“Told you,” said Milo, as we drove away. “You’re still the opposing team.”

“And you?”

“I’m the sleuth assigned the honor of clearing Duchay’s murder.”

“Want me to wait in the car while you two bond?”

“Right. Wonder what the rev wants to keep from his wife.”

“Sounds like something that would scare her.”

“Scary,” he said, “is always interesting.”

* * *

The doughnut stand was a flimsy white booth on a cracked blacktop lot, topped by a six-foot, partially eaten doughnut with humanoid features. Brown plaster, chipped in several spots, tried to resemble chocolate. Wild-eyed merriment said the deep-fried creature loved being devoured. Three grubby-looking aluminum table-and-bench sets were scattered on the asphalt. The signage had lost a couple of letters.

DI SY DON T

Milo said, “And here I was thinking she did.”

The place was full of customers. We went inside and breathed fat and sugar and waited in line as three harried kids bagged and served oversized fritters to a salivating throng. Milo bought a dozen assorted, finished a jelly and a chocolate in the time it took to get back to the car.

“Hey,” he said, “it’s part of the job description. And chewing’s aerobic.”

“Enjoy.”

“You say that but you’ve got this disapproving thing going on.”

I took a hubcap-sized apple Danish out of the box and got to work on it. “Satisfied?”

“Creative people are never satisfied.”

We sat in the Seville where he polished off a jelly-filled.

I said, “Wonder what Rand did between six-thirty and nine.”

“Me, too. Forgot coffee, want some?”

“No, thanks.”

He returned to the doughnut shack just as the Reverend Drew Daney drove up in an older white Jeep. I got out of the car and Milo came back with two coffees.

He offered Daney the doughnut box.

Daney had added a blue blazer to his ensemble, had his hands in his pockets. “Any crèmes?”

The three of us sat at one of the outdoor tables. Daney found a raspberry crème, bit into it, exhaled with satisfaction. “Guilty pleasures, huh?”

“You got it, Reverend.”

“I’m not ordained so you can just call me Drew.”

“Didn’t finish seminary?”

“Chose not to,” said Daney. “Same for Cherish. We both got involved in youth work and decided that was our calling. I don’t regret it. A pulpit is usually more about internal politics than good works.”

“Youth work,” said Milo, “as in foster care.”

“Foster care, homeschooling, coaching, counseling. I work with several nonprofits— the meeting in Sylmar.” He looked at his watch. “Better cut to the chase. This is probably nothing but I feel it’s my duty to tell you.”

He finished his doughnut, wiped crumbs from his lap. “Six months ago, Rand was transferred to Camarillo, awaiting discharge. Thursday night my wife and I drove up and brought him home. He looked as if he’d landed on another planet.”

“Disoriented,” I said, using his wife’s term.