In the congregation on that Sunday of Sundays, seated next to her own bodyguard, was Peggy Raleigh. In many of the usual ways she was the smile-plastered pastor’s wife who raised their children, five-year-old Preston and two-year-old Claire. Peggy taught music part-time at Ursuline, even though working at a Catholic girls’ school didn’t score her any points with the congregants at First United, many of whom already found her a bit meek and withdrawn. While the outgoing Reverend Raleigh was always up to ten things at once for his flock, Peggy was quiet, remote, a gracious wallflower.

Also at Easter services was Lucy Goodfellow, the daughter of Bishop Wesley Goodfellow, whom Raleigh had replaced as pastor of First United. A woman with a lot of mascara and frosted hair, and a lot of rumors.

Raleigh’s sermon that day was debunking The Passover Plot—a book and later a movie that claimed that Jesus, with the help of His disciples, had staged the passion and crucifixion and faked His death to become a false messiah.

Two days after Easter, Peggy Raleigh would be found strangled in the driveway of her home.

By early afternoon, both sides had agreed on a jury of twelve with three alternates. Judge Sam seemed satisfied and stood. The attorneys rose with him.

“All right, this is our group then. Thank you all for being forthcoming during the voir dire. I was very impressed, and so were the attorneys in this courtroom. Let me remind you of two things. One, shake off any jitters you have about serving on a criminal trial. All I ask is that you listen to the facts presented. This will be a difficult case at times, with lots of information, but I’m here to make it easier for you to understand.”

The judge pulled at something under his robe, and the darkness around him shifted.

“Second, this case is going to get attention. TV reporters, newspaper people. They will be lurking around the courtroom, and they know better than to approach you all directly, but do not discuss the proceedings in any way, shape, or fashion until instructed to deliberate. Don’t tell your boss the details of the case. Don’t talk to the press. Don’t tell your wife or husband what you think about this witness or that one. Just to be safe, don’t whisper anything to your dog while he’s doing his business.”

A break of much-needed laughter. Pat will be a bear about all of this. Anne noticed Raleigh sat there sullen, lost in a stare.

Judge Sam looked over at his clerk’s calendar. “We will begin this case two weeks from Monday, November second. Please report to the jury room at eight thirty a.m. sharp. Officer Redman will now explain where to go and how to access the building. The great state of Texas thanks you for your service.”