church shindig. Everyone knows the pastor vamoosed after knocking off his wifes lover and stealing from those poor hurricane victims.

Allegedly, Maddie. Marty lifted out a piece from the cheese-only side. Allegedly. No one has talked to the man, so we dont know Pastor Bobs side of the story. She took a tiny bite. Havent you ever heard of the concept innocent until proven guilty?

What were they putting in the water at the Himmarshee Library? Our mild-mannered sister was becoming a spitfire. I spoke before Maddie could come back with something mean.

Well, he sure looks guilty. Delilah couldnt find his gun when Mama and I were at the house this afternoon. But she found the paperwork on it. Its a revolver, a Smith & Wesson.

Maddie slid the box to her side of the table. Whatd Detective Martinez say? She rolled up her second slice like a burrito and chomped off the end.

You know how he is, I said. Played it close to the vest, as usual. But he perked right up when I told him Pastor Bob owned a .38.

Is that the kind of gun that killed Jim Albert? Marty asked.

Martinez wouldnt say. I tried calling Henry, but he left his law office early. Hes taking the kids to Disney, and you know what that means.

A thousand rides on Space Mountain and no pesky cell phone, Maddie said.

Anyway, Martinez was awfully interested in the Dixons marital problems and the missing money. He planned to talk to Delilah today. Mama and I offered to be there, but she turned us down. I think it gave her something else to focus on besides worrying how everyone will react to her tomorrow at the prayer breakfast.

Poor Delilah. Marty nibbled on a sliver of crust. She stared at us, blue eyes immense and serious in her small face. Have yall considered how many questions are still unanswered? For example, what happened to Emma Jean?

Maddie chose her third slice from Martys meatless side. Maybe she found out Pastor Bob killed her boyfriend. He had to kill her, too, before she told the police.

I remembered how out-of-control Emma Jean had been at Abundant Hope; how distraught shed sounded when she called me on the phone.

Remember what Mama told us about Emma Jeans little boy going missing all those years ago? I said. Maybe she couldnt take losing another loved one. Maybe she walked into Taylor Creek and just kept walking until she drowned.

Maybe a moccasin bit her. Marty shuddered.

Then why havent they found a body? Maddie asked.

She could be caught up under a fallen log, I said. A gator couldve dragged her off. You know how the swamps are, Maddie. A lot can stay hidden in there.

Youre the swamp rat, Mace. I stay out of that mess. She took a compact from her purse and swiped at a tomato sauce smear on her chin. Anyway, theres another person whose behavior has seemed mighty suspicious. Sal Provenza. Mamas Yankee fiance. She snapped shut her compact like an exclamation point.

Marty, studying a cartoon Italian chef on the pizza box, said nothing.

It is strange how he wont reveal anything about his life in New York before he retired to Himmarshee, I said. But all of a sudden Mama seems convinced hes on the up-and-up. Do you think he told her something to put her mind at ease; something she hasnt told us?

Ha! Maddie slapped the table, causing the pizza boxand Martyto jump. Thats a good one, Mace, she said. Asking Mama to keep a secret is like asking a sieve to hold water.

Our little sister remained silent, eyes cast down to the napkin she was shredding.

Well, Martinez seems to have shifted from thinking Sal is Public Enemy Number One, I said. Sal may be okay, if we can trust Martinez. And Im not saying for sure that I do.

Marty lifted her face. Of course you can trust Carlos, Mace, she said. Hes a policeman. They protect and serve. Its an oath.

Maddie snorted. Get real, Marty. Havent you ever heard of police corruption? The man is from Miami, after all. Maybe he and Sal were both involved with Jim Albert in something fishy. And they murdered him to take all the profits.

We sat quietly for a few moments, digesting our pizza and our theories.

Marty finally cleared her throat, an apologetic sound. There is one person we havent mentioned, Mace. Her voice was a whisper, as if by speaking negatively she might unsettle the universe. I knew right away which conversational planet she was circling.

Jeb Ennis, I said. You can talk about him, Marty.

That devil again. Maddie looked like she wanted to curse Jeb and spit on the floor. Id be the first one to march him straight to jail. But even I have to say the pastor seems to have a better motive for the murder than Jeb Ennis does.

Martys shredded napkins were a snow bank in her lap. He owed Jim Albert an awful lot of money, Maddie.

Yes, but we dont know about Bob Dixon, do we? He must have been financially desperate to take that hurricane moneyto allegedly take it, she said, with a nod at Marty. Maybe he also borrowed from Jim Albert.

Or, maybe the minister killed him so he could steal his money, I said.

Either way, Maddie said, a man as vain as Bob Dixon had to be humiliated that his dowdy old wife took up with someone else for a roll in the hay.

A roll on a dirty plaid couch, I said. Delilah said it reeked of cigarettes.

Whatever. Maddie waved her hand. The point is men do crazy things when women are involved. That leads me to the reason I dont believe Jeb did it.

Martys eyes went round. What do you mean?

No matter what else I think about Jeb, I do believe he loved Mace.

Loved her and regretted breaking her heart, Marty said.

So? What do Jebs old feelings for me have to do with anything? I asked.

The person who killed Jim Albert ran you off the road when you started asking too many questions, Maddie said. That wreck could have been a lot more serious, Mace. You could have been killed.

Marty gasped and grabbed at her throat, just the way Mama does.

Yes, Maddie, but I wasnt. Im okay. I reached over and patted my baby sisters hand.

Thank the Lord for that. Maddie inclined her head to the poster Jesus. Jeb Ennis wouldnt do anything to hurt the woman he loved; maybe even still loves. He wouldnt endanger you that way, Mace.

Maddie sounded so sure. I almost opened my mouth to tell her how Id felt that afternoon in the park by Ollies pond: Stalked. Endangered. Not to mention confused, as I watched Jeb peel out with the windows rolled tight in a truck that was supposed to be stifling.

But in the end, I didnt say a word to my sisters. I never told them how frightened Id been that day.

The light from the headlamps on Pams VW bounced upward, illuminating hawk moths and the low-hanging branches of trees. At the end of the unpaved drive, Emma Jeans house was dark. Deserted-looking. As I turned left to park the car, the headlights flashed across the front porch. The cats dishes and the rubber container of food were still there, just where Id left them.

I killed the engine and turned off the lights. A waning moon barely broke through a thick layer of clouds in the sky. I heard night sounds: A dog barked a couple of streets away. Something small skittered through the dry leaves under the hedge lining the driveway. An owl hooted. The call sounded haunting. Lonely. I turned the car lights back on.

Talking with my sisters about all the people we knew who could have killed Jim Albert had left me feeling nervous.

Here, Wila. Here kitty, kitty.

As I called, I lifted an animal carrier out of the car and set it on the rocky driveway. I grabbed a towel Id put in the back seat. Id been thinking about Emma Jeans cat. I didnt want to leave the pampered creature for too long on her own. Id feel awful if Emma Jean did come home, only to find something had happened to her pet.

Cmon, Wila. Ive got food.

I tried not to sound too eager. Im more accustomed to dogs than to cats. But a cat-crazy college roommate once told me that cats are just like men: Show too much interest and they turn tail and run; ignore them and they fall all over themselves for you. I arranged myself into a position of nonchalance on the bottom step of the porch. Plastering a bored expression on my face, I pretended to examine my fingernails.

Okay, no big deal, I announced to the night and to any Siamese that might be listening. Come if you want. Stay away if you dont. Ill just sit here for a while and enjoy the music of the mosquitoes.

I started to hum.

Within moments, the cat padded out from behind a glider with a periwinkle-blue-and-white striped cushion. She seemed to remember me from before, but who can be sure? I stroked her a few times, murmuring nonsense words to her. I had the feeling Wila wasnt going to like what was coming. But it was for her own good. Somebody had to take care of the poor critter.

I wrapped the towel around her, cocoon-like, except for her head. I lifted her into my arms, the towel protecting me from her claws. As quickly as I could, I stooped down, got her into the carrier, and shut the wire door.

Wila looked at me with betrayal in her eyes. MEOWRRR! She sounded like a cross between a lion and a rusty door hinge.

Youll be out soon, I promise, I said to the cat. Its only until we get to my house. Youll like it there, I swear.

With the cat safely secured on the passenger seat beside me, I decided to take a quick detour past the backyard on my way out. The cars lights played across the lawn as I turned. There was the bird bath. The rose bushes. The shed in the back. Then I saw a big, empty rectangle of long-dead grass. What I didnt see was the battered white pickup that had been parked at Emma Jeans house the day after she vanished.

With one hand on the steering wheel, I fished around in my purse until I found my cell phone. Detective Martinez answered with the usual welcoming snarl.

Its Mace. I figured Id better tell you. I swung by Emma Jean Valentines house tonight. Theres something funny Martinez interrupted me, his words tumbling out the phone. Are you all right? Whats that horrible sound?

Meeeeeoooowwwrrrr!

Thats just Emma Jeans cat, I said. I dont think shes too fond of the carrier Ive got her in.

Dios mio, it sounds like someones being tortured.

Shes a Siamese, I said knowingly. The Internet says theyre very vocal.

Cant you make her stop?

The article I read didnt include anything about a volume button or an on-off switch.

Meeeeeooooowrrrrr!

I raised my voice over the racket. Anyway, I stopped by to see about the cat. Im on my way home with her right now. The light on Main Street turned green, and I crooked my neck to hold the phone while I shifted gears. I noticed the white pickup truck that was at Emma Jeans last night is now gone. Did you have the police haul it off?

Martinez answered without the usual stonewalling. No, I didnt. He started to think out loud. Maybe it belonged to a relative or a friend, and they came by to get it.

Maybe, I said. But why now? From the look of the lawn, that truck has sat there pretty regularly for a long time.

A neighbor might have used it.