about to get up, when Daniel stepped into the kitchen.
“I was just about to go and rest a bit,” she said. “Feel free to grab anything from the . . .” She suddenly noticed he held something. It took her a moment to realize it was a pair of her stockings. He gripped it strangely, stretched tight between both hands. His eyes seemed distant.
“Oh,” she said, embarrassed. “Did we leave that in the guest room?”
He gave her a small smile and took a step toward her. “I’m sorry, Leonor, but—”
A sudden knock on the door made them both freeze. Daniel’s eyes widened in fear.
“It’s probably the neighbor,” Leonor reassured him in a soft voice. “She said she might drop by and give me a cake she baked. Go in the back; I’ll tell you when she leaves.”
He hesitated, then nodded and quickly left the room.
Leonor got up and shuffled slowly to the door, just as there was another knock.
“Just a minute,” she called. She took a look through the peephole and instantly recognized the man and woman on her doorstep. For a second she considered not opening the door. But they’d heard she was there already. If she didn’t let them in, they’d know she was hiding something.
She unlatched and opened the door. “Hello,” she said frostily. “You’re the people who showed up in the hospital last week. Tatum and . . . Zoe, right? You didn’t tell me you were from the FBI.”
Tatum looked appropriately abashed. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Carpenter,” he said. “We didn’t want to alarm you, considering your condition.”
“How very considerate. I wish you’d have shown the same consideration to the rest of our congregation.”
“Is Patrick home?” Zoe asked.
“No, he’s gone.”
“Gone where?”
“You’d have to call him and ask him yourself.” He was at the church, but she wasn’t about to tell them that.
“Mrs. Carpenter, can we come in?” Tatum asked. “We need to ask you a few questions.”
“Patrick is probably at work,” she said desperately. “I’m sure he’ll talk to you.”
“It’ll only be a few minutes,” Tatum said. “We don’t want to take too much of your time.”
She could tell them no. She was almost sure they needed a warrant to enter by force. She tensed, about to tell them to leave, but the words never left her lips. If she told them they couldn’t come in, they’d be suspicious. They’d know she was hiding someone.
No, she had to let them in. They wouldn’t start searching the place. They had no reason to suspect anything. “Sure,” she said, feeling her gut roil. She moved aside. “Come in.”
She led them back into the kitchen. Daniel was probably locked in his room. All she had to do was answer their questions and get them out of there. Despite there being four chairs in the kitchen, none of them sat down.
“Leonor,” Zoe said. “Do you know Daniel Moore?”
“Sure,” she said. “He was in our congregation.”
“When did you last hear from him?”
Leonor shrugged. “Just before he left Chicago. He told me he was leaving because of a family crisis.”
“Weren’t you concerned about him driving, considering his medical condition?” Tatum asked.
“He could still drive—” She almost bit her tongue. She should have known better. She’d always been a lousy liar. It wasn’t about keeping cool. She could do that. It was about thinking the alternative truth through. The reality and fabrication always got tangled. She hated it.
“What were you going to say?” Zoe asked. “That he could still drive despite his medical condition?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“I just said that he could still drive.”
“But you didn’t seem surprised to hear about his medical condition,” Tatum said.
“I just assumed . . .” She had nothing. “I’m very tired. I need to rest. I can’t stand too long—it’s not good for Bu . . . for the baby.”
“Why don’t you sit down?” Zoe suggested.
“I need to go to sleep,” she said firmly. “Please leave.”
“Just a few more questions, and we’ll be out of your hair,” Tatum said lightly. “When did you or Patrick really last talk to Daniel?”
She sat down and stared at him. She wouldn’t lie any longer, but she wasn’t about to say another word.
“Did he contact you after he returned?” Tatum asked.
The silence stretched. They thought she could be intimidated by silence? She put her palm on her belly. Bump gave her a small kick, reassuring her. She wasn’t even alone.
“Did you know Daniel Moore’s real name is actually Rod Glover?” Tatum asked. “That he’s wanted for the murder of eight women, including your