Tessa took Sara’s hand as they entered the church. “Nice, huh?”

Sara nodded.

“I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I hope I don’t disappoint you.”

Tessa squeezed her hand. “How could you disappoint me?” she asked, leading Sara to the door behind the pulpit. She explained, “It starts in the fellowship hall, then we come in here for the service.”

Tessa opened the door, revealing a large, brightly lit hall. There was a long table down the center with enough chairs to seat at least fifty people. Candelabras were lit, their flames gently flickering. A handful of people were sitting at the table, but most were standing around the roaring fire at the back of the room. There was a coffee urn on a card table under a bank of large windows along with what looked like the infamous honey buns Tessa had mentioned.

Getting ready for tonight, Sara had made the grand concession of wearing panty hose, some long-ago admonishment from her mother about the connection between bare legs in church and burning in hell coming into her mind as she picked out something to wear. She saw from the crowd that she could have saved herself the trouble. Most of them were in jeans. A few of the women wore skirts, but they were of the homespun kind she had seen on Abigail Bennett.

“Come meet Thomas,” Tessa said, dragging her over to the front of the table. An old man was sitting in a wheelchair, two women on either side of him.

“Thomas,” Tessa told him, bending down, putting her hand over his. “This is my sister, Sara.”

His face was slackened on one side, lips slightly parted, but there was a spark of pleasure in his eyes when he looked up at Sara. His mouth moved laboriously as he spoke, but Sara couldn’t understand a word he said.

One of the women translated: “He says you have your mother’s eyes.”

Sara wasn’t under the impression she had her mother’s anything, but she smiled politely. “You know my mother?”

Thomas smiled back, and the woman said, “Cathy was here just yesterday with the most wonderful chocolate cake.” She patted his hand like he was a child. “Wasn’t she, Papa?”

“Oh,” was all Sara could say. If Tessa was surprised, she didn’t show it. She told Sara, “There’s Lev. I’ll be right back.”

Sara stood with her hands clasped in front of her, wondering what in the hell she had thought she could accomplish by coming here.

“I’m Mary,” the woman who had spoken first told her. “This is my sister Esther.”

“Mrs. Bennett,” she said, addressing Esther. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“You found our Abby,” the woman realized. She wasn’t exactly looking at Sara, rather somewhere over her shoulder. After a few seconds, she seemed to focus back in. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“I’m sorry there wasn’t more I could do.”

Esther’s lower lip trembled. Not that they looked anything alike, but the woman reminded Sara of her own mother. She had Cathy’s quietness about her, the resolute calm that came from unquestioning spirituality.

Esther said, “You and your husband have been very kind.”

“Jeffrey’s doing everything he can,” Sara said, knowing not to mention Rebecca or the meeting at the diner.

“Thank you,” a tall, well-dressed man interrupted. He had sidled up to Sara without her knowing. “I’m Paul Ward,” he told Sara, and she would have known he was a lawyer even if Jeffrey hadn’t told her. “I’m Abby’s uncle. One of them, that is.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sara told him, thinking he stuck out like a sore thumb. She didn’t know much about fashion, but she could tell the suit Paul was wearing had set him back a bit. It fit him like a second skin.

“Cole Connolly,” the man beside him said. He was much shorter than Paul and probably thirty years older, but he had an energetic vibe, and Sara was reminded of what her mother had always called “being filled with the spirit of the Lord.” She was also reminded of what Jeffrey said about the man. Connolly looked harmless enough, but Jeffrey was seldom wrong about people.

Paul asked Esther, “Would you mind checking on Rachel?”

Esther seemed to hesitate, but she agreed, telling Sara, “Thank you again, Doctor,” before she left.

Apropos of nothing, Paul told Sara, “My wife, Lesley, couldn’t make it tonight. She’s staying home with one of our boys.”

“I hope he’s not ill.”

“Usual stuff,” he said. “I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.”

“Yes,” she answered, wondering why she felt as if she needed to keep her guard up around this man. For all intents and purposes he looked like a deacon at the church- which he probably was- but Sara hadn’t liked the familiar way he spoke to her, as if by knowing her job, he knew something about her.

Putting a finer point on it, Paul asked Sara, “You’re the county coroner?”

“Yes.”

“The service for Abby is tomorrow.” He lowered his voice. “There’s the matter of the death certificate.”

Sara felt a bit shocked that he had been forward enough to ask her, but she told him, “I can have copies sent to the funeral home tomorrow.”

“It’s Brock’s,” he told her, naming Grant’s undertaker. “I’d appreciate it if you would.”

Connolly cleared his throat uncomfortably. Mary whispered, “Paul,” indicating their father. Obviously, the old man was troubled by this talk. He had shifted in his chair, his head turned to the side. Sara could not tell whether there were tears in his eyes.

“Just a bit of business out of the way,” Paul covered. He changed the subject quickly. “You know, Dr. Linton, I’ve voted for you several times.” The coroner’s job was an elected position, though Sara was hardly flattered, considering she had run uncontested for the last twelve years.

She asked him, “You live in Grant County?”

“Papa used to,” he said, putting his hand on the old man’s shoulder. “On the lake.”

Sara felt a lump in her throat. Close to her parents.

Paul said, “My family moved out here several years ago. I never bothered to change my registration.”

“You know,” Mary said, “I don’t think Ken has, either.” She told Sara, “Ken is Rachel’s husband. He’s around here somewhere.” She pointed to a round-looking Santa Claus of a man who was talking to a group of teenagers. “There.”

“Oh” was all Sara could say. The teens around him were mostly girls, all dressed as Abby had been, all around Abby’s age. She scanned the rest of the room, thinking that there were a lot of young women here. She studiously avoided Cole Connolly, but she was keenly aware of his presence. He seemed normal enough, but then what did a man who could bury and poison a young girl- perhaps several young girls- look like? It wasn’t as if he’d have horns and fangs.

Thomas said something, and Sara forced her attention back to the conversation.

Mary translated again: “He says he’s voted for you, too. Good Lord, Papa. I can’t believe none of y’all have changed your registrations. That must be illegal. Cole, you need to get on them about that.”

Connolly looked apologetic. “Mine is in Catoogah.”

Mary asked, “Is yours still over in Grant, Lev?”

Sara turned around, bumping into a large man who was holding a small child in his arms.

“Whoa,” Lev said, taking her elbow. He was taller than she was, but they shared the same green eyes and dark red hair.

“You’re Lev” was all she could say.

“Guilty,” he told her, beaming a smile that showed perfect white teeth.

Sara was not normally a vindictive person, but she wanted to take the smile off his face. She chose probably the most inappropriate way in the world to do it. “I’m sorry about your niece.”

His smile dropped immediately. “Thank you.” His eyes moistened, he smiled at his son, and just as quickly as the emotions had come, he had pushed them away. “Tonight we’re here to celebrate life,” he said. “We’re here to raise up our voices and show our joy in the Lord.”