“Why?” I asked. “Did she have health problems, any sort of problems you were aware of?”

“Bad cholesterol. Way over two hundred’s what’s she told me once. Plus high blood pressure, which she said ran in the family.”

I had not seen any prescription drugs in Jennifer Deighton’s house.

“Do you know who her doctor was?” I asked.

“I can’t recall. But Jenny believed in natural cures. She told me when she felt poorly she’d meditate.”

“Sounds like the two of you were pretty close,” Marino said.

Mrs. Clary was plucking at her skirt, hands like hyperactive children. “I’m here all day except when I go to the store.”

She glanced at her husband, who was staring at the TV again. “Now and then I’d go see her, you know, just being neighborly, maybe to drop by something I’d been cooking.”

“Was she a friendly sort?” Marino asked. “She have a lot of visitors?”

“Well, you know she worked out of the house. I think she handled most of her business over the phone. But occasionally I’d see people going in.”

“Anybody you knew?”

“Not that I recall.”

“You notice anybody coming by to see her last night?” Marino asked.

“I didn’t notice.”

“What about when you went out to get your mail and saw the smoke coming out of her chimney? You get any sense she might have had company?”

“I didn’t see a car. Nothing to make me think she had company.”

Jimmy Clary had drifted off to sleep. He was drooling.

“You said she worked at home,” I said. “Do you have any idea what she did?”

Mrs. Clary fixed wide eyes on me. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I know what folks said.”

“And what was that?” I asked.

She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

“Mrs. Clary,” Marino said. “Anything you could tell us might help. I know you want to help.”

“There’s a Methodist church two blocks away. You can see it. The steeple’s lit up at night, has been ever since they built the church three or four years ago.”

“I saw the church when I was driving in,” Marino replied. “What’s that got to do -“

“Well,” she cut in, “Jenny moved here, I guess it was early September. And I’ve never been able to figure it out The steeple light. You watch when you’re driving home. Of course…” She paused, her face disappointed. “Maybe it won’t do it anymore.”

“Do what?” Marino asked.

“Go out and then come back on. The strangest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s lit up one minute, and then you look out your window again and it’s dark like the church isn’t there. Then next thing you know, you look out again and the steeple’s lit up just like it’s always been. I’ve timed it. On for a minute, then off for two, on again for three. Sometimes it will burn for an hour. No pattern to it at all.”

“What does this have to do with Jennifer Deighton?” I asked.