I nodded. “Good idea.” Emboldened by the pain medication, I said, “It’s too bad the media don’t chip in. After all, they’re profiting by the deaths as well, aren’t they? They should donate something.”

A fire lit in Twyla’s eyes. “That’s a good idea,” she said. “I wonder that I didn’t think of it. What happened today at Tom Almand’s? I’m hearing some mighty funny things. That boy of his in trouble? Hey, Sarah,” she said, lifting her round face to a woman coming in. “Thanks for helping,” she added as the older woman dropped a couple of dollars into the slot.

“There are too many people around to talk about it,” I said quietly. No one had asked me not to discuss the macabre nature of the findings at Tom Almand’s, but I didn’t want to be broadcasting it. Chuck Almand would be a pariah soon enough. I wouldn’t hasten the process. Though some country people tend to be more practical about animals than city people, plenty of the inhabitants of Doraville would be disgusted at the pain inflicted on cats and squirrels and the odd dog…especially if the cats and the dog turned out to be somebody’s pets. “But he’s not a boy you’d want to have dating your daughter or granddaughter.”

“The sheriff says we won’t get the bodies back for a week at least, maybe longer,” Twyla said. “It seems hard that we finally discover Jeff, but we can’t bury him.”

“At the same time,” I said, “you want every bit of evidence that can tie his death to the killer.”

“I don’t like to think about him getting cut up,” Twyla said. “I can’t think about it.”

I didn’t know what to say, and the fuzzy golden goodwill the pill lent me did not give me any inspiration. I decided it was best to keep silent. I looked over the crowd in the pews. Mount Ida was a larger church than I’d imagined from the outside. The pews were gleaming with polish, and the carpet was new, too. At the front of the church were easels with enlarged photographs of the dead boys, each with a spray of flowers at the base. I would have liked to look at them, since I’d touched on each of these young men in my very own way, but going up there would have seemed rude and pushy.

There was a knot of law enforcement uniforms in one of the front pews. I recognized Sheriff Rockwell’s hair, and I thought I also saw Deputy Rob Tidmarsh, who’d discovered the animal graves.

Somehow the Bernardos had beat us here. I glimpsed Xylda’s unruly red head a few pews up and to the right and Manfred’s platinum spikes beside her. From the rear view, the two didn’t stand out so much. There was plenty of dyed hair in evidence, and several spiky hairdos.