When he thought Scot could see well enough to drive his pickup, Branscom sent the boys on their way to school. After they’d driven out of sight, and my heart had calmed down to a normal rate, Sheriff Branscom said, “Miss Connelly, I guess you aren’t popular here in Sarne.” I sure wasn’t popular with the elder law enforcement segment. His face was hard with repressed distaste. “I’m sorry that happened to you. Scot’s had it bad for Mary Nell since they were in the first grade together.”

I was still bouncing on the balls of my feet with adrenaline. “And he shows it by beating up another woman?”

“No, the idiot shows it by defending my niece against someone he imagines is going to hurt her,” Branscom said heavily. He leaned against his car. At this moment, he looked far older than his years. “People around here just can’t understand you or what you do, Ms. Connelly. It makes it worse that you’re for real, I think. You did find Teenie, sure enough. But we’re not closer to finding out who killed her, and there’s still no way to prove Dale didn’t. Somehow, finding Teenie has led to Helen getting killed, too. In fact, I guess we’ll be burying Teenie and her mother at the same time, side by side, right in the plot with Sally. According to what you told Hollis, that’s three murder victims in the same family. I wish that bolt of lightning had struck you a little harder. Maybe you would have seen enough to straighten out this mess.”

Or maybe, his unspoken thought continued, I would have been killed and none of this would be a problem. I was swept with a wave of overwhelming disbelief. “You’ve had months and months to solve any mystery surrounding Dell’s death and Teenie’s disappearance,” I said, almost whispering in an effort not to shout. “You have a police force and a police lab at your service in solving Helen’s murder. I’m one woman who can find bodies, and I never claimed to be more. Don’t you dare try to shift any of the blame for this whole mess to me.”

Another police car pulled up behind the sheriff’s. Hollis, creaking and heavily laden in his cop gear, was out of the car and beside us before I could make my mouth try to smile at him.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his hand cupping the curve of my shoulder. He leaned down to look in my face. What he saw there made him angry. “I stopped the Briscoe boy over by the high school for speeding, and he looked so bad I asked what happened to him. He told me everything, didn’t understand why I didn’t applaud.”