"No," Jeffrey said. "That's fine. What'd you get?"

"Got a peek at his time cards. He was punched in every morning at seven, then out to lunch at noon, back at noon-thirty, then out at five."

"Somebody could've punched it for him."

Keith shrugged. "Supervisor didn't eyeball him, but she says there would've been complaints from the offices if he hadn't been on the job. Evidently, those professional types like to have their cans taken care of bright and early."

Jeffrey pointed to the white mailing envelope Keith held in his hand. "What's that?"

"Registration," Keith said, handing him the envelope. "He drives a blue Chevy Nova."

Jeffrey slit the envelope open with his thumb. Inside was a photocopy of Jack Allen Wrights vehicle registration. An address was under his name. "Current?" Jeffrey asked.

"Yeah," Keith answered. "Only, you understand you didn't get it from me."

Jeffrey knew what he meant. Atlanta's chief of police ran her department by its short hairs. Jeffrey knew her reputation and admired her work, but he also knew that if she thought some hick cop from Grant County was stepping on her toes, the next thing Jeffrey would feel would be a three-inch stiletto parked firmly on the back of his neck.

"You get what you need from Wright," Keith said, "then call in APD." He handed Jeffrey a business card with Atlanta's rising phoenix in the center of it. Jeffrey turned it over, seeing a name and number scribbled on the back.

Keith said, "This is his PO. She's a good gal, but she'll want something solid to explain why you just happen to be in Wright's face."

"You know her?"

"Know of her," Keith said. "Real ball breaker, so watch yourself. You call her in to snatch up her boy and she thinks you're looking at her funny, she'll make sure you never see him again."

Jeffrey said, "I'll try to be a gentleman."

Keith offered, "Ashton is just off the interstate. Let me give you directions."

Chapter Twenty-one

NICK Shelton's voice boomed across the telephone line. "Hey, lady."

"Hey, Nick," Sara returned, closing a chart on her desk. She had been at the clinic since eight that morning and seen patients right up until four o'clock. Sara felt as if she had been running in quicksand all day. There was a slight ache in her head and her stomach was queasy from drinking a little too much the night before, not to mention her uneasiness over the emotional drama that had unfolded. As the day wore on, Sara began to feel more drained. At lunch, Molly had commented that Sara looked as if she should be the patient today instead of the doctor.

"I showed Mark those seeds," Nick said. "He says they're belladonna all right, only it's the berries, not the seeds."

"I guess that's good to know," Sara managed. "He's certain?"

"One hundred percent," Nick returned. "He says its kind of funny they ate the berries. Remember, those are the least poisonous. Maybe your guy down there gives them the berries to keep them a little jazzed, then doesn't give them the final dose until he turns 'em loose."

"That makes sense," Sara said, not even wanting to think about it. She did not want to be a doctor today. She did not want to be a coroner. She wanted to be in bed with some tea and mindless television. As a matter of fact, that was exactly what she; was going to do as soon as she finished updating the last chart from today. Thankfully, Nelly had booked tomorrow for Sara's day off. She would take the weekend to decompress. Monday, Sara would be back to her old self.

Sara asked, "Anything on the semen sample?"

"We're having some problems with that, considering where you found it. I think we'll be able to get something out of it, though."

"That's good news, I guess."

Nick said, "You gonna tell Jeffrey about the berries, or should I call him?"

Sara felt her stomach drop at the mention of Jeffrey's name.

"Sara?" Nick asked.

"Yeah," Sara answered. "I'll talk to him about it as soon as I get off work."

Sara hung up the phone after the appropriate good-byes, then sat in her office, rubbing the small of her back. She reviewed the next chart at a glance, updating a change in medication as well as a follow-up visit for lab results. By the time she had finished with the last chart, it was five-thirty.

Sara crammed a couple of files into her briefcase, knowing she would have some time over the weekend where guilt would set in and she would want to do some work. Dictation was something she could do at home with a small tape recorder. There was a transcription place in Macon that would type up the notes for her and have them back in a couple of days.

She buttoned her jacket as she crossed the street, heading downtown. She took the sidewalk opposite the pharmacy, not wanting to run into Jeb. Sara kept her head down, passing the hardware store and the dress shop, not wanting to invite conversation. That she stopped in front of the police station was something of a surprise. Her mind was working without her knowing, and with each step she got more and more angry with Jeffrey for not calling. She had arguably left her soul laid out on his bathroom sink, and he had not even had the decency to call her.

Sara walked into the station house, managing a smile for Maria. "Is Jeffrey in?"

Maria frowned. "I don't think so," she said. "He checked out about noon or so. You might ask Frank."

"He's in the back?" Sara indicated the door with her briefcase.

"I think," Maria answered, returning to the task before her.

Sara glanced down as she passed the older woman. Maria was working on a crossword puzzle.

The back room was empty, the ten or so desks normally occupied by the senior detective vacant for the time being. Sara assumed they were out working down Jeffrey's list or grabbing dinner. She kept her head up, strolling into Jeffrey's office. Of course he wasn't there.

Sara stood in the small office, resting her briefcase on his desk. She had been in this room so many times she couldn't begin to count them. Always, she had felt safe here. Even after the divorce, Sara had felt that in this one area, Jeffrey was trustworthy. As a policeman, he had always done the right thing. He had done everything in his power to make sure the people he served were protected.

When Sara first moved back to Grant twelve years ago, no amount of reassurances from her father and her family could convince her that she was safe. Sara had known that as soon as she walked into the pawnshop, news would spread that she had purchased a weapon. What's more, she knew that in order to register a gun, she would have to go to the police station. Ben Walker, the chief of police before Jeffrey, played poker with Eddie Linton every Friday night. There had been no way for Sara to buy it without alerting everyone who knew her.

Around that time, a gang banger had come into the Augusta hospital with his arm nearly torn off by a bullet. Sara had worked on the kid and saved his arm. He was only fourteen, and when his mother came in, she had started beating him on his head with her purse. Sara had left the room, but a few moments later, the mother had found her. The woman had given Sara her son's weapon and asked Sara to take care of it. If Sara had been a Christian woman, she would have called the event a miracle.

The gun, Sara knew, was now in Jeffrey's desk drawer. She checked over her shoulder before sliding it open, taking out the bag with the Ruger in it. She tucked it in her briefcase and was out the door within a few minutes.

Sara kept her head up as she walked toward the college. Her boat was docked in front of the boathouse, and she tossed her briefcase in with one hand while untying the line with another. Her parents had given her the boat as a housewarming present, and it was an old but sturdy vessel.