THE MIST CHANGED TO RAIN AS WE DROVE TO THE BEAUFORT-Jasper Comprehensive Health Clinic. It turned the tree trunks dark and shiny and painted a sheen on the blacktop. When I cracked the window I could smell wet grass and earth.

We located the doctor with whom Ryan had spoken, and he showed her the photo. She thought she recognized Heidi as the patient she’d treated the previous summer, but couldn’t be sure. The pregnancy was normal. She’d written the standard prenatal prescriptions. Beyond that, she could tell us nothing. She had no recollection of Brian.

At noon Sheriff Baker left us to handle a domestic situation on Lady’s Island. We agreed to meet at his office at six, by which time he hoped to have information on the Adler Lyons property.

Ryan and I stopped for barbecue at Sgt.White’s Diner, then spent the afternoon showing Heidi’s snapshot around town, and asking about the commune on Adler Lyons Road.

By four o’clock we knew two things: No one had heard of Dom Owens or his followers. No one remembered Heidi Schneider or Brian Gilbert.

We sat in Ryan’s rental car and stared up Bay Street. On my right customers entered and left the Palmetto Federal Banking Center. I looked across to the stores we’d just canvassed. The Cat’s Meow. Stones and Bones. In High Cotton. Yes. Beaufort had embraced the world of tourism.

The rain had stopped but the sky was still dark and heavy. I felt tired and discouraged, and no longer sure about the Beaufort-St-Jovite connection.

Outside Lipsitz Department Store a man with greased hair and a face like bread dough waved a Bible and screamed about Jesus. March was the off season for sidewalk salvation, so he had the stage to himself.

Sam had told me about his war with the street preachers. For twenty years they’d been coming to Beaufort, descending on the city like pilgrims on hajj. In 1993 His Honor had the Reverend Isaac Abernathy arrested for harassing women in shorts, calling them whores and bellowing about eternal damnation. Suits were filed against the mayor and the city, and the ACLU jumped to the defense of the evangelists, the issue being one of First Amendment rights. The case was pending review by the Fourth Circuit Court of Appeals in Richmond, and the preachers still came.

I listened to the man rant about Satan and heathens and Jews, and felt tiny hairs rise on the back of my neck. I resent those who see themselves as God’s spokesmen and next of kin, and am disturbed by people interpreting the Gospel to push a political agenda.

“What do you think of Southern civilization?” I asked Ryan, my eyes never leaving the preacher.

“Sounds like a good idea.”

“Well, well. Stealing material from Gandhi,” I said, turning to him in surprise. It was one of my favorite Gandhi quotes.

“Some homicide detectives can read.” There was an edge to his voice.

Guilty, Brennan. Apparently the reverend isn’t the only one harboring cultural stereotypes.

I watched an old woman circle wide to avoid the preacher, and wondered what sort of salvation Dom Owens promised his followers. I checked my watch.

“We’re moving toward the dinner hour,” I said.

“Could be a good time to catch folks mixing up tofu burgers.”

“We can’t meet Baker for another ninety minutes.”

“You up for a surprise visit, skipper?”

“Beats sitting here.”

Ryan was reaching for the ignition when his hand stopped. I followed his gaze and saw Kathryn coming up the sidewalk, Carlie on her back. An older woman with long, dark braids walked beside her. The damp breeze blew their skirts backward, molding fabric to hips and legs. They paused and Kathryn’s companion spoke to the preacher, then the pair continued in our direction.

Ryan and I exchanged glances, then got out and crossed to the women. They stopped speaking when we approached, and Kathryn smiled at me.

“How’s it going?” she asked, brushing back a tangle of curls.

“Not so good,” I said.

“No luck finding your missing girl?”

“No one remembers her. I find that odd, since she spent at least three months here.”

I watched for a reaction, but her expression didn’t change.

“Where did you ask?” Carlie stirred and Kathryn reached over her shoulder to adjust his carrier.

“Shops, food stores, pharmacies, gas stations, restaurants, the library. We even tried Boombears.”

“Yeah. That’s a cool idea. If she was expecting she might have gone to a toy store.”

The baby whimpered, then raised his arms and arched backward, pressing his feet against his mother’s back.

“Guess who’s up?” said Kathryn, reaching back to calm her son. “And no one knew her from that picture?”

“No one.”

Carlie’s whimpers grew more strident, and the older woman moved behind Kathryn and slid the baby from the carrier.

“Oh, sorry. This is El.” Kathryn indicated her companion.

Ryan and I introduced ourselves. El nodded, but said nothing as she tried to calm Carlie.

“Could we buy you ladies a Coke or a cup of coffee?” Ryan asked.

“Nah. That stuff will mess up your genetic potential.” Kathryn crinkled her nose, then broke into a smile. “But I could go for juice. So could Carlie.” She rolled her eyes and reached for her baby’s hand. “He can be a handful when he’s not happy. Dom’s not picking us up for another forty minutes, right, El?”

“We should wait for Dom.” The woman spoke so softly I could hardly make out her words.

“Oh, El, you know he’ll be late. Let’s get some juice and sit outside. I don’t want to ride back with Carlie fussing all the way.”

El opened her mouth, but before she could speak Carlie twisted and let out a wail.

“Juice,” said Kathryn, taking the baby and bouncing him on her hip. “Blackstone’s has lots of choices. I’ve seen their menu in the window.”

We entered the deli and I ordered a Diet Coke. The others asked for juice, then we took our drinks to an outside bench. Kathryn pulled a small blanket from her shoulder bag, spread it at her feet, and set Carlie on it. Then she dug out bottled water and a small yellow mug. The cup had a round bottom and a removable cover with a drinking spout. She filled it halfway with her Very Berry, added water, and handed it to Carlie. He made a two-handed grab and started sucking on the spout. I watched, remembering, and the sensation I’d had on the island washed over me again.

I felt out of sync with the world. The bodies on Murtry. Thoughts of infant Katy. Ryan in Beaufort, with his gun and badge and Nova Scotia speech. The world seemed strange around me, the space in which I moved transported from another place or time, yet somehow present and jarringly real.

“Tell me about your group,” I said, forcing my thoughts back to the moment.

El looked at me but didn’t speak.

“What do you want to know?” Kathryn asked.

“What is it you believe in?”

“Knowing our own minds and bodies. Keeping our cosmic and molecular energy clear.”

“What is it you do?”

“Do?” The question seemed to puzzle her. “We grow our own food, and we don’t eat anything polluting.” She gave a slight shrug of the shoulders. As I listened to her, I thought of Harry. Purification through diet. “... we study. We work. We sing and play games. Sometimes we have lectures. Dom is incredibly smart. He’s completely clear—”

El tapped her on the arm and pointed to Carlie’s cup. Kathryn retrieved it, wiped the spout on her skirt, and held it out to her son. The baby grabbed the mug and pounded it on his mother’s foot.

“How long have you lived with the group?”

“Nine years.”

“How old are you?” I couldn’t keep the amazement out of my voice.

“Seventeen. My parents joined when I was eight.”

“And before that?”

She bent and redirected the cup to Carlie’s mouth. “I remember I cried a lot. I was alone a lot. I was always sick. My parents fought all the time.”

“And?”

“When they joined the group we underwent a transformation. Through purification.”

“Are you happy?”

“The point of life is not happiness.” El spoke for the first time. Her voice was deep and whispery, with just the trace of an accent I couldn’t place.

“What is?”

“Peace and health and harmony.”

“Can’t that be attained without withdrawing from society?”

“We think not.” Her face was bronzed and deeply lined, her eyes the color of mahogany. “In society, too many things divert us. Drugs. Television. Possessions. Interpersonal greed. Our own beliefs stand in the way.”

“El says things a lot better than I do,” said Kathryn.

“But why the commune?” asked Ryan. “Why not blow it all off and join an order?”

Kathryn gave El a “take it away” gesture.

“The universe is one organic whole composed of many interdependent elements. Every part is inseparable from and interacts with every other part. While we live apart, our group is a microcosm of that reality.”

“Would you care to explain that?” Ryan.

“By living apart from the world we reject the slaughterhouses and chemical plants and oil refineries, the beer cans, and the tire heaps, and the raw sewage. By living together as a group we support each other, we feed each other both spiritually and physically.”

“All for one.”

El gave him a brief smile. “All the old myths have to be eliminated before true consciousness is possible.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

“Even his?” Ryan tipped his head in the direction of the preacher.

“All of them.”

I circled the conversation back.

“Kathryn, if you wanted information on someone, where would you ask?”

“Look,” she said, smiling, “you’re not going to find her.” She retrieved Carlie’s cup again. “She’s probably on the Riviera right now, smearing sunblock on her babies.”

I looked at her a long time. She didn’t know. Dom hadn’t told her. She’d missed the introductions and had no idea why we were asking about Heidi and Brian. I took a deep breath.

“Heidi Schneider is dead, Kathryn. So is Brian Gilbert.”

She looked at me as if I were crazy.

“Dead? She can’t be dead.”

“Kathryn!” El’s voice was sharp.

Kathryn ignored her.

“I mean, she’s so young. And she’s pregnant. Or was.” Her voice was plaintive, like a child’s.

“They were murdered less than three weeks ago.”

“You’re not here to take her home?” Her eyes shifted from Ryan to me. I could see tiny yellow flecks in the green irises. “You’re not her parents?”

“No.”

“They’re dead?”

“Yes.”

“Her babies?”

I nodded.

Her hand went to her mouth, then fluttered to her lap, like a butterfly unsure where to light. Carlie tugged her skirt, and the hand dropped to stroke his head.

“How could someone do something like that? I mean, I didn’t know them, but, how could someone kill a whole family? Kill babies?”

“We all pass through,” said El, placing an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Death is merely a transition in the process of growth.”

“A transition to what?” asked Ryan.

There was no answer. At that moment a white van pulled to the curb in front of the People’s Bank on the far side of Bay Street. El squeezed Kathryn’s shoulders and nodded toward it. Then she gathered Carlie, rose, and extended her hand. Kathryn took it and got to her feet.

“I wish you the best of luck,” said El, and the two women set off toward the van.

I watched them a moment, then downed the last of my Coke. As I looked for a trash can something under the bench caught my eye. The cover to Carlie’s cup.

I dug a card from my purse, scribbled a number, and snatched up the lid. Ryan looked amused as I bolted from the bench.

She was just climbing into the van.

“Kathryn,” I called from the middle of the street.

She looked up, and I waved the cover in the air. Behind her the clock on the bank said five-fifteen.

She spoke into the van then walked toward me. When she reached out I gave her the lid with my card tucked inside.

Her eyes met mine.

“Call me if you’d like to talk.”

She turned without a word, walked back to the van, and got in. I could see Dom’s blond head silhouetted behind the wheel as they disappeared up Bay Street.

Ryan and I showed the snapshot at another pharmacy and several fast-food restaurants, then drove to Sheriff Baker’s office. Ivy Lee told us his domestic situation had turned into a standoff. An unemployed sanitation worker was barricaded in his house with his wife and three-year-old daughter, threatening to shoot everyone. Baker would not be joining us that evening.

“Now what?” I asked Ryan. We were standing in the Duke Street parking lot.

“I don’t think Heidi was making the night scene, so we’re not going to accomplish anything running around to bars and clubs.”

“No.”

“Let’s call it a day. I’ll drive you back to the Love Boat.”

“It’s the Melanie Tess.”

“Tess. Is that something you eat with corn bread and greens?”

“Ham hocks and yams.”

“Do you want the ride?”

“Sure.”

We rode in silence most of the way. I’d found Ryan annoying all day and couldn’t wait to be free of him. We were on the bridge when he broke the silence.

“I doubt she’d go to beauty parlors or tanning salons.”

“That’s amazing. I can see why you made detective.”

“Maybe we should focus on Brian. Maybe he worked for a time.”

“You’ve already run him. There’s no tax record, right?”

“Nothing.”

“He could have been paid in cash.”

“That narrows the possibilities.”

We turned in at Ollie’s.

“So where do we go from here?” I asked.

“I never got that hush puppy.”

“I meant the investigation. You’re on your own for dinner. I’m going to go home, take a shower, and make myself a scrumptious plate of instant macaroni. In that order.”

“Jesus, Brennan, that stuff has more preservatives than Lenin’s cadaver.”

“I’ve read the label.”

“You might as well swallow industrial waste. You’ll mess up your”—he mimicked Kathryn—“genetic potential.”

Some half-forgotten thought started to seep into my mind, formless, like the morning’s mist. I tried to reel it in, but the harder I concentrated the faster it dissolved.

“—Owens better keep his skivvies up. I’m going to be on his ass like flies on a Tootsie Roll.”

“What sort of gospel do you suppose he preaches?”

“Sounds like some combination of ecological Armageddon and self-improvement through Wheaties.”

When he pulled up at the pier the sky was beginning to clear over the marsh. Streaks of yellow lit the horizon.

“Kathryn knows something,” I said.

“Don’t we all.”

“You can be a real pain in the ass, Ryan.”

“Thank you for noticing. What makes you think she’s holding out?”

“She said babies.”

“So?”

“Babies.”

I saw thought working in his eyes. Then,

“Son of a bitch.”

“We never told her Heidi was carrying twins.”

Forty minutes later I heard a knock at the port-side entrance. I was wearing the Hornets T-shirt Katy had left, no panties, and a towel fashioned into a pretty slick turban. I peered through the blinds.

Ryan stood on the dock holding two six-packs and a pizza the size of a manhole cover. He’d abandoned his jacket and tie, and rolled his shirtsleeves to just below the elbows.

Shit.

I released the slats and pulled back. I could turn off the light and refuse to answer. I could ignore him. I could tell him to go away.

I peeked out again and found myself looking directly into Ryan’s eyes.

“I know you’re in there, Brennan. I’m a detective, remember?”

He dangled a six-pack in front of me. “Diet Coke.”

Damn.

I didn’t dislike Ryan. In fact, I enjoyed his company more than that of most people. More than I cared to admit. I liked his commitment to what he did, and the compassion he showed to victims and their families. I liked his intelligence and wit. And I liked the story of Ryan, the college kid gone wild, beaten up by a biker cokehead, then converted to the other side. Tough kid turned tough cop. It had a kind of poetic symmetry.

And I definitely liked the way he looked, but my better judgment told me not to get involved.

Oh hell. It beat noodles and synthetic cheese.

I dropped to my stateroom, grabbed a pair of cutoffs, and ran a brush through my hair.

I raised the blinds and slid back the screen to allow him in. He handed down the drinks and pizza, then turned and climbed aboard backward.

“I have my own Coke,” I said, closing the screen.

“One can never have too much Coke.”

I pointed to the galley and he set the pizza on the table, detached a beer for himself and a Diet Coke for me, then placed the other cans in the refrigerator. I got out plates, napkins, and a large knife while he opened the pizza box.

“You think that’s more nourishing than pasta?”

“It’s a veggie supreme.”

“What’s that?” I pointed to a brown chunk.

“Side order of bacon. I wanted all the food groups.”

“Let’s take it into the salon,” I suggested.

We spread the food on the coffee table and settled on the couch. The smell of marsh and wet wood floated in and mingled with the aroma of tomato sauce and basil. We ate and talked about the murders, and weighed the likelihood that the victims in St-Jovite had a connection to Dom Owens.

Eventually, we drifted to more personal topics. I described the Beaufort of my childhood, and shared memories of my summers at the beach. I talked about Katy, and about my estrangement from Pete. Ryan told stories of his early years in Nova Scotia, and disclosed his feelings about a recent breakup.

The conversation was easy and natural, and I revealed more about myself than I would ever have imagined. In the silences we listened to the water and the rustling of the spartina grass in the marsh. I forgot about violence and death and did something I hadn’t done in a very long time. I relaxed.

“I can’t believe I’m talking so much,” I said, as I began to gather plates and napkins.

Ryan reached for the empty cans. “Let me help.”

Our arms brushed and I felt heat race across my skin. Wordlessly, we gathered the dinner mess and brought it to the kitchen.

When we returned to the couch Ryan stood over me a moment, then sat close, placed both hands on my shoulders, and turned my body away from him. As I was about to object he began massaging the muscles at the base of my neck, across my shoulders, and down my arms to just above the elbows. His hands slid down my back, then worked their way upward, each thumb moving in small circles along the edge of a shoulder blade. When he reached my hairline his fingers made the same rotating motions in the hollows below my skull.

My eyes closed.

“Mmmmm.”

“You’re very tense.”

This was too good to ruin with talk.

Ryan’s hands dropped to the small of my back, and his thumbs kneaded the muscles paralleling my spine, pressing higher inch by inch. My breathing slowed and I felt myself melt.

Then I remembered Harry. And my lack of underwear.

I turned to face him, to pull the plug, and our eyes met. Ryan hesitated a moment, then cupped my face in both his hands, and pressed his lips to mine. He ran his fingers along my jawline and backward through my hair, then his arms circled my shoulders and he pulled me close. I started to push away, then stopped, my hands flat on his chest. He felt lean and taut, his muscles molded to his bones.

I felt the heat of his body and smelled his skin, and my nipples hardened under my thin cotton shirt. Collapsing against his chest, I closed my eyes and kissed back.

He held me hard against him and we kissed a long time. When my arms went around his neck he slid his hand under my shirt and danced his fingers across my skin. His stroke felt cobweb light, and shivers raced up my back and across the top of my skull. I arched against his chest and kissed him harder, opening and closing my mouth to the rhythm of his breathing.

He dropped his hand and ran his fingers around my waist and up my stomach, circling my breasts with the same feathery touch. My nipples throbbed and fire surged through my body. He thrust his tongue into my mouth and my lips closed around it. His hand cupped my left breast, then gently bounced it up and down. Then he squeezed the nipple between his thumb and finger, compressing and releasing in time to the sucking of our mouths.

I ran my fingers along his spine and his hand traveled downward to the curve of my waist. He caressed my belly, circled my navel, then hooked his fingers inside the waistband of my shorts. Current shot through my lower torso.

Eventually, our lips separated and Ryan kissed my face and ran his tongue inside my ear. Then he eased me back against the cushions, and lay beside me, the off-the-chart blue eyes boring into mine. Shifting onto his side, he took me by the hips, and pulled me to him. I could feel his hardness, and we kissed again.

After a while he disengaged, crooked his knee, and pressed his thigh between my legs. I felt an explosion in my loins and found it hard to breathe. Again Ryan put one hand below the T-shirt and slid it upward to my breast. He made circular movements with his palm, then ran his thumb across my nipple. I arched my back and moaned as the sensation obliterated the world around me. I lost all sense of time.

Moments or hours later his hand dropped, and I felt a tugging on my zipper. I buried my nose in his neck and knew one thing with certainty. Regardless of Harry, I wouldn’t say no.

Then the phone shrilled.

Ryan’s hands went to my ears and he kissed me hard on the mouth. I responded, clutching the hair at the back of his head, cursing Southern Bell. We ignored it through four rings.

When the answering machine clicked on the voice was soft and hard to hear, as though its owner were speaking from the end of a long tunnel. We both lunged, but it was too late.

Kathryn had hung up.