The nice woman behind the desk inside the nursing home offered to call the police for me. She was all apologies but “No,” she said, no one had come in to report anyone taking things from a car in the parking lot. Probably because who would think it suspicious, someone taking their own camera and a half dozen dead roses? I turned down the police. It was no use. Whoever had done it was far away. I could see stealing the camera—my fault, I never locked my car. Who would want the photos? And the dead flowers? The man at Deward kept flashing into my head. No one but that man could have known what I had with me. But why would he care about photos and dead roses? And he certainly couldn’t have followed me. His car had been elsewhere, upstream or downstream. He might have gotten my license number—still, what good would that do him? Could he have called someone? Nothing was probable and nothing improbable. It was all one huge scrambled mess.

I started my car, wondering who knew I was coming out to see Aunt Cecily. Dolly—would she tell anyone at the camp? Was Dolly my enemy now? I had to shake my head, driving south out of the parking lot. The thought of Dolly turning against me made me sick. There was no stopping what I had to do. I had to find out what had happened to my good friend, and then what had been done to Marjory Otis. Crystalline and the other women depended on me. I depended on me. I even had the feeling that Marjory depended on me.

The cost of a new camera hit me right in the gut. I’d paid five hundred for the one I’d just lost; probably well depreciated in the four years I’d been using it. I wondered if my homeowner’s policy would cover the cost of a new camera. Maybe, but if I remembered right I’d just upped my deductible to something like five hundred, to save money.

I’d buy used. Plenty of cameras on the Internet. I’d talk to Bill. Maybe there was a camera at the paper I could use, or buy. Nothing was insurmountable. No loss too great—I kept telling myself this as I thought about selling something I owned to cover a new camera, and not letting my shrinking bank account parade, like a TV crawl, through my head.

On the way home I stopped at EATS for coffee. I wanted to see if Dolly had been in and seen her family tree. If the paper was torn from the wall, I’d know Dolly had been around. But first, I wanted to drive by her house, see if she was there—though I didn’t know what she would be driving with no access to a patrol car. Dolly didn’t own a car of her own.

I drove past her house twice, going slow, seeing if I could spot anyone through the front windows. A car was parked in front, at the curb. An old white Oldsmobile with a rusted trunk. I figured maybe someone from the End Time cult was staying there, one of them who’d resisted Sy’s persuasive car “deals.” Many hadn’t resisted and newer cars bloomed along 131. Sy, the used car dealer, was banking on getting his money on October 27 precisely at twelve-o-one. He was betting against the cult. I guessed I was too; though, even if I considered myself a fairly intelligent and over-educated person, I was feeling the same unspoken fear I sensed creeping through town: What if they’re right and I’m wrong? Won’t I have egg on my face when the fire balls start shooting?

With a sinking feeling, the thought hit me that Dolly might have signed over her house to the Reverend Fritch. Eugenia had said people did this kind of thing—a token of faith. There was never talk of what would happen if the world didn’t end on the twenty-seventh, I’d been told. I wondered if the reverend would be long gone before then or, like others before him, he’d simply announce a new date for destruction.

I had nothing to lose. I got out of my car, walked up the steep cement steps to her door, and knocked. Inside, a voice called out, “Dolly, someone’s here.” I heard footsteps crossing the living room. The door opened and Dolly stood there wrapped in her robe with the wide sleeves rolled back and the hood off her very bald head. Dolly’s little eyes, lost in all that pale skin, made her face look as if it were melting. This wasn’t an attractive look for Dolly, who needed all the help she could muster.

She nodded but said nothing. I stepped up and pushed her aside, since she wasn’t asking me in. While she took a few steps back, looking none too happy to see me, I got far enough into the living room so she wouldn’t be able to throw me out without help.

That help was standing in the arch leading to a small hallway going back to Dolly’s bedroom on one side and the kitchen on the other. Sister Sally, her robe more in order, looked from Dolly to me and then back. She folded her arms and waited to see what Dolly was going to do. There would be no conversation with Sally. I detested the smirky woman who, simply by her smug smile, made me feel like a lesser being.

I looked hard at Dolly. “So? What’s going on? You give your house to the cult yet?”

“It’s not a cult. The reverend doesn’t take houses or money.”

“Bull shit!” I wasn’t there to play games or listen to excuses.

Dolly shook her head and closed the door—since it seemed I wasn’t leaving immediately—then walked around me, brushing so close I felt the hard material of the robe against the back of my hand.

“Listen, Dolly. I think I’m owed an explanation here. I don’t get what’s going on. Officer Winston is coming to see Lucky tomorrow, probably to take the investigation away from us. Lucky can’t see to town business and be working on Marjory Otis’ death too, not all by himself. I’ve got no official standing. I think there’s something out at Deward that has to be looked into. I took photos—remember when we were there the day I found her? Now somebody out at the nursing home in Bellaire, where the aunt is living, stole my camera, the photos, and … .” I looked at Sister Sally, who stood behind me, listening. “Something else. When I was out there I found …” I was just too uncomfortable, standing between them. I couldn’t finish what I wanted Dolly to know.

I changed tactics. “You’d better get over to the station tomorrow afternoon, be there to talk to Winston. If you don’t, well, I guess that’s all I need to know.” I took one step away, uncomfortable to be the sandwich filling between these two.

“What’d you find?” Dolly leaned back on the heels of her shoes and lifted her chin, challenging me—to what I couldn’t fathom.

“Come to the meeting and you’ll know. Only don’t bring her.” I pointed at Sister Sally. It was rude but I didn’t care. Dolly had turned against everything in her life because of this woman. I owed her nothing, except maybe a damned good fight for Dolly’s soul. Which side I was on—angel or devil—didn’t matter. I might not be the most religious person on earth, but I knew good from evil and had seen plenty of both in my life. Sally and the reverend and Brother Righteous—they weren’t on the side of the angels. So I guessed that would have to be me. I stood straighter and faced Sally.

“I don’t know what the hell you’ve been feeding Dolly. She’s always been a vulnerable person—needing family. You’re not it. None of you. I’ll tell you one thing: I can’t wait until the twenty-seventh and the twenty-eighth when the bunch of you slink out of town, dragging your forked tails… ”

“Emily,” Dolly demanded, “leave Sally out of this. She’s only trying to help …”

“Like you need help. What about the law? You’re willing to let a murderer get away?”

Dolly slowly shook her head. “There will be a time soon …”

“Yeah,” I scoffed, and pushed past her. “Yeah, after the world ends and you’ll be sitting up there on a cloud laughing at all the writhing bodies being tortured down below. Nice group you’ve joined, Dolly.”

I got to the door and opened it, seething. I wanted to slam the damned door so hard the whole house would shake, and maybe shake some sense into Dolly’s head.

“You better be at the station for that meeting. I don’t know if it will be a help or not, Officer Winston seeing you like this.” I indicated the robe and bald head. “But you’d better be ready to go to work, or we’ve lost it. And I’ve worked hard. I know a lot more than we did, even might be close to the murderer. I’ll tell you one thing: I’m not saying a word in front of her.” I indicated Sally. “What you do with the information afterwards is up to you. You’ll probably tell her. That’s how much I don’t trust you, Dolly. And that’s how sad I am that you used to be my friend.”

I slammed the door, but there was weather stripping or something in the way. The effect was weak.

The next afternoon I stopped at EATS for a pot of tea before going to see Lucky and Officer Winston. I was still fuming at Dolly. I even welcomed Cate, the old lady in the string gloves and open knit sweater over a green silk blouse, to come sit with me.

She slid into the booth.

“I think she’s already signed over her house,” I said.

She frowned and clucked. Eugenia brought a cup of fresh coffee to the table for her, bowing as she slid it into place. She offered to fill the creamer. Cate shook her head.

“I’d like to talk to her,” she said to me.

“Dolly? Why would she listen to you? You mean because of what happened to your daughter? I think Dolly’s too far gone for cautionary tales at this point.”

“Still, somebody’s got to do something.”

I agreed with that. Somebody should be doing something. But what? I had no illusion that Dolly would show up at the police station. And no illusion that we were still friends. That last thought made me sadder than the first. We’d always argued and complained about each other, but beneath that had been respect—me for her doggedness and ability to ferret out criminals, and I think she respected me because I had the education and experience she would like to have, but never had the opportunity to go after. Whatever it was, our friendship had been fun. Now, here was this bald, anonymous person I didn’t know, and didn’t want to know.

I looked over at the old woman with silly makeup running every which way on her face, and decided to trust her.

“Why don’t you come with me to the police station, just in case Dolly shows up?”

The woman nodded.

“If she doesn’t come, you can wait in the lobby and I’ll bring you back here when we’re done.”

“And if she does?”

“I’ll leave that up to you.”

We had an agreement. I gave up trying to drink my tea and we left. Eugenia gave me a thumbs-up as I paid. “You’ll be surprised what that woman can do for you,” she whispered toward me.

I leaned in over the counter. “She never pays. She’s here all the time. What’s going on, Eugenia?”

Eugenia looked at the woman, then shook her head at me. “I’ll let you know soon. It was … well … her idea to do things this way.”

“She’s probably scamming all of us, you realize that?”

Eugenia moved her head until her blond hair bounced and fell in tight tendrils across her forehead. “No. It’s just … well … some day you’ll understand.”

“Yeah.” I nodded, wondering what had happened to all these people I knew in Leetsville. Everyone was changed. They were on edge. It had to be the end of the world coming. I supposed that would make anyone bite a few nails until the threat was over.

“You hear?” Eugenia leaned back then forth, hugging herself with news. “I’m having a big ‘clean out your refrigerator’ dinner the night of the twenty-sixth. We’re gonna get together and I’ll cook whatever people bring in. No use letting all that food go to waste.” She threw back her head and laughed, gathered herself together, and went on. “The night of the twenty-seventh I’m planning a big ‘Whew, we made it’ celebration. You got anything to donate to either dinner, bring it on in, but don’t wait until the last minute. I gotta plan the menu.”