Crystalline tried to say something on the way home but I shook my head. This was beyond anything I could believe in. Not cranky, sad, needy, overly officious Dolly. Not my good friend—probably one of the best, and most frustrating, I’d ever had—caught up in this mass delusion. And after the 27 of October? Would she go on believing if given another date?

The sight of that vulnerable head with enough dips and valleys to compete with the moon made my stomach ache. Walking out, leaving her behind, was like walking away when your sister is about to face a firing squad.

I had to get the women, who had finally fallen into a respectful silence, back to their motel. Then I had to find somebody who could make sense of this whole thing. It didn’t feel like being caught up in a nightmare as much as being trapped in a space warp where nothing was as it should be and there was nothing solid to hold on to. Part of me wanted to go home, sit down, and cry. I couldn’t figure out what part of that was childish jealousy—my friend had turned her back on me—what part was fear for Dolly’s sanity, and what part was total, flaming anger.

I went back into Leetsville, to the police station—which was locked, with a number to call in case of emergency on a card pasted to the door glass. I drove over to The Skunk Saloon, parted the clouds of cigarette smoke, and found the pay phone on the wall by the men’s room.

I dialed the number. Lucky Barnard answered immediately. Because I was choking with everything I had bottled inside, all I could do was tell Lucky who I was and that I had to talk to him about Dolly. He was at home, just finishing Sunday supper, he said, and invited me to come right over.

Lucky lived a few blocks from the police station, on a dead- street of small white houses set under big trees, with plenty of space between houses. He met me at the door and said his wife had taken their son to her mother’s house so we could talk. I figured it must be all over town—that Dolly had joined the cult. Something this big wouldn’t have gotten by Leetsvillians, who seemed to pick news out of the air, as if it were pollen.

“What’s going on?” I asked as soon as I got in the door and sat on the nearest chair in their small living room with fall floral bouquets on every table. He sat and put his hands between his knees. He shook his head, taking a long, deep sigh before looking up. “I haven’t got a clue, Emily. All I can tell you is she came in yesterday and said she was taking the rest of the month off work. She’s got a lot of vacation coming to her but I asked if this was a good time—what with all the people in town and her on this murder case with you.”

“What’d she say?”

“That it was something she had to do. She started to say more then stopped, like she couldn’t bring herself to admit she’d joined the cult or there was something she didn’t dare tell me. I don’t know. I’ve never seen Dolly act like this before. She’s always been a responsible police officer. Oh, maybe she’s smashed a few of our patrol cars, but that’s because of trying too hard to do her duty. This … well … I don’t get it.”

He looked at me, face serious. “Maybe the two of us could work together. With Dolly out I won’t be much help. I mean, somebody’s got to take care of town business, and with this group here things are going crazy.” He hesitated. “It’s up to you.”

I looked at him hard. I wasn’t in law enforcement. Lucky was putting a lot of faith in me. Maybe more faith than I had in myself. He looked tired. The crowd in town had to be getting to him. There was a lot of worry on his face, as if he couldn’t figure what was going on with Dolly any better than I could. He was a good man, a good police chief, and probably the best friend Dolly had—other than me. With his help and with Lieutenant Brent or Officer Winston feeding me the forensics data as they got it from Lansing, I asked myself, why couldn’t I do this alone? What was holding me back?

Maybe a lack of training? Maybe a lack of experience dealing with murderers? This was scary stuff I was into. My instincts told me to run, let the state police, the sheriff, anybody but me, handle it. Then, from another part of my brain, came a resounding yell: Hell no, Emily. Something’s wrong. That’s not the Dolly you know. She’s in trouble. More going on here than you can imagine. Is this the kind of friend you are?

I looked at Lucky and skewed my face into a wince. “If I’ve got you, and all of Marjory’s friends, I’ll keep at it, Lucky. I won’t get in trouble—at least I hope not—and if I think I’m in way too deep, I’ll turn everything over to you and get out.”

He looked relieved. “Want to talk about what you’ve got so far? Maybe a fresh eye looking at things will help.”

“Hasn’t Dolly kept you up to date?”

“She’s been … well … I’d call it preoccupied. She told me the friends were in town and that you both talked to them, but that’s about as far as it got.”

I caught Lucky up to date—what the women had said about Marjory and her reason for coming to town; about looking into the Otis’ background in Leetsville; about seeing the tractor salesman and now having doubts that the mother had ever left town on her own.

“So, maybe two murders. Is that what you’re saying? You think Marjory got onto it? That’s why she came here? Murderer probably still in town, then. Must be a local. Probably the one who met her out at Deward—or went with her.”

“Had to be they went out together, in his car. Dolly found her car at the IGA.”

He thought awhile. “Yeah, there’s that. And the tire tracks at Deward didn’t match Marjory’s tires. You think maybe it could be a woman? Somebody she trusted? Seems kind of logical.”

“What about strangling her? You think a woman could do that without Marjory fighting back? She would have had to be overpowered.”

He nodded. “Probably right. So a man.”

“What I’m thinking,” I went on, “is that this whole thing goes back to when the mother disappeared. I don’t know what really happened, or when, but it seems like the pivotal point. The place where everything began.”

I went on to tell him I was going to Bellaire to see the aunt as soon as she was well enough.

“And that brother of hers, the guy running for the Michigan senate from downstate somewhere. I talked to him,” Lucky said.

I nodded.

“He’s coming to address the Young Republicans in Traverse City this Thursday. He’ll be over here right after that. See what he can do to help. I have to tell ya, he did ask me to keep it quiet. Because the election’s so close, he doesn’t want any of this getting out.”

“Yeah, like his sister getting murdered won’t hit the papers. You know I’m putting him in my next story—I mean, being her brother and all. Won’t take more than a few hours to be everywhere after that.”

He shook his head. “I told him you worked for the local paper and knew all about the case. He asked me to request you keep his connection to Marjory out of the paper until he has a chance to talk to you.”

“As if that’s going to happen,” I scoffed.

“The guy knows a lot of people in high places. Somebody will be onto your editor pretty quick.”

I had to smile. Anybody telling Bill Corcoran not to publish a legitimate story was in for a surprise. If anything, Bill would run the story sooner.

Lucky stood. We were finished. He showed me to the door. “I’ll call Winston. Let’s plan to meet with him on Wednesday. That all right? When I hear from Arnold Otis I’ll set up a time with him, too.”

I agreed and walked to the door. “And about Dolly? I’m going to do everything I can to get her out of that group …”

“Wish you luck, Emily. You know Dolly when she gets something in her head.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t know me when I get on a story. If I have to follow her to get her alone, without that awful Sister Sally around, that’s what I’ll do. She’s done dumb things before. This is just one of her dumber efforts.”

Lucky nodded, smiled, and walked me out onto his leaf-littered porch.

Home and no phone call from Dolly. I thought sure there would be. I could hear her strained little voice: Emily, it’s all a joke. You know how I am. Thought I’d get involved and see what they’re all about. A joke, Emily. Don’t get pissed off at me … we got a lot of work to do …

One call. Regina Oldenburg, Jackson’s assistant, asking me to call her. I dialed her number, wondering if I was going to get an earful about what a terrible letch Jackson was, or maybe a threat to sue him for sexual harassment. But no, such things wouldn’t come to me. It would give me too much joy. I let all of that waddle around in my brain for a while before realizing trouble for Jackson didn’t really make me happy after all. I’d just feel sorry for him again; a brilliant man who hadn’t caught on how to be a good human being. He tried—I’d give him that. But the actual knowing was beyond him. Some people didn’t always get it, what being human meant. By the time I called Regina I was hoping the call was to tell me how much she enjoyed meeting me and how she hoped we could be friends … and all that other stuff everybody hopes for but rarely gets.

This time I got what I wished for.

Regina answered. There were voices in the background. She turned away from the phone to ask her dad to be a little quieter. That was followed by laughter, then quiet.

“Hi, Emily. Sorry about the party the other night. Your Jackson can be a little dense, I’m finding.”

I had to laugh. “Once in a while,” I agreed.

“Well, I’m still working for him, but we have very strict rules, and one is that I’m not going anywhere with him as a date. Only business.”

“Good rule,” I said, hoping I hid my skepticism.

“Anyway, the reason I called was because you asked me to find out if Daddy knew anything about Arnold Otis, remember?”

I agreed that I did remember, though I hadn’t until she called.

“Well, Daddy said Mr. Otis is coming to town this week. Did you know that?”

I said I’d heard.

“Daddy said that he remembered something involving Mr. Otis from way, way back. He thinks it was when he was in college—I mean Mr. Otis. It was a story he told at a Young Republican party back then, about his mother dying when he was a young boy.”

I thought fast. The woman didn’t die when Arnold was young. She ran off. Why would he change the story? To make himself look better? After all, a mother running off with a tractor salesman might not have played as well with the party, or with the public. I hoped to meet Arnold Otis soon so I could ask him. Here was the wedge I needed. The small fact that might throw him off.

I thanked Regina and wished her luck with Jackson. We talked for a minute about my computer system versus hers but decided there would be no problem with my files since we both used Microsoft and had virtually the same program. I hung up after telling her to call if she needed help—and meaning it. I liked her and thought maybe she was the right person to handle Jackson’s need to dominate every woman in his life, and maybe the right person to keep him off my back for a while.