“Haley will be thrilled that Alabama made the international news again.”

Sister missed the sarcasm totally.

“I’m sure she will. Y’all turn on Channel 6 now.”

Fred came back through the den and headed for the bathroom.

“Are Richard and Luke at your house?” I asked Sister.

“Richard is. They’re going to keep Luke another day or two in the hospital. Richard is such a nice young man, Mouse. Oh, and incidentally, he called that number in Seattle and talked to the people. They don’t know who in the world Virginia is. Mrs. Gordon said she’s got a daughter who lives in Biloxi, though. Small world, isn’t it?”

“Thanks to CNN.”

“Turn on Channel 6. The news is coming on right now.”

I reached for the remote.

The first story was the weatherman apologizing for missing the forecast. Cold air had moved in earlier than expected overriding warm Gulf air. Some wintry precipitation. No accumulation. No big deal. I glanced up at the skylights. They were frozen solid. I would have to get the candles out.

The next story was the murders. Side-by-side pictures of Monk and Susan Crawford were flashed on the screen. A shot of Virginia’s car on a dirt road near Pulaski came on while the reporter explained that Holden Crawford, a snake-handling preacher from Chandler Mountain, had died from multiple snakebites just one day after the body of his daughter-in-law Susan had been found in the church where they practiced their religious rituals. Foul play was suspected.

No kidding.

“Come here, Fred,” I yelled. “I want you to see this.”

“I’m here,” he said. I hadn’t heard him come back in.

“They’re fixing to show Virgil Stuckey, the guy who has a crush on Sister.”

And they did. Sheriff Virgil Stuckey of St. Clair County was introduced. He was standing by the car, too, and the reporter asked if it was true that Holden Crawford had been bitten over a hundred times by snakes. Then she stuck her mike in his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “We can’t release any of the details yet.”

“But Holden Crawford was a well-known snake handler, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, he was.”

“And his daughter-in-law was, too?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Sheriff Stuckey.”

The report then segued to Chandler Mountain and an ancient woman introduced as Aunt Beulah Packard who said it was the Chandler Mountain booger got them both, that Lord Jesus, you ought to hear that thing howling at night. Howling for blood, you asked her.

She picked up a tin can by her chair and the camera moved a second before the Channel 6 audience was treated to her spitting snuff into the can.

“What on God’s earth?” Fred asked.