MANFRED'S mother, Rain Bernardo, was a younger version of her mother. The resemblance was only physical, I discovered. Rain was not the least bit psychic, and she hadn't had any special rapport with Xylda. Rain worked in a factory and had risen to management level. She was proud of that. She was proud of being a single mom. She was dismayed that Manfred had followed in Xylda's footsteps and not hers. But she loved her son, and she'd loved her mother, and she was pretty subdued at Manfred's bedside. "Subdued," for Rain, meant she only talked fifty words a second instead of a hundred.

She had the family red hair, and she had the curves of her mother, but in Rain's case they weren't nearly as generous. In fact, Rain was a very attractive woman, and I was pretty sure she hadn't seen her fortieth birthday yet.

We were there when the first of the usual callers came in. Barney Simpson was more solemn than I'd ever seen him, and I wondered if he was a friend of Tom Almand's. After Barney had asked his usual questions about his patient's comfort and contentment with the treatment he was receiving in the hospital, he lingered. I wondered if he was admiring Rain. After all, he was a divorced guy.

"I'm very sorry about your mother," Barney told Rain. "She was a colorful lady, and I know you'll miss her. She made quite an impression on this little community in the short time she was here. She'll be long remembered."

That was a model of tact, I thought. Though Manfred was lying there pale and in pain, a twitch of a smile crossed his face.

"I appreciate your saying that," Rain said, not to be outdone in courtesy. "Thank you for taking such good care of her. Manfred said you came by to see her. Her health was so poor that both Manfred and I know she was due to go anytime, and we don't blame the hospital for anything." She cast a quelling look at Manfred, who had closed his eyes, absenting himself from the whole conversation.

"Manfred thinks she should have an autopsy," Rain said. "And she hadn't been under a doctor's care here in Doraville. Though of course she had doctors in Tennessee, and she saw her cardiologist right before she left for Doraville. What do you think?"

Dr. Thomason came in then, said, "It's raining outside, folks," and shook a few droplets off his umbrella. "Just rain, not ice," he added reassuringly.

"It's good you came in here now," Barney said. "Let me tell you what we've been talking about." Barney repeated Rain's question. "What about it, Len?" he asked.

"Depends on what we hear from her doctor in Tennessee," Len Thomason said, considering. "If her doctor there is of the opinion that her death was expectable, not a surprise, no questions to be answered about it, then I think it would be reasonable to assume we didn't need an autopsy, and that's what I'll recommend to the coroner. On the other hand," he went on, raising both his hands to show us "caution," "if that doctor isn't satisfied—and he knew her best—we'll have to check into it."

Dr. Thomason had put it in such a matter-of-fact way that you felt quite sane and reasonable after listening, and you were sure this was the right course. That manner of his must have been invaluable to his practice. It was almost enough to make me ashamed I'd suspected he might have had something to do with the boys' deaths. Now, as I watched him smile gravely at some question of Rain's, I could only imagine all over again how easily Len Thomason could persuade a boy to go with him anywhere. Everyone trusts a doctor. There were a hundred things he could have said to induce a young man to go off with him. Right now I couldn't think of any, but I was sure given time I would.

Even Barney Simpson, who didn't seem like the most lighthearted of individuals, perked up around Dr. Thomason. I remembered he'd gone in to talk to Xylda the night before; no, he'd peeked in and gone away. He hadn't even gone into the room.

Doak Garland was across the hall, praying with some relatives outside a room with an "Oxygen in Use" sign on the door. Anyone would go with him, too. He was so meek and mild, so pink and polite.

Why was I even worried about further suspects? Tom Almand had been arrested. The case was closed. It was hard to believe one man could cause so much misery. Even Almand's own son had died of his evil. There was something about the whole thing that felt—unsealed, uncompleted.

I was sure that Tom had had an accomplice, a partner in crime.

Once I admitted this to myself, the idea wouldn't go away. While Tolliver talked to Barney Simpson, and Rain discussed Manfred's injury with Dr. Thomason, I picked out the reasons I suspected this. I had them all in my head when I looked up to meet Manfred's eyes. I felt Manfred connect with me. Suddenly Manfred said, "Mom."

Startled, Rain turned to the bed. "What, honey? You feeling okay?"

"I've been thinking," he said. "I won't argue with you about the autopsy if you'll let Harper touch Grandmother and tell us what she sees."

Rain looked from Manfred to me, and I could tell from her compressed lips that she was trying to hide revulsion. She not only hadn't fully believed in her mother's talent, she had loathed it. "Oh, Manfred," she said, really upset, "that won't be necessary. And I'm sure Harper wouldn't want to do that."

"I'll know how she died," I said. "And I'm sure cheaper and less invasive than an autopsy."

"Harper," she said, giving me a face full of disappointment. She struggled with herself for a minute, and I felt sorry for her. Abruptly she swung toward Dr. Thomason. "Would you mind very much, Doctor? If Harper—sees—my mother?"

"No, not at all," Dr. Thomason said. "We medical people long ago realized that there's more to this earth than we see in our practice. If that would bring comfort to your son, and you're agreeable…" He seemed sincere. But then, a sociopath like the one who'd killed the boys would seem very normal, right? Otherwise, people would have spotted him a long time ago.

"Have you heard anything about the boy who was taken to Asheville?" I asked.

"Yes, I have." Thomason nodded several times. "He's not talking, not at all. But they don't think his life is in danger. They think he'll recover. Most of his silence is psychological, not physical. That is, his tongue and voice box are in working order. Lungs, too. Well. Miss Connelly, the body is at Sweet Rest Funeral Home on Main. I'll call them after I leave here, and they'll be expecting you."

I inclined my head. I wasn't looking forward to this, but I did want to know what had taken Xylda into the other world. I owed her that much. And Manfred, too.

"How long do you think Manfred will need to stay in the hospital?" Rain asked.

Dr. Thomason, who'd been on the point of leaving the room, turned to give Manfred an assessing look. "If all his vitals stay good, and he doesn't run any fever or have any other symptoms that scare me, tomorrow should be good," he said. "How about you, young lady? Your pain better?" he asked me suddenly.

"I'm doing much better, thank you," I said. Barney Simpson had been trying to find a break in the conversation to take his leave, and he said "See you later" to everyone in the room and strode out the door.

Maybe it was the pain, maybe it was the shock to his nerves the past week had been, but out of the blue Manfred said, "Well, when's the wedding?"

There was instant silence in the room. Dr. Thomason completed his own departure in a hurry, and left Rain looking from the bed to Tolliver and me, almost as astonished as we were.

I'd known Manfred wouldn't be happy, but I hadn't thought he'd be angry. I told myself to bear in mind his many shocks of the past few days. Tolliver said, "We haven't set a date yet," which was yet another surprise I hadn't wanted.