“Not quite.” He fished the keys out of his pocket and started the ignition. “Hold on to your hat, sweetheart. That sweet old biddy is no moneylender. She’s a blackmailer.”

Christina walked briskly down the carpeted steps of Philbrook Museum, thinking, Would they never stop changing this place? It was originally the private Italian-villa style mansion of Frank Phillips, oil baron extraordinaire and founder of Phillips Petroleum. After it passed out of the family hands, it became a tourist attraction and locus for traveling art exhibitions. Then the big change-millions were spent adding wings to create a museum, with room for a permanent collection, traveling shows, a restaurant, and, of course, a gift shop. Personally, Christina thought the mansion got somewhat lost, now that it was buried under all these additions, even though it was lovely having another great art museum in Tulsa.

And now they’ve updated the restaurant, she noted. Spiffy modern metal chairs and matching tables, and an all-new California-style menu. It seemed a bit antiseptic to Christina, but she supposed it hadn’t really been designed with her in mind. They were presumably going for the ladies-who-lunch crowd, of which Christina was definitely not a member.

Andrea Beale, however, was. She was on her second or third glass of white wine by the time Christina arrived. Christina detected a change in Andrea’s manner almost immediately. Some of the fire she had displayed in the office had fizzled. There was a disconnected look in her eyes. A fuzzy wall between her and the rest of the world which, alcohol-induced or not, Christina sensed Andrea preferred to have surrounding her.

“Thank you for inviting me to lunch,” Christina said, taking her seat at the table. “I think this is a much friendlier environment than the office.”

Andrea shrugged, a minimalist gesture. “Beats eating alone.”

“I suppose your husband is busy preparing for trial. I know Ben is.”

Andrea took a sip of her wine. “Daniel never takes lunch with me. He’s too busy. Always on the go. Lots of projects. Saving the world.”

Even if Christina had been sloshed herself, she could not have missed the note of irony. “Ben’s told me about some of his political and social work. I was impressed.”

“Oh, yes. Everyone is.” The waiter appeared at her side. “Glass of wine, Christina?”

“No, thank you. I have so much work to get done today. I’ll have the flavored tea, please.”

Andrea smiled slightly and ordered another glass of wine for herself.

Christina scanned the menu. It was all too haute cuisine for her taste. She knew the portions would be too small and everything would have too much goat cheese or sun-dried tomatoes. After some deliberation, she went with the Caesar salad. Andrea ordered some sort of pasta.

Once the waiter brought Christina her raspberry tea and Andrea her next glass of chardonnay, Christina decided to start the questioning.

“I want you to know that Daniel is in good hands,” Christina said reassuringly. “Ben is a great criminal attorney. The best, I think.”

“He seems rather young.”

“That’s just because he’s slim and baby-faced. Trust me, he’s got more experience with murder trials than anyone I know. And he’s very smart. Fast on his feet.”

Andrea nodded. “And cute, too.” She eyed Christina carefully. “I think he’s cute, anyway. Don’t you?”

Christina cleared her thoat. “I’ve been working with him so long, I hardly notice those things anymore.”

“Indeed.”

“But I know he’s determined to win this case. And so am I.” She readjusted herself slightly. These metallic chairs might be stylish modern art, but they were damned uncomfortable to sit in. “Do you have any theories about what happened?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“At our meeting last week you said you thought it was all politics. That Daniel’s enemies at the church were out to get him. At trial we’ll need some alternative explanation for the murders, and we may well use that one, if we can come up with some evidence in support. But to blame the church is a little nebulous. It would be better if we could name an individual or individuals who could have been behind the killings.”

“So you can call them to the stand Perry Mason-style and try to browbeat a confession out of them?”

“So we can raise doubt in the minds of the jurors as to Daniel’s guilt. That’s what it’s all about for the defense, remember. We don’t have to prove who did it. We just have to establish that there’s reasonable doubt about Daniel.”

“I hope you’ll do more than that. Daniel shouldn’t have this hanging over his head for the rest of his life. Some people will always assume he was guilty, even if he gets off. Unless you discover who the murderer really was.”

Christina nodded. Andrea wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know. But at this juncture, their first priority had to be getting a not-guilty verdict-regardless of what other people thought. “We’ll do our best.”

“I really couldn’t single anyone out. I don’t know who might be a murderer. I mean, I can tell you who the ringleaders of the anti-Beale movement were. Both of the dead women. Susan Marino. George Finley. And of course, Ernestine Rupert.”

“Hard to imagine that elderly lady strangling two young women.”

“Well, she wouldn’t do it herself. She’d hire someone. Ernestine believes she should be able to buy anything she wants-including control of the church. Daniel was able to hold her at bay for a time, because he supported that pro-choice organization she founded and still chairs-the PCSC. But after a while, that wasn’t enough for her. She wanted him gone. And she had full vestry support.”

“Have you seen anything at the church-or elsewhere-that you think might possibly be connected to the murders? Something… suspicious? Something unusual?”

Andrea shook her head. “I’m sorry. Nothing comes to mind.”

“Has anyone said anything out of the ordinary? Made any threats?”

“Well, almost everyone in the church has threatened to do one horrible thing or another if Daniel doesn’t resign. Which he won’t.”

“And what’s your take on that? Why won’t he go?”

“He’s too proud,” she said flatly. “He won’t admit defeat. Ego.”

“Not that he thinks he’s been called to the church by God?”

“They’re the same thing. How could any man ever believe he was doing the work of God unless he had a little ego? How could any man cling so tenaciously to his position unless he believed he was doing the right thing? Believe me, most priests-probably all other priests-would’ve resigned long before it got to this point. But not my Daniel. The stronger the storm, the more resolute he becomes. He’s like a character out of the Old Testament.” She laughed bitterly. “I’ll bet Moses’ wife had a hard time of it, too.”

“What’s your take on why Daniel has had so many problems at this church?”

“Well,” she answered thoughtfully, “Daniel is a child of the sixties. And the members of the vestry are children of the nineties. The 1890s.”

Christina smiled.

“Churches have different personalities,” Andrea continued. “People don’t realize it, but it’s true. The members create a group mind-a gestalt, if you will. Back at St. Gregory’s in Oklahoma City, the largest slice of the membership was composed of raised-in-the-sixties liberal activists-or would-be activists. Daniel was a perfect fit. But the transfer to St. Benedict’s was a mistake. Suddenly he was confronted with a group of people who voted for Reagan and carry NRA sharpshooter certificates in their wallets. It was a disaster from the get-go.”

“I don’t normally think of religion as being so… political.”

“Well, religion isn’t. But churches are. Oh, don’t get me wrong. Daniel had some supporters, at least at the outset. But not many. Not enough.”