“There are always those willing to believe the worst. It’s unfortunate.”

“Did you ever hear rumors to that effect? That Ned might have done it?”

“None that I gave any credence to.”

“What about the police? Did they investigate?”

“I’m certain they did. I don’t know the particulars, but they must have been satisfied she acted of her own free will.”

“Clara tells me Lenore had two sisters. Do you have any idea where they are at this point?”

He shook his head. It seemed to me his attitude had chilled.

“You mentioned Pete’s asking about Ned’s family of origin. What happened to his mother? Clara told me she left.”

“I believe he was four when Frankie walked out.”

“Is there someone who might confirm that?”

Father Xavier shook his head. “I can’t think of a soul.”

“Were Norma and Boyd Kastle your parishioners?”

He brightened. “Oh yes. I knew them well. She was a lovely woman. Even in her final illness, she was just as gracious as she could be.”

25

I found a drive-through fast food restaurant and ate in my car. Cheeseburger, limp fries, a Diet Pepsi, and a piece of gum that I chewed as a substitute for brushing my teeth. After this elegant repast, I sat and made notes, filling up three dozen index cards that ended up smelling of onions as well. So far, I had no access to the past except for other people’s recollections, which are often telling, but not always to be trusted. Memory is subject to a filtering process that we don’t always recognize and can’t always control. We remember what we can bear and we block what we cannot. I wondered if there was anything to be learned from the local police, who would at least have access to the investigator’s report from the time of Lenore’s death.

I was pleasantly surprised by how easy it was to gain access to the Burning Oaks chief of police. It helped, I’m sure, that Burning Oaks is a small town with a low crime rate, most of which is property-related as opposed to crimes against persons. In addition to DUIs, driving without a valid license or proof of insurance was the number-one cause of traffic arrests. I was also guessing the public relations aspect of the department was a point of pride. This was the kind of law enforcement that made little kids want to grow up to be cops.

Seventeen minutes after I arrived at the police department and asked to see the chief, I was sitting across the desk from her. In the interim, I read a free color brochure, complete with photographs that covered the department history and its current makeup, which consisted of one police chief, an administrative assistant, one lieutenant, three sergeants, and eight patrol officers. In addition, there were three school resource officers, five dispatchers, two community service officers, an animal control officer, and a code enforcement officer.

Chief Ivy Duncan was in her late forties, dark-haired and dark-eyed. She was attired in the usual black short-sleeved uniform with her chief of police badge, her Burning Oaks Police Department patch, a pin that said CHIEF on each side of her collar, her name tag, two pens in her shirt pocket, and the tools of her trade attached to her belt, which creaked every time she moved. I’d been a sworn officer for a two-year period early in my career, and I can assure you the getup looked better on her than it ever did on me.