"Yeah, okay," he agreed reluctantly. "I’ll go in just a minute, after you walk down the aisle."

"But if you hurry-"

"I want to watch you walk down that aisle," he said a bit more abruptly than he’d intended. In truth, what he wanted was to make sure she was in Noah’s capable hands before he left the church.

He didn’t give her time to argue further, had that been her inclination. He slipped inside the church and hurriedly walked along the back wall to the south corner so that he was directly in line with the sacristy. He was waiting for Tommy and Noah to come out so that he could get Noah’s attention.

A hush of expectancy fell over the crowd. Then Tommy walked out, and with a noisy clatter, the guests got to their feet. Tommy was wearing his ceremonial white and gold robes, and he was smiling as he slowly made his way around the altar to take his place at the top of the three steps in front of the main aisle. Once he was in position he folded his hands, then glanced at the pianist and nodded.

The second the music started, the crowd turned in unison to the double doors, craning their necks and shifting for the best view when the bride appeared at the entrance.

Noah had followed Tommy out onto the altar, but he stayed in the background by the sacristy door with his arms folded across his chest. His hands were hidden inside the sleeves of his black cassock, his right hand curled around the butt of his Glock as he slowly scanned the audience.

Nick raised his hand and motioned to Noah. The first bridesmaid had just started walking toward Tommy when Noah went down the side steps and crossed to the side aisle heading for Nick.

By the time he reached the corner where Nick was waiting, the second bridesmaid had just stepped into the main aisle.

"I got stuck doing an errand," Nick said. "Once Laurant’s down at the altar, I’ll leave. I’ll only be gone a couple of minutes, but I need you to cover her and Tommy until I get back."

"No problem," he assured him. "I won’t let either one of them out of my sight."

Nick looked relieved. "I know I’m being stubborn about this…"

"Hey, you’ve got to go with your gut," Noah said. "I’d trust your instinct over Wesson’s hard evidence any day of the week."

"Like I said, I’m only going to be gone five, ten minutes tops."

Noah nodded toward the back doors. "There’s Laurant. Lord, she’s hot."

"You’re in church, Noah."

"Right, but man oh man, does she look… good."

Nick barely glanced at her. While Noah slowly made his way back to the altar-getting waylaid by young women who grabbed hold of his hand to say hello as he passed their pews-Nick searched the faces in the crowd.

Nick spotted Willie and Mark near the front. Neither one of the men had shaved, but they had changed their clothes to short-sleeved shirts and ties. They, too, focused their complete attention on Laurant.

As soon as she reached Tommy and turned to join the other bridesmaids at the bottom of the steps, Nick went out the side door. He ran to his car, cursing loudly when he saw that the parking lot was crammed with cars blocking his exit. He got inside, started the motor, and then drove over the curb, and down the manicured lawn, trying to avoid the flower beds brimming with impatiens and rosebushes.

He went at a snail’s pace until he reached the main driveway. Then he floored it and sped down the street. He was fighting the instinct to turn around and go back to the church. He tried to reason away the panicky feeling. Laurant and Tommy were safe with Noah. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to them. As long as they were in church, they were okay. The ceremony and the mass would take about an hour, depending on how long Tommy’s sermon ran. Even if Nick was delayed, everything would be fine.

He wouldn’t be so tense if he had the results of the damned reports. What was taking so long? Nick thought about calling Pete now to find out if he knew anything more, but then he changed his mind. He knew Pete would call him the second he had the information.

He was going sixty by the time he reached the Vandermans’ street and had to brake hard to come to a screeching stop in front of their driveway. The car was still rocking as Nick shoved the gear into park. Bessie Jean and Viola were waiting on the sidewalk. He left the motor running as he jumped out and ran around to the other side to open the back door for them. He noticed Viola was holding a large plastic container but didn’t want to waste time asking her what it was. Besides, Bessie Jean was lacing into him, irritated that she was missing the wedding.

"I just hate to be tardy. I don’t like to be late for anything, not even-"

"Couldn’t be helped," Nick said, cutting into her complaints. "Let’s go, ladies."

"We might as well take our time now," Viola said. "We’ve missed the bride walking down to meet the groom, haven’t we?"

"Well, of course we have, Sister. The wedding was set to start at seven o’clock, and it’s after that now."

"Let’s get in the car, ladies," Nick urged, trying to hold on to his patience.

Viola wasn’t going to be rushed. "Nicholas, will you be a dear and run this cake across the street? Put it in the kitchen, please. The boys aren’t home."

"They’re at the wedding," Bessie Jean said. "They probably got there in plenty of time too."

"I baked the cake for Justin," Viola said, "because he helped with the flower bed."

"Couldn’t you take it over tomorrow?" Nick asked, his frustration near the boiling point.

"No, dear, it will go stale," Viola said. "I would carry it over, but I’m wearing my brand-new patent leather shoes, and they’re pinching my toes. It won’t take you but a minute," she added as she held the cake out to him.

It was quicker to do what she asked than stand on the curb arguing with her. Nick grabbed the cake out of her hands and ran across the street.

"I told you to wear sensible shoes, but you never listen to me," Bessie Jean chided Viola.

Nick crossed the yard and ran up the stone steps. He wanted to leave the cake at the front door, but he knew Viola was watching, and if he didn’t follow her instructions, she might nag him into going back.

What a pain in the ass, he thought as he shoved the door open. It was dark inside, and cool, the only sound the gentle hum of the central air conditioner kicking on. He crossed the cluttered living room, stepping on old newspapers and discarded pizza boxes and empty beer cans littering the floor. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a cockroach scurry into one of the boxes. He noticed the beer cans and bottles on all the tables and on the carpet by the coffee table, that also was piled high with old newspapers and empty beer cans. On top of the stack of papers was a large pink and yellow seashell, obviously meant to be decorative, but instead being used as an ashtray. The shell was overflowing with cigarette and cigar butts, and the air in the room was rank and stale.

The place was a pigsty. The dining room table was covered with an old, torn, paint-splattered tarp, and on top were several unopened cans of house paint and a couple of big plastic sacks from the local hardware store with paintbrushes sticking out. A swinging door connected the dining room to the kitchen, exactly like the one in Laurant’s house. Nick pushed the door open and then stepped into the kitchen.

The first thing that struck him was the pungent smell. It was strong, acrid… familiar. Whatever the stringent combination was, it made his eyes tear and his throat burn. Unlike the other rooms, the kitchen wasn’t cluttered. No, it was immaculate. The counters were bare, spotless, shining… like another kitchen he’d been in. Recognition was sudden. He remembered the odor… vinegar and ammonia… and he remembered exactly where he’d smelled it before. His gaze frantically searched the kitchen. Truth slammed into him like a wrecking ball. Everything clicked into place. He dropped the cake and instinctively reached for his gun as he whirled around toward the table, guessing before he looked what he was going to find. There in the center of the table, placed neatly between the salt and pepper shakers, was an extra large, clear plastic, quart-size jar of antacid tablets. Pink. The tablets were pink, just like he remembered. And right beside the jar sat a tall, narrow-necked bottle of red hot sauce. The only thing missing was the cocker spaniel trembling in the corner.