“I don’t know the streets on that side of the river—not well, anyway—but many of those houses were completely underwater. The land is flatter on the north side and the houses a good deal closer to the river than we are here. And then many of them are built level with the ground. You drive over there in daylight and you’ll see what I mean.”

“So maybe the river forced Emerald and her mother out of town. Any thoughts on who might remember them, know where they went?”

Gertrude Perec finally seemed to give me her full attention. “It’s such a long time ago. You need someone who was an adult then, who still is . . . well, mentally alert today, and someone who knew that part of town.”

She paused, thinking it over. “The local Congregational church, Riverside—it’s United Church now—they were doing service work in North Lawrence. I know I helped my mother make up care packages after Sunday school—clothes, canned goods, that kind of thing. Check with the church secretary. She may be able to find someone who goes back that far.”

Cady said, “What about Dr.—”

“Absolutely not.” Gertrude’s voice was a band saw, cutting her granddaughter’s sentence in half. “That episode was as painful in his life as it is in mine. You brought this detective in here and let her pick at my scars. I will not have her doing it to anyone else.”

She turned to me. “I’ve told you I know nothing about Emerald Ferring, and I’ve extended myself to give you a suggestion of people at a church who might help you. It’s time you were on your way.”

“Gram!” Cady expostulated. “I know you don’t like talking about my mother, but honestly, this is—”

“She doesn’t get to invade my privacy, however much you want her to invade yours, Miss Cady. I have dinner waiting in the oven, and it’s likely a shriveled bit of casserole by this time.”

“It’s okay, Cady,” I said as she stared openmouthed at her grandmother. “Your grandmother’s right: she gets to protect her privacy. I’ll check with the Riverside Church people, and drive over to North Lawrence to the church where Lucinda Ferring’s funeral was held. If that doesn’t lead anywhere, I’ll head back along the interstate toward Fort Riley to see what I can figure out.”

A statement that just went to prove that old bromide about the best-laid plans.

11
Rabid Fans

It was starting to mizzle again when I got back to the car. I put on my poncho and walked with Peppy toward the river. It wasn’t as close as I’d thought, sitting on Gertrude Perec’s porch, and it turned out there was a ravine between the river and the road. On the far side, a train’s whistle hooted, a melancholy wail in the wet dark.