The property was fenced with redwood tongue-and-groove but the gate was open and we entered. A boxy, pale-blue bungalow sat at the front of the eighth-acre lot. At the rear were two smaller outbuildings, one a converted garage painted a matching blue, the other, set slightly back, an unpainted cement block cube. The free space was mostly pavement, broken by a few beds of draft-friendly plants edged with lava rock.

Cherish Daney sat in a lawn chair to the left of the main house, reading in full sun. When she saw us she shut the book and stood. I got close enough to read the title: Life’s Lessons: Coping with Grief. A piece of tissue paper extended from between the pages.

Her hair was still white-blond and long, but the teased-up bulk and side-wings of eight years ago had been traded for bangs and simplicity. She had on a white, sleeveless top over blue slacks and gray shoes, the same silver chain and crucifix she’d worn that day at the jail. Most people put on weight as they get older but she had reduced to a hard, dry leanness. Still a young woman— mid-thirties was my guess— but fat’s a good wrinkle filler and her face had collected some tributaries.

The same sun-bronzed complexion, the same pretty features. Noticeable curve to her back, as if her spine had bowed under some terrible weight.

She smiled without opening her mouth. Red-rimmed eyes. If she recognized me, she didn’t say so. When Milo gave her his card, she glanced at it and nodded.

“Thanks for seeing us, Reverend.”

“Sure,” she said. A screen door slammed and the three of us turned toward the sound.

A girl, fifteen or sixteen, had come out of the main house and stood on the front steps holding what looked to be a school workbook.

Cherish Daney said, “What do you need, Valerie?”

The girl’s return stare seemed resentful.

“Val?”

“Help with my math.”

“Of course, bring it over.”

The girl hesitated before walking over. Her wavy black hair trailed past her waist. Plump build. Her face was dusky, round, her gait stiff and self-conscious.

When she got to Cherish Daney, she alternated between looking at us and pretending not to.

“These men are police officers, Val. They’re here about Rand.”

’’Oh.”

“We’re all very sad about Rand, aren’t we, Val?”

“Uh-huh.”

Cherish said, “Okay, show me what the problem is.”

Valerie opened the book. Sixth-grade arithmetic. “These ones. I’m doing them right but I’m not getting the right answers.”

Cherish touched the girl’s arm. “Let’s take a look.”

“I know I’m doing them right.” Valerie’s fingers flexed. She rocked on her feet. Glanced at Milo and me.

“Val?” said Cherish. “Let’s focus.” Touching Valerie’s cheek, she guided the girl’s eyes toward the book.