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made us both stop.
    “What the hell was that?” Sister whispered.
    “How the hell do I know?” I whispered back. “And don’t talk like that in church.”
    “Luke?” Sister’s voice was hesitant.
    Again the moan.
    “He’s sick,” I said. I brushed past Sister to the front pew.
    An unconscious Luke lay there on the floor, blood pouring from a deep cut on his forehead.
    I was cool. I had taught school for thirty years. I carefully placed my coffee on the bench, knelt beside Luke, and felt the pulse in his neck. I knew from my in-service training that this was what I was supposed to do. I don’t know why. He was obviously alive.
    “Get me something like a towel,” I told Sister. “And some water.”
    “Oh, my God, Mouse. Look behind you.”
    I turned. Lying on the front pew across the aisle was a woman. Though she was on her stomach, her neck was twisted so far around that bright red hair fell across her face and brushed the floor.
    “Is she dead?” Sister whispered.
    Of course she was. Nobody’s head fit their neck that way.
    “Of course she is.”
    “Oh, God. I’m going to be sick.” Sister ran down the aisle and threw the door open.
    As I said, I was cool. I don’t fall apart during emergencies. I pulled off my coat and my sweatshirt, put my coat back on, and pressed the sweatshirt against Luke’s forehead. Behind me, the dead girl’s eyes stared at the ceiling.
    It was January, I thought. Bed Bath & Beyond were having a wonderful sale. Those big towels that were like sheets. Fred would like that. And one of those George Foreman grills. Maybe they were on sale, too. This afternoon when we got home, I’d go right over to the Summit and see. No problem.

Chapter
Five
    I’m not sure how long I wandered the aisles of Bed Bath & Beyond before I heard the church door creak open. Probably only a few minutes.
    Mary Alice came in and sat on the back bench.
    “I called 911,” she said.
    “Okay.”
    “You doing your Martha Stewart bit?”
    She knows me too well.
    “Beats throwing up.” I lifted the sweatshirt and looked at Luke’s forehead. The bleeding had almost stopped, but my sweatshirt had soaked up a lot of blood.
    “Luke?” I said. “Luke, answer me.”
    His eyes fluttered, and he moaned. I sat back on my heels and looked at the way he was lying, crumpled on his side. I’d had to turn his head to staunch the bleeding.Had he fallen and hit his head on the bench or had he been attacked? Maybe he had seen the woman’s body and fainted. He’d said he wasn’t feeling well.
    I glanced over at the dead woman. Whoever had broken her neck had laid her out on the bench as if she were sleeping. She was wearing a long, blue-flowered challis skirt and a white blouse. Her skirt had been neatly tucked around black boots whose soles were encrusted with red clay. And she had to be young from the appearance of the coppery mass of hair cascading to the floor.
    Damn. I shivered.
    I was about to return to the white sales at Bed Bath & Beyond when Mary Alice announced that the 911 people would be there in a few minutes. And did I know where the nearest hospital was?
    “Oneonta?” I guessed. “Gadsden?” I pressed my fingers against Luke’s pulse again. Was it my imagination or was it thready? “I hope not far. I think Luke’s going into shock. Bring me your cape. We’ve got to get him warm.”
    “It’ll get blood on it.”
    “Damn it, Sister!”
    She came down the aisle slowly and sideways so she wouldn’t see the woman’s body.
    “He doesn’t look good, does he?” she said, handing me the cape. “Luke? You okay?” She yelled the latter as if deafness were Luke’s problem.
    I took the cape, spread it over Luke, and added my coat.
    “He came in while the murderer was still here, didn’t he? And the murderer tried to kill him.”
    “I doubt it.” I pointed toward the woman. “I think she’s been dead awhile. Look at her hand hanging overthe bench. It’s almost black. I don’t know what