Nothing.

Tom tried the knob, but the door was locked. We went around to the back door, which stood partly ajar. I stepped inside and called, but there was no answer. A couple of minutes' searching was enough to convince us that Sadie wasn't inside. We started for the outbuildings, calling as we went. Tom strode ahead, moving fast. I had to run to keep up with him.

The metal-roofed barn was a long, narrow building, lined up on a north-south axis, with double doors at both ends. The floor was hard-packed earth. The west side of the barn was stacked to the roof with baled hay and feed sacks. The east side was lined with a row of wide stalls that opened at the back into the fenced paddock. Three of the stalls were occupied, two by decorous paint ponies that thrust out their noses inquisitively, looking for carrots. The third contained

a brown horse with a silky dark mane, wearing a leather bridle. The horse was skittish, prancing, his eyes rolling.

"Goliath," Tom said over his shoulder. "Sadie's horse."

We found her in Goliath's stall. Her jeans-clad, denim-jacketed body was sprawled facedown on bloody straw, head twisted unnaturally to one side, steel gray hair matted with blood. One arm was pinned under her, the other flung out. Goliath tossed his head with a shrill whinny and shied away from us against the fence.

"Jesus," Tom breathed out.

He shoved the gate open, rushed in, and grabbed the horse's bridle. As Goliath reared, he yanked. "Out of the way," he gritted. "I've got to get this killer out of here."

While Tom was locking the horse into the next stall, I ran in, knelt in the straw beside Sadie, and felt at her neck. A moment later, Tom joined me.

"Is… is she alive?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "There's a pulse. Not much of one, but a pulse."

He rocked back on his heels, his face blanched. "She's alive," he whispered, as if he were dazed. "What'll we do?"

"We've got to get help." I yanked off my jacket and spread it over Sadie. "Give me your coat. There's got to be a phone in the house. How quick can the EMS get out here?"

Tom didn't answer. He seemed dazed. He dropped his head into his hands. "She's alive," he whispered again. "Dear God, she's-"

"Tom!" I shook him. "Get the EMS! Tell them we've got a head injury here, possible brain trauma. Tell them she was kicked in the head by a horse."

His head came up swiftly, and his staring eyes connected with mine. "Yeah," he said. He swallowed. "Yeah, right." He scrambled to his feet, energized, peeling off his suit

coat. "There's a phone by the barn door. I saw it when we came in." He tossed me the coat.

I turned Sadie on her side, rolled Tom's coat into a pillow, and propped up her head, touching her wound. She had sustained two crushing blows to the head, one above her ear and slightly forward, the other lower, behind the ear. The blood was dark and crusty; the edges of the wound were dried. Her face was drained of color, the leathery skin slack and gray and very cold. She'd been lying there for some time-how long, it was hard to tell. I stared down at her, feeling a sharp, poignant sadness. All her schemes and dreams, all her passion, all come to nothing. All come to this.

Tom was back. "They're on their way," he said. He glared at Goliath, who was standing, head hanging, in the nearby stall. "I ought to shoot that animal. He's always been vicious. Don't know why Sadie keeps him around."

Sadie moaned and stirred and I bent over her. "Sadie," I said into her ear. "Just be still. Help is on the way. You're going to be all right."

Her eyelids nickered. She tried to speak but the words wouldn't form. Her eyes closed.

Tom dropped to his knees and took her hand. "How is she?" he asked.

"She came around for a minute, but she's out again."

His face tensed, jaw muscles working. "Did she say anything?"

I shook my head and stood up. "She's in shock. We need blankets."

"You go," he said. "I'll stay with her." Holding her hand, he bent over her. "Sadie," he whispered urgently. "Sadie, can you hear me? You're safe now. The horse can't get you."

I sprinted. In the bedroom, I tossed aside a purple bathrobe and grabbed two blankets off the unmade bed. I was on my way back through the kitchen when I saw the white envelope on the table. I grabbed it and jammed it into the

pocket of my slacks. Then, just outside the door, I saw something lying on the ground and picked it up. It was a white and blue rectangle, immediately recognizable. It was an airline boarding pass with Olivia's name on it.

I stared at it. When I'd first seen Olivia driving die Honda last night, turning into St. Theresa's lane a little after ten, she had been coming from the direction of the M Bar M. In the parking lot, she had been frantic, half-hysterical. She'd practically run away from me. And now I knew why.

I knew that Olivia had been here last night, with Sadie. She had come here straight from the airport and fresh from her discussion with the Reverend Mother General. And I knew what the two women had said to one another. I could see them sitting at the kitchen table talking, could imagine Olivia's pleas for time, her desperate efforts to persuade Sadie not to reveal the deed restrictions. I could hear her begging Sadie to give her a chance to work out some sort of deal.

And I could imagine Sadie's response. She'd have been impassive and poker-faced at first. She'd have hidden her enjoyment of Olivia's frantic pleas. But in the end she wouldn't have been able to conceal her triumph at having Olivia and the order exactly where she wanted them. I could see, as clearly as if I'd been here, Olivia's fear, her tightfisted anger, and finally her fierce, uncontrollable outrage. I could hear Sadie's chuckle, spiraling into a derisory laugh, and picture Olivia's face, wrenched with passion-

But could I imagine Olivia following Sadie out to the barn? Could I picture her smashing her victim in the head, then dragging her into the stall? Could I see her, ignited by a compelling sense of purpose and inflamed by a vision of-

Yes, I could. Bloody hands have administered the sacraments and bloody hearts have ruled the Church. Bloody murders in the name of all that's holy are woven into the history of Christianity. It didn't take much imagination to

see Olivia transfigured, in a moment of raging impotence, mto an instrument of vengeance.

But neither this boarding pass nor my testimony about Olivia's behavior in the parking lot would be enough to convince a jury that a woman who had spent her life serving God had suddenly gone berserk and attempted to murder her neighbor. Evidence that she had been in her victim's kitchen wasn't enough. Evidence that she had been in the barn with Sadie-that was what I needed.

Back in the stall, I spread the blankets over Sadie's motionless body. ' 'Any change?'' I asked breathlessly.

Tom shook his head, his face strained, eyes shadowed. "Her pulse is erratic. Her breathing's shallow. She'll be lucky to pull through. Damn horse-I'll see that he's shot!"

I pulled the blanket up and turned her head slightly. 'Tom, look," I said. "Sadie is taller than I am, and Goliath isn't all that big. Could he have inflicted these wounds?"

"He could have if she was down." He nodded toward a bucket of half-spilled oats in the corner. "See? She came in here to feed him and bent over with the bucket. Something spooked him and he reared up. Sure, he could kill her. Those forelegs are like sledgehammers."

"But if he'd got her down, would he have stopped at that?" I asked. "She was helpless, bleeding. He'd surely have trampled her. But there's not another mark on her body. And when we came in, the horse was as far away from her as he could get, at the back of the stall."

Tom's face was grim. "Are you suggesting it wasn't the horse?''