When I could bear to, I looked at him.

"Will you stay?" he asked.

We looked at each other for a long moment.

"Yes," I said. "For a while."

I never finished that drink, yet the next morning I felt I had a hangover. I had to take my mind off my life. I dressed briskly, putting on powdered blush more heavily than usual because I looked like hell warmed over, and went to Parnell Engle's cement business.

It was a small operation north of Lawrenceton. There were heaps of different kinds of gravel and sand dotting the fenced-in area, and a couple of large cement trucks were rumbling around doing whatever they had to do. The office was barren and utilitarian to a degree I hadn't seen in years. There was a cracked leather couch, a few black file cabinets, and a desk in the outer office. That desk was commanded by a squat woman in stretch pants and an incongruous gauzy blouse that was intended to camouflage the rolls of fat. She had good-humored eyes peering out of a round face, and she was dealing with someone over the phone in a very firm way.

"If we told you it would be there by noon, it will be there by noon. Mr. Engle don't promise nothing he can't do. Now the rain, we cain't control the rain... . No, they cain't come sooner, all our trucks are tied up till then. ... I know the weather said rain, but like I told you.... All right then, we'll see you at noon." And she hung up with a certain force. There was an old Underwood typewriter on the desk, and not a computer in sight. "Is Mr. Engle in?" I asked.

"Parnell!" she yelled toward the door behind her. "Someone here to see you." Parnell appeared in the door in a moment dressed in blue jeans, work boots, and a khaki shirt, his hand full of papers.

"Oh," he said unenthusiastically. "Roe Teagarden. You enjoying all that money my cousin left you?"

"Yes," I said baldly.

After a moment of Dodge-City staring at each other, Parnell cracked a smile. "Well, at least the Lord has shined on you," he said. "I hear you got married last month. God meant for woman to be a companion to man." "Amen," I said sadly.

"You need to talk to me?"

"Yes, if you have a minute."

"That's about all I do have, but come on in." He made a nearly gracious sweep with his handful of papers, and I went across the creaking wooden floor to Parnell's sanctum. I felt a surge of fondness for Parnell; his office was exactly what I expected. It was as dilapidated as the outer room, and there was a large reproduction of the Last Supper on the wall, and plaques with Bible verses were stuck here and there, along with a huge map of the country and a calendar that featured scenery rather than women. "You know I bought the Julius house," I said directly. Parnell neither expected nor appreciated small talk. "I want to know about the day you poured the patio there."

"I went over and over it at the time," he remarked. "And I don't know why you want to know, but I suppose it's none of my business. It's been a long time since I thought of that day."

He leaned back in his chair, wove his fingers together across his lean stomach. He pursed his thin lips for a moment, then began. "I was still working most of the jobs I got myself. I've prospered in the last few years, praise the Lord. But when T.C. called, I was glad to come. He'd made the form himself, it was all ready, he told me. I knew he was trying to set up his own carpentry business, handyman work, that kind of thing, so I knew he'd have done a competent job. So I went out there with the truck and the black man working for me then, Washington Prescott, he's dead now, had an aneurysm. We got there. The form looked fine, just like I expected. There was some rubble down in it, like people throw in sometimes, extra bricks, things you want to get rid of; but nothing like a body or anything that could have held a body. Stones, old bricks, seems like I remember a couple of pieces of cloth, rag. The girl Charity came out and said hi, I'd met the family before at church so I knew her. She said her dad had gone on an errand and called to say he wouldn't make it back in time, I should just go on and pour and send him a bill."

"You never saw him?"

"Just said that, didn't I?"

"Did you see other members of the family?"

"I'm about to tell you. You're the one wanting to know all about it."

"Sorry."

"Charity's boyfriend, Harley, came out to help if I needed him. And the mother-in-law, don't remember her name, came out of the garage apartment and watched us for a spell. While we were pouring, Washington was in the form getting everything to flow right, and then we were both finishing it. I could see in the kitchen window. Hope was in there wearing an apron, fixing supper, looked like. She waved at me but didn't come out to speak. I thought, She must be in a hurry. They must be going out later."

"She was usually friendly?"

"Hope? Oh, yes, she was a friendly woman, meek. That cancer was really draining her, but that day she looked better and moved easier than she had in the month or two I'd known her."

He'd seen every member of the Julius family but T.C.

"Was the light in the kitchen on?" I asked.

"No, I don't think so. There was still plenty of light. I got there at four, and it was late October; it wasn't real bright, come to think of it. But it was Hope I saw."

"And there's no way that after you left, bodies could have been put in the concrete."

"I went out late the next day after I'd talked to the police. That concrete was exactly like me and Washington left it, and no one had touched it." Parnell said this with a finality that was absolutely believable. He leaned up in his chair to a squeal of springs, and said, "Now, I think that's it, Roe." He got up to walk me to the door, so I slung my purse over my shoulder and obediently preceded him. I thought of one last question. "Parnell, why did you think Mrs. Julius was going out later?" "Well," he said, and then stopped dead. "Now why did I?" he wondered, scratching the side of his nose with the papers he'd picked up again. His narrow face went blank as he rummaged through his memory. "Because of the wig," he said, pleased at his ability to recall. "Hope was wearing her Sunday wig."

Next I went to the church.

I couldn't think of anywhere else to go.

It was unlocked. I could see across the right angle formed by the church and the parish hall, where the office was. Aubrey was seated at his desk. But I went in the church. It was warm and dusty. I sat at the back, let down a kneeler, and slid down on it.

I was hoping to bring order to chaos.

I'd promised Martin to stay with him, when we married. I loved him.

But he was—a Bad Guy. Or, at the very least, a Not-So-Good Guy.

I winced as I formulated the thought, but I couldn't deny its truth. If someone came to me—say, Aubrey—and told me, "I know a man who sells arms illegally to desperate people in Latin America," what would I assume? I would assume that this man was bad, because no matter what else was good in his life, it would not balance that piece of—evil. This man who was doing that evil act was my husband, the man who had made alternate honeymoon plans so he'd be sure I was happy, the man who thought he was extremely lucky to marry me, the man who'd fought a horrible war in Vietnam, a man who loved and supported an ungrateful son. I was convinced Martin was doing what he was doing not because he was intrinsically evil but because he was addicted to danger, adventure, and maybe because he thought he was serving his country. But what he was doing would poison our life together, no matter how much good that life contained. He was my sweetheart, he was my lover, he was an agricultural company executive, he was a veteran, he was an athlete, but I could not forget what else he did. I cried for a while. I heard the door of the church open quietly. I felt someone standing in the narthex behind me: Aubrey. He must have noticed my car. But I didn't turn around because I didn't want him to see my face. After a while I felt his hand brush my hair in a caress and rest lightly on my shoulder. He gave me a pat, and I heard the door squeak shut behind him.