He was certain that she would seem equally friendly on the business end of a gun. "Nice work," he said. "I mean the way you stole this mob case from the sheriff."

"Well, thank you. And when I get six minutes to catch my breath, I'll find out who killed your brother."

"Will that be before or after you wind up an investigation of the sheriff's office? I know you're using Josh to get close to Cable Babitt."

Her smile was still holding, but she was stalling. Weighing the odds? Would a lie well told beat whatever cards he was holding? Her shoulders squared off, and her feet were firmly planted. The lady was waiting for proof of this theory of his.

Oren nodded his understanding. "The CBI has a field office over in Shasta. But here you are in my county, camped out with the Highway Patrol. So I know you're not investigating them. That leaves the sheriff's office. And the investigation has to be department-wide, or you wouldn't need a gang of troopers for backup."

Sally Polk adjusted her purse strap, preparing to leave him now. "If you give the sheriff a heads-up, I'll cut your balls into little pieces and feed 'em to the hogs." She said this with such warmth, such cheerful goodwill, that she left him smiling.

Oren entered the bedroom, an austere place with no personal items on display. There was a light rectangle on one wall, where a picture frame had been recently taken down, the sign of an extremely private person-or a man with something to hide. That missing picture, once positioned opposite the bed, would have been the last thing Swahn looked at when he put out the lamp at night and the first sight of each new day.

Swahn's brow furrowed as he, too, stared at that empty space, no doubt recognizing his error.

And, of course, nothing got past Hannah. She held a roll of adhesive tape in one hand and, in the other, a pair of closed shears that might pass for the lance of a tiny knight. She hovered over her patient, prepared to take on all comers-even Oren. There was conflict in her eyes, and it pained him to see it. After pulling a chair close to the bed, he turned to her. "Hannah? Give us a minute?"

"I just gave him a sleeping pill. Can't this wait?"

"It won't take a minute," said Oren. "I promise."

Hannah bent down to William Swahn, laying one hand on his shoulder, and they held the silent conversation of friends for life. She asked by a worried look if she should stay and defend him. Swahn smiled in assurance that there was no need to fight for him-but thanks.

When the housekeeper had quit the room, Oren said, "I've got a question about those pictures of you in the post office. Josh caught you passing an envelope to the librarian. You dropped it into her tote bag. If it was addressed to Mrs. Winston, I can see why you couldn't just mail it. Half the gossip in town comes from the postmaster."

Swahn closed his eyes and turned his face away. The interview was over.

When Oren came out of the bedroom, he found Hannah sitting on the staircase. She reached up to hand him a prescription. "That's for his pain. Could you have it filled at the drugstore? Your father will be here by the time you get back. So there shouldn't be any more questions about those pictures of Mr. Swahn and Mavis."

"Eavesdropping, Hannah?" He sat down beside her.

"Mr. Swahn's a gentleman. He won't tell you what was in that envelope. But I will. The judge used to do the same thing for years. The line at the post office was the best place for it. Before we had rural delivery, Mavis always picked up her mail at the same time every morning. Coventry didn't have anything as grand as welfare, and Mavis hadn't seen a paycheck for a while. You may have noticed-no one goes to the library anymore. Officially, it was closed for years. But Mavis still showed up for work every day."

"A creature of habit."

"Right. And crazy. I'm sure you noticed that, too. So, once a month, people with money-like the judge, like Mr. Swahn-they'd slip her some cash on the sly. It was done that way so she wouldn't have to thank anybody. The envelopes were labeled as donations to the library, and that was to save her pride. I know Addison was generous, too. His envelopes were the thickest ones. It took the judge a long time to force the town council into reinstating Mavis so she could get regular paychecks. But back then, she was the town charity."

Hannah shook her head, slowly, sadly. "Josh and his collection of secrets. Hanging that one out in public made your father so mad. Only a handful of people would've understood what was going on in those pictures, and maybe a year passed by before any of them caught on to what the boy had done-exposing a sick woman that way. The judge was the first one to notice. I remember when he came home from the post office-so angry. His last conversation with your brother was an argument. After that, they didn't speak for days. And then Josh was gone-dead."

Oren stopped on the sidewalk outside the drugstore. Down the street, Alice Friday stood on the verandah of the Straub Hotel. The psychic was keeping watch on the judge's Mercedes. Well, if she wanted a word with him, the feeling was mutual. He had read her old interview with the sheriff and memorized every line:

Alice Friday: I know that boy is dead. Only the dead speak to me.

Sheriff Babitt: Josh went missing a year ago. So that's hardly a revelation from the great beyond. Did the Ouija board tell you where to look for his body?

Alice Friday: The dead don't care about such things. I can tell you he's not at peace. Josh's death was violent.

Sheriff Babitt: Lady if you know something about that kid, you-

Alice Friday: He's my spirit guide. Now I came here today because I have a question for you. Josh keeps asking me all the time. What about the other one? Josh says you'd know about that. Now what does he mean?

Sheriff Babitt: If you were a real psychic, you'd know I'm planning to boot your bony ass out of my office.

Oren walked toward the Mercedes. He was about to open the door when the psychic noticed him and waved. Evelyn Straub came outside as Alice Friday ran down the steps and crossed the street, yelling, "Young man!" When she had closed the distance, she stood before him, thin arms folded, her stance resolute. "You shouldn't have walked out in the middle of my séance. You have to come back. Your brother isn't done with you."

He was distracted by the speeding car, a standout in the crawl of Coventry traffic, and now Alice Friday also stared at this unusual sight. A redhead sat behind the wheel and aimed her automobile at Oren. He pushed the psychic into a space between parked vehicles, and then he rolled onto the trunk of the Mercedes. The nose of the black sports car almost kissed his rear bumper.

Isabelle Winston had looked right through him as if he were not there, as if-

"That woman tried to kill us." Alice Friday's words were hushed. Her eyes were startled and wide.

"No," said Oren. "She tried to kill me."

This distinction was lost on the stick-thin woman. She reached into her purse to produce a small notebook and a pen. "Not to worry. I got a good look at the license plate." After jotting down the numbers, she saw the stout hotelier crossing the street, and she yelled, "Evelyn, go call the sheriff!"

"Not a good idea." Evelyn Straub walked up to the smaller woman. "Cable's got enough to deal with this morning."

Alice Friday grabbed Oren's arm. "That woman tried to murder him with her car."

"No," said Evelyn, "that's just how they say hello."

The glazier's truck was gone, and the cleaning lady's car had also departed. Oren was surprised to see the yellow stray standing at attention in front of William Swahn's door. The animal must have followed the judge down the road to Paulson Lane.