“I’ve never known anyone who was murdered,” said Ruth Ann shyly. She was a skinny, unattractive child with dental braces.

“Didn’t you know Stephanie?”

“Not really. She wasn’t a Catholic, you know. I saw her in her yard a couple of times when we passed her house, that’s all. Her mother and her grandmother are supposed to be witches.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Maybe Stephanie was a witch too.”

“I rather doubt that.”

Father Jackson came back, waving something. It was a pair of silver-­rimmed eyeglasses with large lenses. Duff’s glasses, I thought immediately.

“How could the deputies have missed those?” Ruth Ann wondered.

“They were pretty well buried in the grass, but I saw a flash of sunlight on them,” Father Jackson said.

“I wonder if you’ll get a reward, Father.” Ruth Ann seemed disappointed that she hadn’t found them.

“They may have nothing to do with Stephanie’s murder,” I said. “They could’ve been in the grass for a long time.”

“Any person I know, if he lost his glasses, would have looked for them until he found them and probably had his whole family looking for them too,” Ruth Ann said.

Father Jackson was watching me. “Of course it’s always possible they belonged to Stephanie.”

“Let’s get out of here,” I said.

Father Jackson put the glasses in his pocket, and Ruth Ann led us out of the woods by a less hazardous path than the one we had taken in. When we reached her house she invited us in, but I declined. I didn’t want her mother asking questions about the glasses.

“Are they Duff’s?” Father Jackson asked as we drove off. He handed the glasses to me.

“Yes,” I said.

“I thought so from your expression. I’m sorry I didn’t put them in my pocket as soon as I picked them up. When was the last time you saw Duff wearing them?”

“I can’t remember. He used to wear them all the time, but lately—I just can’t remember.” I thought of the previous afternoon when he seemed to have difficulty recognizing me when he came upon me in the yard. However, at other times he was obviously able to get along very well without glasses.

“Shouldn’t you turn these over to the Sheriff’s office?” I asked Father Jackson.

“You can do that, if you like.”

“God, I don’t know what to do. What do you think would happen if I did?”

“They’d undoubtedly take a good hard look at Duff again, despite any alibis provided by Mrs. Reddy.”

“Do you think he did it, Father?”

He didn’t answer until we reached our drive. Then he said, “You’re sure he’s always been afraid of horses?”