“First time. Good crowd—looks like a popular place. I asked where all the sheriff’s deputies go after work—cops always know the best watering holes. Can I buy you one?”

“I was just about to head home to the wife.”

Decker pushed out the chair across from him with his foot. “Sit for a minute. Don’t make me drink alone.”

“Just one then.” Elgin moved from the crowded bar to the table.

“So how was your day?”

“No complaints.”

“What’s new at the Patriot Center? Find any more bodies?”

“Nah. Looks like four is all there is—now they’re just haulin’ up all those coffins.”

“I bumped into that bug man up in Endor. What a character.”

“Nick? Real smart fella—a little strange, though.”

“Did you get a look at those glasses of his? Spooky.”

“He puts in a long day’s work, I’ll give him that. I’m usually there before sunup, and sometimes Nick’s already there.”

“I did a little interview with him this evening. He says he thinks that cadaver dog woman might be dead.”

“He said that?”

“Not directly, but he sure hinted at it. Do you think it’s possible?”

“It’s a little early to think that. Did Nick say why?”

“Let me run a theory by you. See what you think of this: Suppose somebody saw Marge on the evening news admitting that she found all those graves. Suppose somebody saw that interview—somebody who didn’t want any more graves to be found—so they killed her. What do you think?”

“I think it would be a real shame. Marge didn’t find those graves.”

“What?”

“Nah—that dog of hers couldn’t smell fish in a bucket.”

“But she said she did.”

“Nah. She was just wishin’ real hard.”

“Then who found the graves?”

“The witch.”

“Who?”

“Yep—saw her drivin’ out one mornin’ just as I was pullin’ in. Musta worked all night. Nick was there—he could tell you.”

“Did you say witch?”

“The Witch of Endor. The woman’s got powers; she can talk to animals; she can raise the dead.”

Decker looked at him for a long time before he finally waved to the bartender. “Let’s get you that drink,” he said.

27

27

Victoria sat down on the plush rolled-arm settee, slid off her black-and-silver Giuseppe Zanottis, and slowly massaged her heels. She looked at her closet, which spanned one entire wall of the dressing room. She tossed the shoes onto the closet floor and watched them tumble to a stop. She looked at all the other pairs of shoes—dozens of them—perfectly aligned heel-to-heel and toe-to-toe on their own little slanted shelves. She wondered who put them away every morning; she wondered who picked up all the dresses and blouses and slips she left hanging from chairs and doorknobs every night.

Beulah.