"I guess I feel sorry for her. For anyone who doesn't have a mourner to her name."

Adam came to stand beside her. "You don't know a thing about her, M. J. Maybe she didn't want any friends. Or deserve any friends. Maybe she was a monster."

"Or just a victim."

He took her arm. "We'll never know. So let's just go inside somewhere. Get warm and dry."

"I have to go back to work."

"You have to stop being afraid of me."

She frowned at him. "What makes you think I'm afraid of anything?"

"The running. It's not that I don't understand it. But don't close up on me because of what I might or might not do. Don't hide."

"From you?" She laughed. "I don't have to hide from any…" She paused as a flicker of movement drifted through her peripheral vision. She focused on two figures, a woman and a child, both dressed in black, standing beneath a distant tree. It was an eerie apparition, almost ghostly through the mist. They seemed to be gazing in her direction, their faces very still and solemn. Or was it Peggy Sue Harriett's grave they were looking at?

Suddenly the woman noticed that M. J. had spotted them. At once the woman grabbed the child's hand and began to lead her away, across the grass.

"Wait!" called M.J.

The woman was moving quickly now, almost dragging the child after her.

M. J. started after them. "I have to talk to you!"

The woman and child were already scurrying towards a parked car. M.J. dashed across the last patch of lawn, reaching the blacktop just as the woman slammed her car door shut.

"Wait!" said M. J., rapping on the window. "Did you know Peggy Sue Barnett?"

She caught a glimpse of the woman's frightened face, staring at her through the glass, and then the car jerked away. M. J. was flung backwards. The car made a sharp U-turn, spun around in the parking lot, and took off toward the cemetery gates.

Footsteps thudded toward her across the pavement. "What's going on?" said Adam.

Without a word, M.J. turned and made a dash for her car.

"M. J.?" he yelled. "What the hell-"

"Get in!" she snapped, sliding into the driver's seat.

"Why?"

"Okay, don't get in!"

He got in. At once, M. J. turned the ignition and hit the gas pedal. They screeched across the slick blacktop and through the cemetery gates.

"We've got a choice," said M. J. as they approached the first intersection. "East or west. Which way?"

"Uh… east is back to town. She'd probably go that way."

"Then we go west."

"What?"

"Just a hunch. Trust me." M. J. turned west.

The road took them past a shopping mall, past a Pizza Hut, an Exxon gas station, a Burger King-the institutional underpinnings of Anytown, U.S.A. At the first red light, M. J. pulled to a stop behind a line of cars. The windshield filmed over with mist. She turned on the wipers.

A block ahead, a dark green Chevy pulled out of a Dunkin' Donuts parking lot.

"There they are," said M. J.

Adam shook his head in amazement. "You were right."

"First rule of escape: Never move in a straight line. See? She's heading north. I bet she'll circle back towards town. The long way around."

The light turned green. M. J. turned north, in pursuit of the Chevy. She kept her distance, with two cars between them. A half mile along, the Chevy turned east. As she'd predicted, her quarry was moving in a wide circle, taking secondary roads back to town.

"Is this why you went to the burial?" asked Adam.

"The same reason the cops went. To see who'd turn up to pay their last respects. I figured someone would. The same anonymous person who slipped Greenwood Mortuary the cash for that coffin. It was just bottom-of-the-line plywood and veneer, but it was paid for. Our mystery lady in that Chevy must've been the one."

"Did you get a look at her?"

"Just a glimpse. Late twenties, maybe. And a kid about six years old."

They followed the Chevy to the Stanhope district, a bluecollar suburb of single family homes lined up ticky-tack on postage-stamp lots. From a block away, they saw the Chevy pull into a driveway. The woman got out and helped the child from the car, and together they climbed the porch steps into a house. It was a pink stucco box, irredeemably ugly, with cast-iron bars on the windows and a TV antenna the size of an oil rig on the roof.

M. J. parked. For a moment they sat studying the house. "What do you think?" she said.

"It's like approaching a trapped animal. She could be dangerous. Why don't we just call the police?"

"No, I think she's afraid of the police. Otherwise she'd have called them."

After a pause, he nodded. "All right, we can try talking to her. But the first sign of trouble and we're out of there. Is that clear?"

They got out of the car and she smiled across the roof at him. "Absolutely."

They could hear the sound of the TV as they approached the front door. Some kids' show-cartoon voices, twinkly music. M. J. stood off to the side of the porch, and Adam knocked.

A little girl appeared at the screen door.

Adam flashed his million-dollar smile. "Can I talk to your mommy?" he said.

"She's not here."

"Can you call her, then?"

"She's not here."

"Well, is she in another room or something?"

"No." The voice wavered, dropped to a whisper. "She went away to heaven."

Adam stared at her pityingly. "I'm sorry."

There was a silence, then the girl said. "You wanna talk to my Auntie Lila?"

"Missy? Who's out there?" called a voice.

"Just a man," said the girl.

Bare feet slapped across the floor and a woman came to the screen door. She peered out blankly at Adam. Then her gaze shifted and she caught sight of M. J., standing off to the side. The woman froze in recognition.

"It's all right," said M. J. "My name's Dr. Novak. I'm with the medical examiner-"

"It was you. At the cemetery…"

"I've been trying to find someone who knew Peggy Sue Barnett."

"My mommy?" said the child.

The woman looked down at the girl. "Go on, honey. Go watch TV."

"But she's talking about my mommy."

"Just grownup stuff. Listen! I think Ducktales is on! Go on, you watch it."

The girl, faced with the choice of adult conversation or her favorite cartoon, chose the latter: She scampered off into the next room.

The woman looked back at M. J. "Why're you asking about Peggy Sue? You with the police?"

"I told you, I'm with the medical examiner." She paused. "I think Peggy Sue Barnett was murdered."

The woman was silent as she considered her next move. "It's not like I know anything," she said.

"Then why are you afraid?"

"Because people might think I know more than I do."

"Tell us what you know," said Adam. "Then we'll all know it. And you won't have to be afraid."

The woman glanced toward the sound of the TV, now blaring out a cereal commercial. She looked back at M. J. Then, slowly, she unlatched the screen door and motioned them to come in.