“Well, I hope he talks to Betsy. I think she knows more than she told me. On the phone she said she was scared, but at the restaurant she acted like she was just worried because the cameo was gone.”

“What would she be scared of? She’s not one of the handlers.”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe it has something to do with the children.” I sipped my Coke and thought about the possibilities. “If Monk Crawford owned that house then maybe he owned the church, too. Or the land it’s on, anyway. And the children will inherit it. And someone might not want them to.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Sister said.

I had to admit that she was right.

After I had admired Sister’s clothes and heard the latest about our friend Bonnie Blue Butler, manager of the Big, Bold, and Beautiful Shoppe (she had met a man over Christmas, a downright hunk), I copied down the phone number that Betsy had given me that might be Virginia’s, told her goodbye, took a carton of Brunswick stew from the freezer for supper, and collapsed on the sofa under an afghan. The next thing I knew, Fred woke me up by turning a lamp on.

“What time is it?” I asked, confused.

“A little after six and it’s sleeting. There are already wrecks everywhere. That’s why I’m late. There’s a six-car pileup down at Wildwood Shopping Center.”

He put a cold hand against my arm. I flinched.

“Told you it was cold.”

“I believe you.”

“You want to warm me up?”

I raised the afghan; he pulled off his shoes and slid in beside me.

“Lord, you are cold.”

“Um.”

We lay there listening to the click of sleet on the skylights, to the hum of the furnace.

“Good day?” I murmured.

“Um.”

When we woke up, it was nine o’clock and the phone was ringing. Fred reached backward and picked it up from the end table.

“What?” More of a bark than a question.

He handed me the phone and sat up. “It’s your sister.”

“Hey,” I said, watching Fred get up and shuffle toward the kitchen.

“What’s going on?” Mary Alice asked. “Y’all having a fight?”

“No. We were asleep on the sofa. Jet lag may have taken a permanent toll.”

“Well, turn on Channel 6. Virgil’s going to be on it in a few minutes talking about the murders. He says he’s going to be on CNN, too, but he doesn’t know when. When I find out, I’m going to call Haley and tell her to watch him.”

I was still groggy. “CNN?”

“I guess because it’s so exotic killing someone with snakes.”

“Well, don’t tell her we found the body in the church. I didn’t. I don’t want to worry her.”

“I’ll just tell her to watch for Virgil.”