“I can’t believe the Bible would say ...” She stopped herself and nodded. “No, our pastor does teach us that the Bible includes passages that have been misinterpreted. The teachings of Christ are clear. We must respect others, even if we disagree with them. That’s what my pastor said about homosexuals. I might not agree with their choices, but Christ would want me to treat them the way I want to be treated. I think he’d say the same about witches.”

“We’d like to ask you a few questions about Brandi,” I said.

If there was one word to describe Carol Degas, it was vague. Not evasive, just, well, not entirely present. It was as if all those bottles of whiskey had washed away both her personality and her memory, and she was just struggling to hold on, clinging to her new religion with a death grip.

She could talk about Christ, and that’s really all she could talk about. Seemed to know him better than the daughter she’d lived with for twenty-five years.

“I wasn’t a good mother,” she said, finally. “I know that and I accept my share of the blame, but it’s like Pastor Williams says—no one is entirely responsible for another person, even a child. They grow as they will. Look at Ginny Thompson. Paula is a fine woman. She might not be a churchgoing Christian, but she’s a Christian at heart. Look at how her daughter turned out, in spite of that. I do feel guilty about Brandi, though. The dreams prove that, Pastor Williams says.”

“Okay, so about that night—”

“The dreams prove that,” she continued, as if I hadn’t spoken.

Personally, I had no interest in Carol Degas’s dream life, but obviously she wanted to tell me.

“I dreamed that the little girl died,” she said.

“Little girl?”

“Ginny’s daughter. I dreamed that I heard Ginny and Brandi planning to kill Kayla, so Cody would take Ginny back. They were right in this house, in the basement, gathering up supplies. I heard them, and they then left and I knew I had to do something. So I tried calling Paula. She always knows what to do. Only I couldn’t finish dialing the number. I kept trying and trying, but I couldn’t do it, and then I passed out and when I came to the little girl was dead and I cried and cried, because it was all my fault.”

She looked at me expectantly.

“Okay...” I said.

“The little girl was Brandi,” Adam said.

I turned to him. “What?”

“Subconsciously, it was Brandi. Her little girl.”