Forty minutes later I puled up at the address Gilman had found for me. Though the residence was only ten minutes from downtown, and five minutes from my condo at Sharon Hal, it had taken that long to work through my usual Queens Road confusion.

Charlotte's street names reflect its schizoid personality. On the one hand the street-naming approach was simple: They found a winner and stuck with it. The city has Queens Road, Queens Road West, and Queens Road East. Sharon Road, Sharon Lane, Sharon Amity, Sharon View, and Sharon Avenue. I've sat at the intersection of Rea Road and Rea Road, Park Road and Park Road. There was also a biblical influence: Providence Road, Carmel Road, Sardis Road.

On the other hand, no appelation seemed adequate for more than a few miles. Streets change names with whimsy. Tyvola becomes Fairview, then Sardis. At one point Providence Road reaches an intersection at which a hard right keeps one on Providence; going straight places one on Queens Road, which immediately becomes Morehead; and going left puts one on Queens Road, which immediately becomes Selwyn. The Bily Graham Parkway begets Woodlawn, then Runnymede. Wendover gives rise to Eastway.

The Queens sisters are the most evil by far. I give visitors and newcomers one driving rule of thumb: If you get onto anything named Queens, get off. The policy has always worked for me.

Marion Veckhoff lived in a large stone Tudor on Queens Road East. The stucco was cream, the woodwork dark, and each downstairs window was a latticework of lead and glass. A neatly trimmed hedge bordered the property, and brightly colored flowers crowded beds along the front and sides of the house. A pair of enormous magnolias al but filed the front yard.

A lady in pearls, pumps, and a turquoise pantsuit was watering pansies along a walk bisecting the front lawn. Her skin was pale, her hair the color of ginger ale.

With a warning to Boyd, I got out and locked the door. I shouted, but the woman seemed oblivious to my presence.

'Mrs. Veckhoff?' I repeated as I drew close.

She spun, spraying my feet with her hose. Her hand jerked, and the water was redirected onto the grass.

'Oh, dear. Oh, my. I'm so sorry.'

'It's no problem at al.' I stepped back from the water puddling the flagstone. 'Are you Mrs. Veckhoff?'

'Yes, dear. You're Carla's niece?'

'No, ma'am. I'm Dr. Brennan.'

Her eyes went slightly out of focus, as if consulting a calendar somewhere over my shoulder.

'Did I forget an appointment?'

'No, Mrs. Veckhoff. I wondered if I might ask you a few questions about your husband.'

She recentered on me.

'Pat was a state senator for sixteen years. Are you a reporter?'

'No, I'm not. Four terms is quite an achievement.'

'Being in public office took him away from home too much, but he loved it.'