“I can’t relate.” Dorsey looked out the window. “I have no siblings and my mother died when I was young.”

He glanced over at her as if he was about to say something, then thought better of it.

“And Paula Rose-you get the feeling she’s played that baby-of-the-family role for all it’s worth?” he asked.

“Definitely.” She nodded. “And I think I’d bite my tongue off before I went to her for guidance for any problem I was having. I noticed a definite lack of charity in her attitude toward her long-lost sister.”

“You’re referring to her comment about ‘the way Shannon turned out’?”

“Yeah. Very cold. Turned on her sister like that.” Dorsey snapped her fingers. “I didn’t get any ‘judge not’ vibes from her.”

“I can hardly wait to see what Grandma brings to the mix.”

“Well, let’s see if we-that would be you, actually-can strike out as thoroughly with the matriarch. Shall we bet on how long it takes you to piss her off? I’m thinking fifteen minutes, tops.”

“What’s the wager?”

“Loser buys lunch.” She looked at her watch. “Make that dinner. And the winner gets to chose the place.”

“You’re on. I should warn you, though. I’m planning on winning the elder Mrs. Randall over with my charm. I’m going to be a model of sensitivity.”

“Plan on finding a place that serves great barbecue, then, because that’s what I’m going to want as my winnings.” Dorsey took her cell phone from her pocket and checked for messages. There were none. She bit the inside of her lip, and wondered where her father was and why he hadn’t returned her calls.

“I was actually thinking along the lines of some good old-fashioned Southern comfort food.”

“We’ll see who gets to-oops!” Dorsey referred to the directions Judith Randall had given them. “I think you should have gone straight instead of making a turn at that stop sign. Mrs. Randall lives around the corner on the next street.”

“I just wanted to take a look around the back of the church property.” He reduced his speed to a crawl as they approached the wide drive that marked the rear of the church’s parking lot. “You never know what you might find.”

“Like that blue van parked behind the church?” she asked.

“Yeah. Like that.”

He turned into the lot and parked next to the dark blue vehicle. THE CHURCH OF THE RESURRECTION AND THE LIFE was painted on the both front doors in white block letters. Andrew parked the car and got out, but before he’d taken three steps, a man emerged from the stairwell leading up from the church basement. He was tall and broad and-though he looked to be in his late sixties-vigorous. He eyed Andrew suspiciously when he saw him standing close to the van.

“Help you with something?” He took a key ring from his pocket and unlocked van’s side door.

“You work here?” Andrew smiled and tried to look friendly and nonthreatening. He wished he’d taken off his tie and jacket when he’d left Reverend Paula Rose’s house. He was pretty sure his attire didn’t lend itself to casual questioning around Hatton.

The man nodded. “I am fortunate enough to offer my time in service to the church, yes sir.”

“You drive this van?”

“Right again.” The man wiped sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief that he pulled from a pocket and turned to watch Dorsey round the back of his vehicle. “Hot as blazes today, isn’t it?”

“Sure is.” Andrew nodded. “May I ask what you use the van for?”

“May I ask why you’re asking?”

“We’re investigating something for the Randall family.”

“I use it for church business, whatever Pastor Paula wants me to do. On Sundays I pick up members who don’t have a ride to services, either ’cause they’re too sick or too old to drive themselves, or maybe ’cause their car broke down or something. Use it during the school year to pick up folks for choir and such. Starting next week, I’ll be using it to pick up kids for Bible camp. Church runs camp every year, two weeks in June, two weeks in July.”

“Anyone else drive it?” Andrew asked. “Reverend Paula, for example?”

“Nope, she hasn’t driven it once that I know of. No one else drives it, either. Just me.” He returned the damp cloth to his back pocket.

“Where is it garaged at night?”

“Garaged? Ain’t no garage. It goes home with me, every night, sits in my driveway until I drive back over here in the morning.”

“Weekends, as well?”

“Every day, seven days a week. Like I said, I pick up people for Sunday services, drive ’em back home again.”

“Thanks for your time.” Andrew started back to his car, then turned to ask, “This van hasn’t been painted recently, has it?”

“Nope. Always been dark blue, far as I know.”

“Thanks.” Andrew waved and got behind the steering wheel just as Dorsey got in her side and rolled down the window.

“You suspicious of Reverend Paula?” she asked.

“I’m suspicious of everyone right now.”

“The van spotted on the island that night was a light color, right?”

“That’s why I asked if it had been painted.” He circled around to the exit. “But you know that would have been too easy.”

“Right. And it never is.” She snapped on her seat belt.

“It would have been nice though. There’s the sister with the motive-God forbid anyone should find out the minister’s sister not only did not die twenty-four years ago, but ran away and has been doing the dirty for money all this time. Here’s the van the minister used to dispose of the body. And of course, as soon as we question the good reverend about it, she’ll break down and confess.”

“I’ve never had it happen like that, all wrapped up and tidy with the first suspect on the list.” She added wistfully, “Though I’ve heard about such things happening. Might be nice, just once, just to see how it feels. The very thought of a murder confession…well, it’s always been a fantasy of mine.”

“You’ve never had anyone confess? You’re kidding, right?”

“Not to murder.” She shook her head. “Everyone is always innocent. You can catch someone at the scene with the murder weapon in hand and they’ll tell you they were just holding it for someone. You forget, I’ve been in Florida for six years. That’s a death penalty state. Nobody admits to anything.”

“You’ve been in Florida for the entire time you’ve been with the Bureau?” Andrew drove slowly to the corner, then asked, “Which way?”

“Right, then right again at the next corner. Then straight for a block.” She folded the paper and stuck it in the top of her handbag. “I was in Cincinnati for a few years before I was transferred to Florida.”

“ Cincinnati was your first assignment?”

“Yes. That’s where I worked with Aidan. He was only there for my first few months, though.” She smiled wryly. “Then he went off to play with the big kids.”

“The big kids?”

“John Mancini’s unit.” She turned in her seat. “I think we passed it.”

He pulled to the curb and parked. “We can walk back. Which house is it?”

She got out of the car and checked the number on the nearest house. “I think it’s that gray bungalow about four or five houses back. The one with the black shutters and the red geraniums out front.”

The house they’d parked in front of looked vacant, and a sale sign had been placed at the edge of the unkempt lawn. The sidewalk was cracked and uneven in spots. By the time they arrived at Martha Randall’s home, Dorsey was wishing she’d opted for low-heeled shoes.

“This is it.” She nodded in the direction of the low-slung house with the wraparound porch. On one side, a trellis supported a trailing vine heavy with red-orange flowers. “Cute, but you’d have thought the family would have moved her into a better neighborhood.”

She glanced at the houses on either side of the house, then at those across the street.

“It does seem a bit run-down,” Andrew agreed as they walked to the front door. “Think she’s heard from her daughter-in-law by now?”