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The hymn ended, Ruby's parents were seated in the front pew, and Brother Everitt began to pray. Raydean patted my hand.

“Brothers and sisters, God has called our little sister home,” he began. Everitt had a high nasal whine that permeated the room. It was made worse by the sound system that had been installed on the podium. It was totally unnecessary and only served to give Everitt's voice a tinny, screechy quality.

“God reached, I say he reached forth from his throne of holiness and swept our sister out of the jaws of evil and temptation.” There was a chorus of amens from the congregation.

I started looking around in an attempt to ignore him. Ruby's parents were softly crying in the front pew. Everyone else seemed obediently focused on the good brother's message about the wages of sin. They stared at him, mouths slightly open, hands stilled in their laps, and eyes following his every move. Several women sniffed, bringing handkerchiefs to their faces, but only one other person seemed completely overcome.

In the back row a small man sat with tears rolling down his wrinkled farmer cheeks. His shoulders were so hunched with grief that his neck seemed to have disappeared. He wore an olive-green plaid jacket, new in the sixties, and a narrow dark tie that stood out like a pen-streak against the white of his shirt. His gray hair rose up in tufts that blended with the wiry gray hairs of his beard.

“Raydean,” I whispered, tugging at her arm. “Who's that? Do you know him?”

Raydean turned in her seat, shoved her heavily flowered bonnet back on her head, and squinted through her trifocals.

“No idea,” she whispered, “but he's a looker, ain't he?” I turned to Raydean to make sure she was looking at the right man. She appeared to be staring in his general direction, but I realized she was focused on the door. Detective Wheeling had slipped into the back of the church and was quietly surveying the congregation. Our eyes met for an instant before I could turn away.

“If you ask me,” Raydean whispered, “I'd say that other feller of yours is the prize, but that'un might give you a good run.”

“I didn't mean him, Raydean,” I hissed back. “The old guy crying on the back row.”

Raydean looked over her shoulder again. From the corner of my eye I saw her wink at Detective Wheeling, then look away.

“Well,” she said slowly as we rose to sing a hymn, “I'd still stick with the boyfriend you got. That feller's a mite old for you.” She glanced back over her shoulder again. “He's more my speed, sugar. But you ought not be dwelling on the hormonal in the house of the Lord, honey.” I gave up. Raydean lived in a parallel universe.

The congregation was belting out “Shall We Gather at the River.” Brother Everitt had moved from the pulpit down to the front row, where he placed his hand upon Ruby's mother's head and appeared to be praying. Ruby's mother swayed slowly, and as I watched, she collapsed into her husband's arms. Brother Everitt eyed her for a moment, then abruptly whirled around and walked back to face the congregation as the hymn came to a close.

“Brothers and sisters,” he said, “after the interment, the Diamonds have asked me to tell you that they will receive callers at their residence on Mebane Road. Let us pray.” He stretched out his arms, threw his head back, and began to speak.

I couldn't listen. I closed my eyes and bent my head, but I wasn't listening. I was saying my own prayers, talking to Herself about Ruby and her family, and what a gift she had been in my life. I didn't want to hear Brother Everitt's message of guilt and shame. “And, God,” I added silently, “if you need some help getting the ass—um, animal, that killed her, just put me to work, all right?”

Raydean elbowed me and I opened my eyes. The congregation was standing as Ruby's casket was carried slowly down the aisle. Her parents and other family members followed, then the rest of the congregation filed out of the pews and headed for the door.

“Honey, ain't no point in us going out to the cemetery. That wouldn't be a good thing for you.” Raydean's voice was soft and she gripped my elbow gently with her gloved hand. “Let's us wander up to the drugstore and have a Coke, then we'll go out to her parents' and pay our respects.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said, and started wandering toward the back of the church. I was hoping to avoid Detective Wheeling, but that wasn't going to be possible. He had planted himself in our path and was staring me down.

“Let's talk,” he said softly.

“Let's not, Detective, and say we did.” I started to push past him, but Raydean missed the cue.

“Honey, you look thirsty,” she said to him. Raydean came up to about his collarbone, but her hat was tall enough to brush the tip of his nose. “Why don't you just come on with us over to the drugstore and have a Coke. That's what we're gonna do. My sweet friend is just a bit overcome, you know. I figure it's best to refresh ourselves before we set out to pay our respects.”

As I watched, Detective Wheeling's face switched from a look of consternation to a broad smile, all of which was directed over the top of Raydean's hat toward me.

“Why, ladies, that would be just the thing. Why don't I drive?” He swept his arm through Raydean's and placed a guiding hand on the small of my back. There was no other option but to allow myself to be led out the door, past Brother Everitt, and on to the Wewahitchka General Drugstore.

Raydean was thrilled, I could tell. She practically pushed me out of the way in her effort to climb into the front seat, and once enthroned, she began a rapid-fire conversation with Detective Wheeling.

“Smart thinking, boy,” she began cryptically.

“How's that, ma'am?” he drawled.

“The way you screen out interference. You got your scanner, your car phone, and your radio all clumped up together and they're all turned on.” She was right. The radio was pumping out a Reba McEntire song while the scanner squawked a sequence of numbers. “You keep out the interstellar galactic interference that way. It's best in case them Flemish decide to invade. Wouldn't do to be caught with our pants down, now would it?”

Wheeling's neck reddened and he laughed nervously. Maybe the good old boy had bitten off more than he could chew. I sat back in my seat and started enjoying the ride. We were at most a block from the downtown area.

“You and Miss Lavotini been friends long?” he asked, expertly whipping into a space that had materialized right in front of the drugstore.

“Shoot, boy, I been knowing Sierra since she moved into the trailer park two years ago. Weren't for her, I'd a been dead many times over. Them Flemish don't cotton to chihuahuas.” Wheeling looked puzzled but didn't say a word. Raydean was half out of the car and headed for the soda counter before Wheeling could open his door.

We took stools on either side of Raydean, who by now was calmly sipping a tall soda. I was in a time warp. The soda counter was marble, the stools wrought iron, and the mirror behind the counter was turning gray with age. Even the counter boy seemed to be a throwback to another era. He was ancient, maybe in his nineties, and wore a peaked white paper cap.

Detective Wheeling ordered a soda and then whistled softly under his breath. Raydean looked over at him and smiled.

“You know, Sierra liked another boy at the funeral, but I told her you were the better item.” Wheeling smiled slowly. “Of course,” she added, “that was afore I saw that little gold band on your finger.” She looked over at me. “You'd best keep the one you got,” she said.

I felt my face flush and I started praying in earnest that she wouldn't mention Nailor's name.

“Hush, Raydean,” I whispered.

“Sierra's shy,” Raydean said loudly. “She's got her a nice young fella. Course, I can't say nothing for the calling hours he keeps.” I kicked Raydean's ankle. “Youch!” she squeaked, her hand darting down to rub her sore ankle. “What you do that for?”

“I think we should be getting back,” I said. Wheeling was smiling to himself, like he held all the cards and knew I was about to fold. “We don't want to be too late getting to Ruby's house.”

Raydean took a huge suck at her straw, inhaling half of her Coke with one inhale. Detective Wheeling didn't move.

“Aw, ladies,” he said slowly, “now there's no need to rush off. Heck, they just left out for the cemetery. They won't get back over to the house for another forty minutes. Miss Raydean, you just settle back and relax.”

Raydean smiled and batted her eyes at him. “Don't mind if I do,” she sniffed. Wheeling took another pull at his soda.

“A woman as pretty as Sierra,” he began slowly, “I'll bet she's got all kind of fellas wanting to be her beau. He must be right special.” My heart was beating out of my chest.

“I don't see as how that's really any of your business,” I said.

“Aw, now, honey, there ain't no call to be rude,” Raydean said. “And I'm sure he is nice,” she said, turning to Wheeling. “He's a po-lice. I find po-lices usually to be on the wrong side of me, but this one's a sweet fella. Plays a mean hand of poker, too.”

“Raydean,” I warned. “I have many male friends, and yes, Detective, some of them are members of your profession. You see,” I said, turning to Raydean, “Detective Wheeling is a member of the police force.” I spoke slowly and deliberately, hoping Raydean would catch on and know to button her lip. “He's one of
them.
”

Raydean stiffened at the mention of “them.” “Them” meant only one thing to her. “Them,” she said slowly, turning to stare at Wheeling, while at the same time pushing herself closer to me. “Uh-huh,” she said. “Them, eh?”

Wheeling smiled disarmingly. “We're not really so bad,” he said.

Raydean's eyes widened. “Not so bad?” she screeched, earning the attention of the ninety-five-year-old counter boy. “Bursting into people's homes in the middle of the night? Using force to control the minds and lives of innocent people? Ultimately working for world dominion? That's not bad?” She reached gingerly up to the counter for her purse and pulled it quickly toward her.

“Now, Miss Raydean,” Wheeling said, sensing something was drastically wrong and mistaking it for common police phobia. “We're here to protect and to serve. Innocent folks have nothing to fear from us. We want to make the world a better, safer place.”

“How many are there of you?” she asked.

“In Panama City? Oh, I'd say no more than five hundred, counting the county and the beach force.”

Raydean jumped off her stool and headed for the door. “Come on, Sierra, we gotta clear outta here. Beach force! Who'd have thought they'd come by water!”

I stood up and prepared to follow the rapidly departing Raydean. Detective Wheeling grabbed my arm in an attempt to restrain me.

“What is it with her?” he asked. “What did I say?”

I grinned. “Well, Detective,” I said, “you've somehow managed to convince Miss Raydean that you are an alien life form. I wonder how she ever got such an idea?” Wheeling followed me out the door. Raydean was walking briskly down the sidewalk toward the church, obviously not intending to ride in what was now a suspected alien vehicle. “Nice try, Detective,” I said. “Maybe you'll have better luck interrogating some of my other friends and acquaintances. However, were I you, and not an alien, I would be talking to Roy Dell Parks, or any number of other swarmy assholes that were pawing Ruby Diamond that night. I would not be sipping sodas and frightening harmless little old ladies in a wasted effort to find out more about me.”

I whirled around and headed down the street after Raydean. Wheeling wasn't finished with me. He wasn't the type to let anyone have the last word.

“Miss Lavotini,” he said, matching his stride to mine, “believe it or not, I'm trying to help.” I stopped in my tracks, preparing to give him some choice advice on how to do his job, but the look on his face stopped me. He had the same earnest little-boy expression I had seen that first night in the police station. I'm a sucker for guys who look like that, and so I stopped just long enough for him to get a word in edgewise.

“Look, put yourself in my place,” he said. “If you were trying to find the killer, you'd talk to everyone, track down every possible lead, gather as much information as possible, no matter how trivial or useless it seemed, wouldn't you?” Raydean was now a small speck in the distance, turning into the church parking lot, her bonnet a pastel dot of color in the red-clay parking lot. I looked back at Wheeling, staring into his clear eyes and hating myself for seeing his point.

“Of course,” I answered. “So why aren't you out at the racetrack?”

“Because I wanted to come to the funeral,” he answered. “I wanted to see who was here. And because you know things you haven't told me.”

My guard was up again. “The hell I do,” I said angrily.

“You do,” he said evenly. “In every witness's mind there are fragments, bits that they may not consciously be aware of, that float around. They may be important bits or they may just be fluff, but you have them. One of those pieces might just hold the key to what happened or who did this. It's my job to keep talking, keep asking the right questions. You can see that, can't you?”

I nodded. Wheeling was wearing a dark blue suit, a pale blue shirt, and a subdued gray tie. For a moment I found myself liking him, even wondering about what he'd be like if he wasn't married. Stop it, I warned myself, don't let your guard down.

“The fact remains,” he was saying, “you placed another detective in my squad at the scene. I've got to wonder about that. That doesn't mean I automatically discount what you said. It just means I've got to find out about that.” Damn, I knew better than to lower my guard. “Was Raydean talking about Detective Nailor in there?”