“Hey, guys.” There was a faint creak as the door to the church swung open. “What’s going on?” Ben Beagle ambled down the hall, his eyes bright. “Chief Van Alstyne?”

“Who’s he?” Russ growled.

Clare resisted clamping a hand over her eyes. This was getting to be like a bad French farce. “Ben Beagle,” she said. “Post-Star.”

“I’m very sorry about your loss, Chief.” Beagle fished his notepad out of his pocket. “If you have a moment, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“No.”

Russ’s expression would have sent most people scurrying for cover. Beagle smiled gently. “What brings you to St. Alban’s this morning?”

There was a pause. Russ’s gaze darted between Clare and his sister-in-law. “I was looking for Debbie,” he said.

Beagle’s sandy brows went up. “You knew she was here?”

“I’m here as part of an ongoing murder investigation,” Russ said. He sounded as if he were chewing on rocks and spitting out gravel. “I’m not making a statement to the press.”

“Ben.” Debbie’s voice was thin. “Please. Will you excuse us for just a moment?”

“You know, if I’m going to tell your sister’s story, I’m going to need to talk with Chief Van Alstyne.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with that. Please, Ben.”

For the first time since Debbie lit into her, Clare felt sorry for the woman. Her voice shook, and Clare realized that beneath the vitriol and bravado, Linda’s sister was a hairsbreadth away from completely losing it.

“O-kay. If that’s the way you want it.” The reporter snapped his notebook shut. “I’ll wait for you out by the cars.”

Debbie nodded. The three of them watched in silence while Ben Beagle disappeared back through the church door. As soon as it swung shut behind him, Debbie turned to Russ. “You have to understand, it didn’t mean anything.” Her voice was low, urgent.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.”

“Look,” Clare said desperately, “I should go.”

Russ caught her sleeve. “Stay. Please.”

“You dragged her here where she didn’t know a soul and then left her alone in that moldy old farmhouse while you worked twelve hours a day. She got lonely!” Debbie shot a poisonous glance toward Clare. “At least she didn’t come yapping to you about true love. She kept it to herself and she got over it. She never forgot where her loyalties lay.”

“Who was it?”

“Some guy named Lyle. I don’t know his last name.”

Clare stared at Russ. Oh, God, she thought. Not this. Please, not this.

Russ swallowed. “Lyle,” he said. “From Millers Kill?”

Debbie nodded. “She met him at the mayor’s Christmas party, the first year that you guys moved here.” She peered more closely at Russ. “You know him?”

Russ nodded.

Clare wanted to close her eyes. How many times could your heart break for someone?

“I don’t know if he was the same guy she was e-mailing me about for the past few weeks. The Mr. Sandman guy. She was always pretty private, but she got extra quiet about what was going on after you dropped your love bomb on her. Probably worried about leaving a paper trail for the divorce lawyers.”

“There wasn’t going to be any divorce,” Russ said from very far away.

Debbie shot him a look. “The only thing I can tell you is that he was making big time after your announcement. And that she knew him from work.”

“Work,” Russ said. “She didn’t say her work, did she?”

“I… I guess not.” Debbie’s face wavered between pain and hopefulness. “Do you think he might be a suspect? This Lyle guy?”

Russ didn’t say anything for a long moment. Clare wrapped her hand around his arm and squeezed hard. To hell with what Debbie thought.

“I don’t know,” Russ whispered. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

Clare showed Debbie Wolecski the way out. Or, to be more precise, the two of them stalked to the church door like cats refusing to yield territory, rigidly apart, unhappily together.

“This isn’t over,” Debbie said at the door.

“I didn’t think it was.” Clare had plumbed the depths of her priestly goodwill and discovered the bottom of it. She sounded like a bitch, and she didn’t care. She wished she could slam the narthex door on Debbie’s behind instead of watching it hiss gently and hydraulically into place.

Russ. Oh, God.

He was still standing in the corridor where she had left him, like a glaciated creature given the appearance of life because the ice all around was keeping him upright. Like the five-thousand-year-old Bronze Age man, found with flowers still fresh in his pouch. He, she had read recently, had been murdered. Betrayed, then left to the cold.

She had a flash of understanding, seeing Russ frozen there. If she let herself soften, if she held him and wept and sympathized as she wanted to, he would shatter. He would shatter, and she did not have the ability to put him back together again. She didn’t know if anyone did.

She swept her arm toward the door. “My office,” she said.

He stared, then lurched into life. She shut the door behind them, glancing at her watch. Nine o’clock. Lois would be arriving at any minute. She pointed to the sagging love seat. “Sit.” He did.

She crossed to her desk and unscrewed her Thermos of coffee. She poured him a mug and stirred in three spoonfuls of sugar from her private stash. “Why did you really come here?”

He accepted the coffee without batting an eyelash at the mug’s DEATH FROM THE SKY! logo. “I…” He patted one-handed at his pockets. “I need someplace to look at these.” He pulled out a handful of jewel cases and dropped them disinterestedly onto the sofa.

She picked one up. An unmarked CD. “What are they?”

“The contents of Linda’s computer. Most of it.”

“Why can’t you just take these to your office?”

He shook his head. It was the first unsolicited movement he had made since Debbie’s hateful revelation. “I can’t. The state police have sent in an investigator to take over the case. Right now, she wants to ‘talk to me.’ In the best-case scenario, that’ll mean pulling me off the case due to conflict of interest. In the worst-case scenario, she could detain me.”

She didn’t have to ask what he’d be detained for. “How can the state police just come in and take over? Isn’t there something about jurisdiction?”

“They have jurisdiction. When the cops running the show are dirty.”

Stupid, stupid! She held her tongue. “What can I do to help?”

He waved a hand over the CDs. “Find me a quiet place with a computer.” He looked into his coffee cup. “I’m expecting a phone call from-a call about the vehicle the Tracey kid says he saw in the driveway. I’m going to try to follow up on that.”

“Use my office.”

He started to stand. “No, I can’t-”

“Yes, you can.” She pressed her hand against his shoulder and pushed him back onto the love seat. “I don’t have any counseling sessions today.” She swept her Day-Timer off the desk and pocketed her keys. “This room locks from the inside. The only people with keys are me and Mr. Hadley, the sexton.” She lifted her coat off the rack. “I’ll tell Lois I’ve turned off the heat and closed the door to save on oil.” She made a face. “Unfortunately, that’s all too believable.”

“Won’t somebody wonder why the door’s locked?”

She shrugged. “If anyone’s nosy enough to try it, they’ll think I’m worried about nosy people.” She felt a smile trying to tug at the side of her mouth. “Honi soit qui mal y pense.”

“Huh?” He sat up straighter.

“Shame to him who thinks evil.” The thought of what he had found out this morning wiped the incipient good humor off her face. “That’s not a bad philosophy to keep in mind, Russ. People don’t always know what they think they know.”

Lois was just taking her coat off in the main office. “Good lord, did you see the clouds out there?” The secretary followed the Weather Channel religiously. “We’re set for a big one. The National Weather Service is predicting it’ll start up this afternoon. Two to four inches.”