Needless to say, I had a lot to explain to Fred in the morning. I woke up when I heard him in the shower and felt surprisingly rested. The sun was shining and there was no sign of the flurries of the night before. I brushed my teeth, combed my hair, and had French toast ready to cook when he came into the kitchen.

“A body?” Not even a “good morning.”

Two pieces of French toast and a couple of cups of coffee later, I had told him the main parts of the story.

“And Virginia and the preacher were gone? Her car wasn’t there?”

I hadn’t thought about Virginia’s car. I guess I had assumed that since she was the runee, she had left in the runner’s vehicle. Or was she the runner? At any rate, of course she would have taken her car and followed Holden Crawford. Monk Crawford.

“It wasn’t there,” I said. “Only his painting truck.”

“Sounds like she’s got herself in a mess.”

“God’s truth,” I agreed.

“You don’t think the dead woman could have been this Crawford guy’s wife, do you?”

“Too young. Bless her heart.” I could see the red hair cascading to the floor.

“Well, don’t you and Mary Alice get mixed up in this, honey. You stay away from those folks.”

“You don’t have a thing to worry about. I can’t even watch the Discovery Channel specials about snakes.”

He gave me a hug. “Call me when you get home with Luke.” He got a Lean Cuisine from the freezer for his lunch and left. That was when I turned on the computer and read Haley’s chatty E-mail.

The phone was ringing when I got out of the shower. I figured it would be Mary Alice so I was startled when a male voice said, “Mrs. Hollowell? This is Sheriff Stuckey.”

“Good morning, Sheriff.” Hmm. Last night it had been Virgil and Patricia Anne.

“I’m calling you because I didn’t want to disturb Mary Alice.”

“She does need her beauty sleep,” Mrs. Hollowell said.

“Not that I can see.”

How does Sister do this to men?

“But, Mrs. Hollowell, we’ve had something come up. Your cousin’s car has been found in Pulaski, Tennessee.”

“Virginia’s car?”

“Right. Mrs. Nelson’s. The license tag checks out to Mr. Nelson, but her stuff is in the glove compartment so we figured it was her car. Can you tell me what model car she drove?”

“Lord, no. A car’s a car to me. I can’t even find my own Chevrolet in a parking lot. Why? Was the car abandoned?”

“Some hunters found it early this morning in the woods near Pulaski.”

“Wrecked?”

“Not exactly.”

He was being too cagey.

“But?”

There was a long pause. I could tell he was trying to decide whether to tell me something or not.