I could hear the choir tuning up and the organ wailing as I stood outside the Ledbetter Greek Methodist Church, waiting on Bonnie. Churches made me nervous, ever since Daddy fell out drunk one time in our home church and the pastor thought God had struck him dead and tried to revive him in the sacred baptismal pool. After that, I decided to leave organized religion to them what do it best.

I was half hiding underneath the shade of a pin oak, tugging at my blue skirt and wishing it was a tad longer. It's one thing to be a Reba McIntyre look-alike on stage, but it is quite another to carry it to church. I had on a high-necked white shirt and prissy white shoes. Not a rhinestone in sight. And I must've passed, 'cause Bonnie almost walked right past me.

"Hey," I called softly.

Bonnie was taking one last drag on her cigarette and shooing three of the six children off toward Sunday School. She stopped, startled, and guiltily pitched her smoke in the bushes.

"Lord, honey, you liked to scared me to death! I thought you was one of the bazaar ladies." She took a deep breath and gave me a thorough onceover. "Dang, Maggie, you must want this'un bad to dress like that!" Not that Bonnie was the picture of conservatism. She was just used to looking like someone's mother.

"I got good news for you, though. I forgot, we're having a pinto bean supper after church today!"

"How's that good news? I don't like pinto beans and the last thing I want to do is-" Bonnie cut me off with a wave of her hand.

"His mother will be working the line, you idiot! We'll sit at her table!" Bonnie turned and started up the stairs to the sanctuary.

"Praise God," I whispered and followed her.

The church was relatively small and very old. Thick windowsills and whitewashed walls. Pretty stained-glass windows depicted the saints and Jesus, all having a time of it being Christians. Bonnie slipped into a pew halfway up the red carpeted aisle, tugging me in beside her. All the church members were old, or at least that's how it seemed to me. They smiled and waved to each other, but when the opening hymn began and the congregation stood, they became seriously devout.

Bonnie nudged me as I fumbled with my hymnal. "See her?" she whispered. "The lady two rows up, just in front of you, with the gray curly hair."

I looked. Bonnie's description fit just about every woman in the place, but I knew Marshall Weathers's mother instantly. When she turned to watch the choir approach our eyes met briefly. Electric blue lie detectors. She wasn't tiny, like some of the others, but taller and grandmotherly. The kind of woman who wears an apron around the house and forgets to take it off 'cause she's always in the kitchen. She looked tanned and happy, and I imagined her out in the garden picking beans for supper.

Bonnie raised an eyebrow at me, then winked. She was loving this. Intrigue came simple to a woman with six children.

I don't remember the pastor's sermon. He was a small, bland little fellow with cherry red cheeks and a look of surprised innocence about him. His voice came out in a hushed monotone that the ladies, Mrs. Weathers included, all seemed to strain to hear. I was too busy watching her and wondering about the mother of my detective to listen to the service.

When the choir started the last hymn, Bonnie gave me another nudge. "We gotta get straight on down to the fellowship hall if we want to sit with Flo and them. As soon as the preacher gives the benediction and people start to file out, you follow me."

The "Amen" had barely left the preacher's lips when Bonnie charged the aisle like a water buffalo. She cut past the ladies who waited to shake hands with the minister, plowed through little groups of chatters, and led me straight outside into the noontime sunshine and across the little churchyard to a low white building.

Bonnie didn't stop her single-minded pursuit until we were sitting at a table along the far left-hand side of the narrow fellowship hall, happily ensconced among five gray-haired women.

"Sit here," she'd said, placing me next to the one empty chair at the table, facing a blank wall with a colorful picture of Jesus at the Last Supper. "That's her chair there. You wait, as soon as the line gets started, she'll come around!"

But when Flo Weathers did appear, I found myself suddenly shy. What was I gonna do now?

"Well, hey there, ladies!" she cried, setting her plate of pinto beans, cornbread, and coleslaw down with a gentle thunk. "Bonnie," she said, looking at me, "who's your friend?" And before Bonnie could swallow her tea and answer, Flo took matters into her own hands. "Anybody ever tell you you look like Reba McIntyre?" she asked. "I got a son who just worships that woman!"

The others laughed, apparently well familiar with Flo's patter.

"I'm Flo Weathers. Welcome to Ledbetter Greek Methodist." Bonnie had choked on her iced tea and was trying to catch her breath. "Bonnie's usually better mannered than this, must be livin' around all them young'uns got her flustered. What's wrong with you, Bonnie?" Bonnie had turned red and was coughing fit to beat the band. When it came right down to it, Bonnie didn't have the temperament for subterfuge.

"I'm Maggie Reid," I said, smiling right back at her, but trying not to look too closely into those clear blue eyes.

"Flo, Maggie works with me down to the Curley-Que, but she's going into a new… Ow!" Bonnie grabbed her leg and howled, unable to tell Flo I was a singer on account of me kicking her under the table. "Oh," Bonnie said, catching my eye.

"Hairdresser, huh? You single?"

The ladies laughed again, a comfortable here-we-go-again laugh that signaled familiarity.

"Listen, Maggie," Flo said, leaning closer to me. "Don't pay them a bit of mind. I'm just a mother looking out for her handsome, smart, and newly single son."

I raised my eyebrows and smiled politely. "Well, yes, ma'am, I am single," I answered.

"Hmmm," Flo said, breaking a piece of corn-bread, but not making any moves to eat it.

"Tell me about your son," I said, doing my best not to catch Bonnie's eye or look anything but neutral. Bonnie was choking so badly now, she had to leave the table.

"Oh, he's a doll!" one of the blue-haired ladies said. The others murmured their agreement. "And so polite," another said. "A real lady killer," the third one said.

That stopped the crew in their tracks and they all looked across at the little birdlike lady with the blue-and-pink straw hat. She turned scarlet.

"Well, what I mean is, he's a gentleman, of course, but a real charmer!"

Flo looked back at the line where the servers were doling out plates of beans and saw something she didn't like. She hopped up and was gone before anyone could say another word.

"I'm sure he's a nice boy," I said, smiling, "but if he's newly single, he's probably not anxious to meet anyone new."

A slight cloud passed over the group, then a plump lady with a bright purple dress spoke up.

"What happened to little Marshall was a pitiful shame!"

"I'm sorry," I said, picking at my pinto beans. "Did his wife die?"

"Oh Lord, no, and sometimes we think it might've been better if she had." The purple dress looked back where Flo was dumping beans into a large pot, then back to me. "His wife left him for another man!"

"No!" I said, seeing Bonnie approach the table, her face now a modest pink.

"Yes!" they all cried in unison.

"And him working like he does, solving all those horrible murder cases!" The purple dress was upset. "She just run out. Left everything but her clothes and took off with one of his best friends. He ain't been quite right since. Flo's just worried sick! He don't go out much. He don't come to church. He don't hardly even associate with his friends anymore, either. I guess he just don't trust nobody and I can't say as I blame him."