"Hang on. We've got traffic laws even in a town this size." He came to a complete halt, powered down his window and waved the vehicle behind him to go around.

When the road was clear, he backed up, coming to a halt before the side of the church. He'd barely slowed the car before Ramsey was tumbling out the door. "Where are you . . ." He threw the vehicle into park and got out to follow her, wondering when he'd ever seen this degree of excitement from her before.

"What do you suppose that is?"

He squinted in the direction she was pointing. Felt a pitch in his gut when he saw the images in the simple stained glass windows on either side of the door. On the right was an image of pinecones, a soft brown against the cloudy yellow glass. On the left . . . he cocked his head. "Is that a flower?"

"It's some sort of plant." Adrenaline fairly shimmered off her. "And this was originally the front of the church. That's what you guys were saying earlier. Before they decided Main Street should run the other way. Molitor said these windows were original, right? Each but the front one."

"That's what he said." Regardless of what he was and wasn't supposed to know about the case, Ramsey was working, they'd spent nearly a full day visiting local healers, and she'd offered a small fortune for samples from Raelynn Urdall. It was clear that a plant of some sort figured largely in Ramsey's investigation.

"See what Molitor can tell you about the windows. I'll take some pictures of them." He had all his equipment still in the trunk from the unproductive time he'd spent at the old Kuemper place earlier in the day.

But he was speaking to Ramsey's back. She was already heading for the minister's home.

"I would havefigured people in a small town would take more interest in the local history." Frustrated, Ramsey ducked into Dev's car and slammed the door after her.

He started the engine. "No luck?"

"Well, Molitor knew the one window had pinecones, of course. But he seemed to think the plant was a generic symbol of new life. Rebirth." Which, when she thought about it, could take on new meaning to a twisted mind raping and killing women and dumping them in whatever body of water was handy.

She applied a mental brake to her thinking. There was no solid connection yet between the Frost killing and the one near DC. But if Detective Hopwood's evidence was still intact, she might get a link through the hair he'd found entwined in the rope.

A sudden thought occurred to her. "Water."

"You're thirsty?"

She shook her head. "In a church, I mean. Water has symbolism, too, right? Baptism. Cleansing sin, or whatnot."

"Most churches have some sort of baptism." He sounded reflective. "I guess cleansin' is as good a term as any. Was Molitor able to put together that list for you?"

"He was, although he seemed a bit distracted by the hellhound playing chess with him."

"Actually has a proper name. Reverend Jay Biggers of the Southern Baptist Church here in town."

"Didn't seem particularly ministerly." What he'd seemed, from her observations, was the cheat Molitor had called him. While the younger man was rummaging in his desk drawer for a pen and paper to write Ramsey's list, Biggers had been surreptitiously moving his queen. She'd aimed the same look at him that she regularly used on recalcitrant suspects until he'd returned the queen to its earlier position.

"Anyway, if you took pictures of the windows, I'd rather go back to the motel. I'd like to print them out and get them over to my guy in the lab."

"I got some pictures. Camera's in the backseat." He took the next left and headed toward the motel. "You want to use it, though, it's gonna cost you."

"I'm already buying you wine. What more do you want?" She twisted in her seat and tried to get the camera. When she couldn't reach it, she unsnapped her seat belt and shifted position, half diving in the backseat to make another attempt at it.

"Well, that's a start, I s'pose."

When she felt his palm on her butt, she slapped it away. Snagging the camera, she returned to her seat, shooting him a narrowed look. "That's a good way to lose a hand."

"Honey, it just might be worth it."

The lazy good humor in his words had her smiling in spite of herself. The smile abruptly faded when memory intruded. "I can't believe I forgot to tell you." Guilt stabbed through her. "I went to see ex-chief of police Kenner this morning."

If she hadn't been watching so closely she might not have noticed the slight tensing of his body, as if readying for a blow. "What'd he have to say?"

"He didn't want to say much. He seems discreet enough. But he indicated the mystery of your father's drinking prior to the murder might be solved by a conversation with your mother. Sounded like he kept details from the report that he didn't feel were pertinent to the night in question in an effort to avoid some sort of embarrassment."

The muscle in his jaw clenched once. "Well, we're a polite folk down here."

Remorse sprouted fangs, sank deep. "I'm really sorry I didn't tell you earlier."

He turned into the parking lot of the motel and pulled up to the cabin housing the temporary TBI office. "Don't be. It's goin' to take some time to decide how badly I want to know those details." His smile was humorless. "You're not the only one with reason to avoid contact with family."

Because it was locked, Ramsey banged on the door to the lab. Jonesy answered and blocked her entrance. "Uh-uh, you don't come in unless you're sterile."

She looked down at herself. "I haven't exactly been rolling in the dirt today." Although if it hadn't been for the quilt Dev had snatched from the bed, she would have been close during their picnic. "And don't I always gown up when I come inside?"

But he was adamant. "I'm running tests; there's no reason for you to come in. I don't have anything for you yet. I'm about three quarters done with the comparisons on those plants and no matches yet."

She handed him the batch of photos she'd downloaded from Dev's cameras. "Do any of them look like this?"

He flipped through the pages. Today he was back in jeans and a T-shirt beneath the scrubs. She absolutely didn't want to consider whether he seemed more relaxed or not.

"I never realized how much plant parts can look alike," he muttered. "But yeah, there are a couple that seem similar. You want me to try them next?"

"I'll wait while you do."

When he looked up from the photos to glower at her, she gave him a grim smile. "The only way you're keeping me out of the lab is if you think you can throw me out. Feeling lucky today?"

Apparently he wasn't. Although that didn't stop him from throwing her filthy looks after she donned sterile clothing and made herself comfortable on a chair in the corner.

An hour later she was convinced he was being purposefully slow. Meticulous was one thing, but surely it shouldn't take that long to cut off the roots from the plants, wash them, and slice a part from each to jam under the microscope.

Involuntarily, her thoughts turned to Dev's response to her conversation with Kenner. He was a grown man. It was ridiculous to worry about him. But there had been something in his eyes that told her he expected the upcoming conversation with his mother to be more unpleasant than illuminating. And she could sympathize with his reluctance to tackle it.

What was shocking was the strength of her desire to spare him that. She, who would never thank anyone for attempting to protect her from unpleasantness. Ramsey was reminded then of what Leanne had had to say about Dev's parents a couple days ago.

From all accounts, Lucas Rollins was a lot like Dev. Easy to get along with and not much for gettin' liquored up and carousin'. Which seems sorta ironic. Woman like that would drive most men to drink.

It made her wonder just what sort of woman Celia Ann was.

"Geez, you asleep over there or what? I expected some sort of reaction, at least."

Her attention snapped to Jonesy, who was looking a bit crestfallen. "What?"

He gave an exaggerated sigh of patience. "Like I told you a minute ago. We've got a match."

Chapter 21.

"It's called turmeric." Ramsey spelled the name for Powell as she looked down at the printouts before her. She'd spent hours doing research on the Internet before calling the agent with what she had. The excitement buzzing through her had grown with each new discovery and was now impossible to contain. "It has numerous healing properties. Ulcers, for one thing." She thought the man would appreciate that detail. "It's said to detoxify the liver, balance cholesterol levels, stimulate digestion . . . there's a whole list. The root is ground up and used as a spice. It's native to India."

"But none of the local healers you talked to recall sellin' any recently."

"I haven't been able to get in contact with Rose Thornton yet," she admitted. There'd been no sign of the woman anywhere on her property when Ramsey had driven out there. And after knocking, she'd tried the woman's door only to find it locked. "But I made personal contacts with the other women I'd spoken to. All say they have only an occasional call for it, and none think they've sold any in the last year."

There was a silence on the line, and she wondered what the agent was thinking. Eventually he said, "Well, we can be certain Frost didn't take it for medicinal purposes since it was ingested shortly before death. So that means the UNSUB brought it with him. You said it wouldn't be found outdoors?"

"In Tennessee it would have to be grown inside," she affirmed. "But I don't think the offender's reasons for using it have anything to do with its alleged healing powers. I did some research on plant symbolization. Apparently, turmeric symbolizes purification. The other window on the church I told you about? It had pinecones on it. In religion, pinecones symbolize immortality."

"Have you found any verification that the plant on the church window really is an image of turmeric?" Powell asked.

Somewhat deflated, Ramsey leaned back in the desk chair. "Not yet. I'll continue looking into that end."

"I'm no nature expert, but one plant can look a lot like 'nother. An image on a window, especially, can be imprecise."

"There must be a county horticulturist around here somewhere." She looked at her watch. Noted that it was nearing five, when most county employees would be heading home.

And when the town's only liquor store would be closing.

Banishing the errant thought, she continued. "I'll start delving into the church history. Try to get verification that the plant image on the church window really does depict turmeric. But this fits, Powell. It all fits. That ViCAP hit I was telling you about? The homicide four years ago in DC? She had some sort of undigested plant root in her system, too. She was also dumped in water, which might be symbolic if we stay with the religious connection."

Powell grunted. "Well, if we can get our hands on that hair in the detective's evidence log, and it matches the one found in Frost's apartment, we'll know the two cases are linked. Too soon to get excited over the possibility yet. But good job, Clark. Work up a profile usin' the religious link for the perp. I'll head back in a day or two to go over it with you."

"Already got started on it." All of Raiker's consultants were cross-trained in various aspects of investigation and profiling. Since joining his team, Ramsey couldn't imagine carrying out an investigation without developing a profile. "How's it going with Sanders?"

She could hear the shrug in Powell's voice. "He's shut down, probably on his attorney's orders. But the forensic accountin' done so far shows he's in deeper than he wants to admit. The money from the life insurance policy wouldn't make all his credit problems go away, but it would buy him some needed time. The place he opened has been a money pit and is bleedin' red ink. I'd say he knows we've got motive and he's sweatin' it."

"I'll touch base with Rollins. See if anything's come from that search he was going to do to find a connection between Sanders and someone in the area."

"He's next on my list to call, so I'll ask him. Seems like I'm spendin' all my time on the phone these days. But Jeffries is pleased with our progress so far."

The moment the call was over Ramsey headed for the door, already dialing directory assistance. She went through several queries as she drove to the liquor store and made her selection a few minutes before it was due to close. Was back in the car again when she'd finally connected with the local county extension office.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, it's 'bout one minute to closin' time. Perhaps you can call back tomorrow." The woman's drawl was thick enough to cut with a knife.

"I don't think you understand." Ramsey let civility slip a notch and steel took its place. "I'm working with the TBI investigation." She gave no details, but knew she didn't have to. Everyone in the area had heard about the murder victim discovered on county property recently. "I'm certain your office will want to extend us every courtesy."

"But . . ."

"In a timely manner," she added firmly.

Which was how she happened to be standing fifteen minutes later on the sidewalk, once again staring up at the stained glass windows. This time with a prematurely balding young man at her side by the name of Lonny Beaumont.

"Huh," he said reflectively.

Ramsey shifted from one foot to the other with barely concealed impatience. "Do you recognize the plant or not?"

"Huh," he repeated. "Y'know, it's funny how a fella can pass by a place ever' day, and never really 'see' it, y'know what I mean?" He scratched his balding pate, fell to contemplating again. "Those are pinecones over t'other side, of course."

"Yeah. That I was able to figure out on my own."

He obviously wasn't a student of sarcasm. Hers seemed to sail right over his head, which was, with its scarcity of hair, visibly too small for his gangly large-framed body. Lonny rocked back on his heels and pulled at his lower lip, squinting up at the window with the plant on it.

"Can you make an educated guess what that plant is?"

"We-e-ll," he drawled out the word long enough to have Ramsey ready to reach in his mouth and pull out the rest of the sentence. "I could. Problem is, a guess is all it would be. Tucker's actually more of what you'd call a horticulturist. That'd be Tucker Green, and he's at a meetin' all day today." He fell silent, cocking his head to study the window from another angle. "Might be I could bring him by tomorrow, get his take on it."

"Wait." She strode to the car and grabbed the sheets of photos Dev had already taken of the window. Burning off a tinge of her frustration by slamming the door, she approached him and held them out. "Here are some pictures. Maybe you can show them to him and he can do a little research." She reached into her pocket and withdrew a card and extended that, too. "Have Tucker call me tomorrow once he's had a chance to look at these."

Lonny took the card, studied it. "Work does tend to pile up when we're gone." He glanced up again. "I can't promise that he'll . . ." A look at her unflinching expression had him swallowing. "I'll tell Tuck it's urgent."

"You tell Tuck it's urgent," she agreed. "Tell him it'd be better that he call me before I come looking for him." She was almost sorry for that last statement when Lonny's gaze widened, fixing on the bulge beneath her jacket.

He swallowed hard again. "I'll do that ma'am. Or . . ." he glanced at the card again. "Miz Clark?"

Was it her imagination or was everybody younger than she was these days? Younger and too damn easily intimidated. Giving an inner sigh, she relented, sent him a genuine, if small, smile. "I'd appreciate it. And thanks for meeting me here after work hours."

Lonny seemed to relax a bit. Turned to look at the church again as if the answers to Ramsey's questions were emblazoned on it. "T'weren't no problem. United Methodist is right on my way home. I was born and raised in a house over on Grant, three blocks south of here. Maybe you've gone by it. Gray house with pink shutters? Funny story 'bout them shutters. See they was s'posed to be maroon, but the man at the paint store, he . . ."

Ramsey headed for the Ford. He didn't seem to realize he was alone. She could still hear him talking as she got in and turned on the ignition. There was no telling how far he'd get into the story before realizing his audience had left.

She pulled away from the curb, feeling a tiny flicker of guilt. Then her glance fell to the purchase she'd made earlier. The wine was getting warm. She still needed to drive back to the motel for her laundry, which was going to make her late for those hamburgers with Dev.

Just that easily, the guilt vanished and a feeling of warm anticipation took its place. Because she didn't want to examine that emotion too closely, she resolved for once just to let it be.

"You get the dryer runnin' okay?" Dev walked through the back door with a platter piled with enough hamburgers to feed a small village for a week.

"I'm not completely without domestic skills." She put down the book she'd been examining and moved the wine-glasses out of the way so he could place the platter on the table.

"So I see."

She'd been left with the job of setting the table and readying vegetables she'd never eat to top the burgers. Oh, and opening a bag of chips to pour into a bowl. Which, if truth be known, was pretty much the extent of her prowess in the kitchen. It wasn't a matter of not knowing how to cook as much as rarely bothering. It was far easier to rely on takeout, especially with the hours she kept.

Still, this was nice. Cozy. Her side of labor for the meal hadn't entailed much, so she'd gone wandering around the house. Spied the book near the computer with Dev's name emblazoned across the front and picked it up.

She was still reeling with impressions. "Somehow you failed to mention your doctorate."

He was rummaging in the refrigerator, before he straightened with bottles of ketchup and mustard in his hands. Approaching her, he set them on the table. "Doesn't come up much. Unless . . ." He sent her a look filled with mock hope. "Does the thought of advanced degrees by any chance make your clothes fall off?"

Ramsey smirked. "You'll have to expend a little energy to that end yourself."

"There you go. I knew it wouldn't impress you, so there was no need to mention it." He stabbed a burger and set it on her plate before rounding the table to his own seat.