“I was at the Grace Victory Church in Glenmont. Black Creek flooded out some homes, and there were five families in need of shelter. I helped Pastor Bergman get everyone set up in the rec room.”

“You were there that entire time?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You know I’m going to check.”

“That’s fine.” He tugs his phone from his pocket, taps the screen a couple of times, and recites the number for the Grace Victory Church.

I pull out my notepad and write it down. “Can anyone else vouch for you?”

“There were ten or fifteen volunteers around all night. Once we got those families picked up, we delivered food and blankets and set up cots. I had at least one person with me all night.”

“So you say.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with Julia’s murder.” He tilts his head. “Do you think something has happened to Jerrold McCullough?”

“I don’t know.” I stare hard at him, waiting for him to say more. He doesn’t give me anything. He stares back, completely unperturbed by the silence and the tension slicing the air between us. “What do you think, Blue? Do you think something happened to him?”

“I have no idea. I’m worried about him.”

“Do you think if you’d come clean about whatever it is you’re hiding, Julia Rutledge might still be alive?”

It’s a harsh, unfair question, but I let it stand, hoping to rattle him. He doesn’t react to the unspoken implication, but I don’t miss the quiver in his hand when he runs it over his goatee. “I’m not hiding anything. I didn’t kill Dale. Or Julia. And I have no idea where McCullough might be. You have my word.”

“Do you know Norm Johnston?”

“Councilman Johnston?” He looks flummoxed. “I’ve met him a few times.”

“Have you spoken to him recently?”

“No.”

I nod, letting the silence ride. After a moment, Blue shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “If we’re done here, I’d like to get back to work.”

I lean forward and whisper. “I know you’re hiding something. I’m going to find out what it is.”

His expression doesn’t change. “Good night, Chief Burkholder.”

I tap the front of his shoulder with my index finger. “Don’t leave town.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

I leave him standing in his living room with his bowl of melted ice cream and a decidedly troubled expression.

*   *   *