When I rang the bell, a curtain twitched in the front-room window, I heard indistinct voices, and then the door was opened by a man of perhaps fifty, wearing a clerical collar over a magenta clerical shirt. He smiled, but his eyes were wary.

“I’m V.I. Warshawski. I was with Ms. Albritten yesterday when she collapsed. I wanted to see how she’s doing.”

“Yes, Ms. V.I. Detective, you may come in.” Albritten’s voice came from the living room, quavery but decisive.

The minister held the door open, but I paused to ask whether Albritten knew that I’d found Doris McKinnon’s dead body.

“Oh, yes,” he murmured. “It’s been very hard for her, but it’s why she wants to talk to you.”

Nell Albritten was in the easy chair where she’d sat yesterday afternoon. Her face was drawn, a lock of gray hair hanging loose from the severely scraped bun. Yesterday’s ordeal had taken a toll.

“Where’s your friend?” she asked.

It took a moment to realize she meant Peppy. “Day care. It wasn’t fair to drag her all over the county. Although she did help yesterday: she knew something was wrong when we were at Doris McKinnon’s farm. It was the dog who insisted that I go into the house.”

Albritten bowed her head, her eyes briefly closing. “Doris wasn’t a Christian. We used to argue about it, back when Lucinda first moved in with her. I was so righteous when I was young! I was sure Doris and her atheism would corrupt young Emerald. It shames me now, all that time wasted on a quarrel with a woman who was decent clear down to her bones. Whatever she did or didn’t believe, whatever she and Lucinda did or didn’t do, I know Doris is with Jesus now.”

“That’s right.” The minister bent over to take her hand. “Hold that thought, Sister Albritten. It will carry you through a time of trouble.”

I shifted in my chair, uncomfortable with the religious conversation.

The minister straightened and pulled a stool over next to Albritten. “Now you’ve seen that she’s doing well, you can let her rest.”

“I’d like to tell her something that I would hate anyone else overhearing. Ms. Albritten apparently knows you and trusts you, but I don’t even know your name or who you are.”

“Of course.” The minister kept his hand cupped over Albritten’s. “I’m Bayard Clements, Sister Albritten’s pastor at St. Silas AME Church. I hear you went over to look at the church, so I won’t waste time telling you where it is.”

I looked at him squarely. “I went there because I wondered if Emerald Ferring and August Veriden might be hiding in the church, but it was locked up tight.”