“Good idea. Oh, wait. When you talk to her, you’re my boyfriend.”

“Huh?”

“She jumped to that conclusion and I figured she might not bring the food if she wasn’t aiding the cause of true love, so ...”

“You lied to get room service. Well, considering I’m walking out of your room at seven in the morning, we’d better not straighten anyone out. If I grab your ass in public, then, I’m just playing my part.”

“And if you get your fingers broken for it, I’m just playing mine.”

He laughed and left.

THE JEEP WASN’T running well, but it was running. Good enough. Jesse was gone when we set out, so I texted him to say we’d catch up later. When we arrived at Carol Degas’s house, I double-checked the address. It was on the outskirts of town, and I expected to see a dump. The house was tiny, yes, and it showed its age, but it was as well kept and tidy as Paula’s mobile home, with fresh yellow paint, flowers in the tended garden, and a multicolored wooden Welcome! sign on the door.

“Carol must have moved out after Brandi died. Probably couldn’t afford the upkeep without her daughter’s rent money. Shit.”

“She might have left a forwarding address with these folks.” Adam rapped the door. “Wouldn’t want those welfare checks to get lost.”

I could hear gospel music playing inside. At least we weren’t waking up the new owners. Adam knocked again, and finally the door opened. There stood a tiny old woman, with a deeply lined face and hands that trembled as she clutched the door.

“We’re looking for Carol Degas,” I said. “She used to live here.”

“Still does,” the woman said in a reedy voice. “I’m her.”

According to the file, Carol was fifty-two. No matter how hard I looked at this woman, she didn’t appear a day under seventy.

“We’re in town investigating—”

“Brandi’s murder. I figured that was who you were. I’ve been wondering when you’d come see me.” She held open the screen and ushered us in.

We followed her into a hall lined with cheap religious prints. Gospel music boomed from deep in the house. I squinted at a needlepoint hanging on the wall. A Bible verse of some kind, but damned if I could read it—half the stitches were out of place.

“I’ve found Jesus,” Carol said, beaming.

“Huh,” I murmured under my breath. “I didn’t know he was lost.”

Adam gave me a look, his eyes telling me to watch it, his lips holding back a smile.

She waved us into what must have been the living room, but looked more like a Vegas chapel, every inch of space crammed with cheap china Madonnas and butt-ugly cherubs.

“Do you know Christ our Savior, child?” Carol said as we sat.

“Not personally.”