Angie considered. She saw that Rivera was perfectly serious, that Tony would go along with whatever Rivera wanted, and that Markus was sitting at rapt attention, not understanding exactly what was happening but content to wait and see; his fascination with their odd northern ways had yet to give way to less charitable reactions. She wondered what Markus would do if she just told him what she suspected about his missing favorite aunt. Maybe he would get angry, or maybe, Angie thought wearily, he wouldn’t be surprised at all. Markus was a sharp kid and saw a lot.

She said, “I have some background information on Miss Zula’s brother that we should talk about.”

Rivera looked disapproving and disappointed, but her expression shifted as Angie told them what she knew.

“Now, that’s interesting,” she said, almost reluctantly. “Anabel Spate and Abe Bragg.” To Markus Tony said, “You heard any of this story before?”

Markus shook his head. “That’s, like, fifty years ago. All I know is that Miss Zula had a brother who died in a war.”

“But it sounds believable?” Rivera asked him.

“Sure.” Markus shrugged. “People get up to pretty much everything down here, like they do everywhere.”

“But how do we get the details?” Angie said. “This is one subject I can’t just ask about, and I doubt they ran the story in the Bugle. ‘Miscegenation in Ogilvie, Locals Speak Out’—I don’t think we’ll find that in the library anywhere.”

“You could at least look up what there is to know about Abe Bragg,” Markus said. “You’ve got all those town history books sitting in the next room.”

Angie’s cell phone began to ring. She switched it off and tossed it back into her purse. “So we do. Let’s have a look.”

John used the private door, the one he had started to think of as the better-keep-clear-of-Patty-Cake door to let himself into his office, and then was disappointed to see that Rob wasn’t at his desk. Not that he intended to do his brother any physical harm over this newest complication. Not here, not now. Right now, at this moment, he needed to talk to Angie, because no matter how much went wrong today—and it looked as if some records were going to be broken—the one thing he had to do was fix things with her. On the walk in he had used the time to recite his sins to himself, and then he had tried to call her. He had been trying every ten minutes, without success.

He dropped into his desk chair, dialed again, and then hung up without leaving a message. He was thinking about going to see her in the editing suite when Patty-Cake knocked on his door and came in without waiting for permission.

“What’s up?”