The Garners had been his parishioners, Ryder thought. Part of his flock. No matter what Rachel Levy said, that made it his business and he was going to get into that basement somehow and look behind that flowered curtain. But he couldn’t tell his wife what he was doing, and he tried to get out of the house without her knowing. The kitchen door squeaked, the side door was weather-sealed shut, and the only way out was through the front. But to get there, he had to pass the open library door. His wife and daughter were inside watching Dark Victory on the late show. Bette Davis was on her knees in the garden. She felt the sun on her hands but couldn’t see it, and she knew she was blind and dying. Ryder’s daughter sobbed. Even his wife sniffled. He waited a second, then stepped past the open door. His body blocked the hall lamp and his wife looked up, saw him dressed to go out, and she stood up.

“Ed, it’s almost midnight.”

His daughter shushed them and his wife came out into the hall and shut the door.

“Where’re you going?” she asked. She looked tense, like everyone else did since the murders.

“For a ride,” he said. “It’ll help me sleep.”

She knew he hadn’t been sleeping well. “It’s still cold. Take your scarf.” She pulled his winter muffler off the old antler hooks on the hall and draped it around his neck, but she held the ends of the scarf and looked closely at him. It made him uncomfortable and he stepped back, pulling the scarf out of her hands. “What’s the matter, Betsy?”

Her face was white and suddenly she grabbed the scarf again. “Don’t go,” she said. Her voice was hushed, nothing like itself, and he looked at her amazed.

“What?”

“Don’t go. If you can’t sleep, take a pill.”

“I don’t have any pills.”

“Have a drink, get drunk. But don’t go.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know,” she said, “I’ve got this feeling . . . I . . .” She stopped and then let the scarf go. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” she said.

He kissed her. “Everyone’s edgy. We’ll feel better when they get whoever did it.” He went to the door.

“Make it a short ride,” she said.

He thought she’d gone back into the library, but when he stopped at the end of the drive and looked back, he saw her watching him through the judas window. He bicycled to the center of town and some of his wife’s feeling—whatever it was—infected him and he pedaled faster. He wished that the moon was out and the streets weren’t so empty.