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with another man? Perhaps a current or a former client? I shook my head. Lenora was a Christian. That would be absurd. Still, Christians dealt with temptation every bit as strong as other women.
    Tucker had made no mention of Lenora’s counseling a man other than the ex-cons or inmates at the prison. No male names were written in her office appointment book.
    “I hope I’m helping,” Estelle said, filling my pause and finally seeming to warm to her role.
    “Yes, very much. How about the ladies’ group? Did you happen to see who was here?”
    The praise seemed to please Estelle because she was willing to ramble on. I encouraged her by nodding.
    “Mrs. Lawrence has her ladies’ counseling group every Thursday morning. I know ’cause I cleaned real good on Wednesday to leave everything nice. They meet in the living room and come in and out the front door so I don’t see them.
    “Did you ever see Mr. Lawrence when you cleaned? Did he ever come around during the week?”
    “No way. Just weekends. Weekends were kept private for Mr. Lawrence when he was home from Illinois. Don’t think they had much company. I don’t know him at all.”
    Estelle squirmed a little when she mentioned Mr. Lawrence? Why?
    “Follow me,” I said abruptly. Rising, I led her to the back of the house. “Please take a careful look at Lenora’s office—see the papers and mess everywhere? Is this how the room usually looked?”
    Estelle scanned the room. “Yep, she liked the house extra neat, but her office was always cluttered—messy if you ask me, really. Yep. This is how she kept it.”
    “Then there isn’t any unusual disarray?”
    “No, you never could see her desktop or much of the floor either, for that matter. I could have straightened it up real nice for her, but she never let me touch it.”
    “Thanks, Estelle, that’s all for now. If you remember anything else regarding those men or the women, call me.”
    “Sure.” Estelle twisted the rag in her hands. “Can I tell you something, Dr. Trevor? I’m scared. I don’t want to lose Mrs. Lawrence.” 
    “Nor I.” I gritted my teeth. “That’s not going to happen if we can prevent it, right?”
    I emerged from the house into strong wind that whipped my hair. A storm loomed in the darkening sky. Rainstorms in convertibles were not fun.
    I proceeded to put the top up. Like a giant accordion it emerged from its creased position and expanded over me. I fastened the corner strips that held it in place before winding down the gravel driveway to the main road.
    A woman walked along the side of the road wearing jeans and a misshapen, over-sized sweater. She darted into the field, moving against the wind as raindrops pelted her skin. I assumed she was Lenora’s neighbor. She had no umbrella, not even a rain hat. Was she heading for cover? The woman didn’t run but kept moving steadily in the direction of a rust-colored barn. Her head tucked down on her chest was the only indication of being pelted by heavy rain. Middle-aged, maybe younger, she reminded me of a stricken bird unable to fly in a fierce wind.
    I pulled my gaze back to the road and squeezed the steering wheel. Inexplicably, a sense of sadness washed over me, forceful as the rain against my window.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    Every marriage and family counseling office should have an Ellen, my competent fifty-five-year-old administrative assistant and receptionist. I shuddered to think what disarray my paperwork and calendar would be like without her.
    Standing in front of my desk, Ellen fluffed the top of her thinning hair with one hand. “I don’t know what to make of this shooting. A woman can’t be safe in her own home. What’s this world coming to?”
    “You’re right. It’s frightening. I’m concerned for our clients already dealing with anxiety whose worry has intensified.” I sorted through the list of names I’d culled from Lenora’s appointment book without looking up and passed it to her. “Please call each