“She is. It’s the flaw in her character. Otherwise, she’s a sane and rational woman. Active in her community and in her church. But she’s a fan of the Great Manfredo. Every time you put on your website that you’re going to do some personal readings in whatever city, she figures out the cost of going and having the reading, and every time she can’t quite bring herself to part with the money. But if you would go to her home and give her a reading, I will forgive your deception in forging my letterhead. I’m choosing to blame you instead of Miss Charity, here, because it was done on your behalf. If you ever do such a thing again, I will sue your ass.”

“Where does your mother live?” Manfred accepted those terms happily. He was relieved. He didn’t care if Magdalena saw that. In fact, he was glad she did.

“Mother lives in Killeen. Her name is Agnes. You’ll have to set up a time with her. I’m telling her this is her belated Mother’s Day present.”

“I’d be delighted.” Manfred wondered how long the drive to Killeen was, but he would start out right now if he had to. He was just relieved she didn’t live somewhere even farther away.

He had a definite presentiment that he would meet Magdalena’s mother, so at least he would live a little while longer. He wandered to the front window, where the curtains were drawn, to see what was happening now. The Rev was outside the chapel. He was pulling a long hose back to the fence enclosing the pet cemetery. He was fully clothed, though he was not wearing his usual black jacket. The boy—man?—was nowhere in sight, thank God.

“Now that that’s settled,” Magdalena said, her voice sharp to demand his attention, “have you and Miss Charity had an idea about how to tell the police where to look?”

“Anonymous phone call?”

“From where?”

“I could drive to a town between here and Dallas and find a pay phone.” Olivia sounded doubtful.

“Yes, but there aren’t any isolated ones anymore. At least, not any that you could assume would function. There are some at rest stops, but those are usually under camera surveillance.”

“True,” Olivia said. “Okay, cell phones are out. We could buy a phone, but I suppose they keep serial numbers somewhere?” Of course Olivia had a burner phone in her apartment, but she wasn’t about to admit that to a lawyer. “What about an anonymous letter?”

Manfred grimaced in distaste. His grandmother had gotten some. That was a very bad memory. The viciousness of them, the cowardice of people who wouldn’t reveal their names, had nauseated him.