“Hello,” Cook half said, half asked as he took note of the golem. There remained nothing overtly supernatural about his appearance, so Cook seemed to accept him as a natural, if unknown quantity. “Uh, I have something I’d like to discuss with the immediate family, if that is all right.”

“It’s all right, Detective Cook,” Iris said, labeling the policeman for the golem’s benefit. “This is a dear friend of the family, and you can say anything you need to in front of him.”

“Okay,” Cook responded. “Pleased to meet you…”

“Clay,” I interjected. “Emmet Clay.”

“Mr. Clay,” Adam said. I looked over at the golem, surprised to see the corner of his mouth turned up into a sly smile. Emmet appeared to appreciate my humor, and I was glad to have a label for him.

“Detective,” he responded.

“So have you come to arrest us, officer?” Connor drawled, pushing his chair onto its back legs and resting his hands on his impressive stomach. He was itching for a fight, and right now he didn’t care whom it was with.

“No. Not at all.” Cook looked at me, his warm eyes filled with regret. “I’m sorry if I was rough on you the other day. Like I said, in these cases there is usually a family member involved.”

“And in this case?” Maisie asked with a defiance I hadn’t heard in her voice since we were teens.

“No. Not in this case, Miss Taylor. As a matter of fact, I came to let you all know we have made an arrest.”

“You have the killer?” Ellen asked, her voice hopeful, relieved.

“We believe we do. A bit of good luck, actually. There was a break-in a few blocks away from Ginny’s. An officer caught a young man trying to sell some of the stolen items. When he searched the suspect’s car, he found a tire iron wrapped up in a towel. There was blood and bits of bone fragment both on the iron and in the fabric.”

“Ginny’s?” Maisie asked, deflating into her chair, all her defiance draining away.

“Yes. We got results back from the lab a short time ago. I’ve been holding this under my hat for a few days while we were waiting on them. The suspect left no fingerprints at the crime scene, but we found the tire iron in his possession. When he saw it, he started screaming like he’d seen a ghost. Passed out right in front of the arresting officer and had to be transported to the emergency room to be stabilized.”

“He on something? Meth?” Connor asked, leaning back toward the table. “Them damned meth heads are taking over the whole goddamned world around here.”

“No, sir. He tested negative for any drugs, but he seemed pretty near scared out of his mind. We had him on psychiatric restraint until we could get the results.”

“I thought those were usually only good for seventy-two hours,” I said.

“Well, you know how persuasive your Uncle Oliver can be. He convinced the judge to stretch the rules a little.”

“You knew about this, Oliver?” Connor spat out.

“Yes. I contacted Adam to chew him a new asshole for upsetting Mercy. As it happened, they had just pulled this guy in. I went and visited Judge Matthews to see if we could arrange for the bastard to stay behind bars until we knew for sure.”

“And you didn’t share this because?” Connor continued.

“Because you and Iris have already done enough to hurt the detective’s case. I figured the less you knew, the less damage you could do.”

The two men stared at each other with all the warmth and kindness of junkyard dogs greeting strangers at the gate. Connor broke his gaze and turned to Cook. “So who the hell is the prick, anyway?”

Cook flipped open his black notebook. “His name is Martell Burke. Does the name ring a bell with anyone?”

“Never heard it,” Iris responded. “Have you?” she asked her husband. Connor responded by shifting his chair back and shrugging his shoulders.

Ellen frowned slightly as she tried to match the name with a face. “No,” she responded after a few moments of quiet consideration. “I don’t think so.”

“No,” I seconded Ellen. “Me either.”

Maisie said nothing, but Cook didn’t press her. “I didn’t expect as much,” Cook continued. “He was raised up north, came to Savannah a few months ago. Has a pretty long record, reaching back to juvenile, but mostly small time offenses. Nothing violent,” Cook added.

“So maybe he broke into Ginny’s not knowing who he was taking on?” Maisie asked.

“That is where it gets interesting. Burke may be new to the area, but he has people here. People with deep roots.” Cook paused. “I am sure you are all acquainted with Jilo Wills.”

“Mother Jilo,” Ellen exhaled.

The blood drained from my face as I remembered Jilo’s promise to work the spell I had requested of her. My feelings toward Peter had not changed since my visit to the crossroads, but even with Maisie’s assurance that Ginny’s death had had nothing to do with me, I felt sick. I forced myself to concentrate on what the others were saying, hoping my thoughts wouldn’t betray me. I felt as though I should say something about being with Jilo the night before the murder, but I couldn’t, at least not for now. I looked at Maisie, but her eyes warned me to stay silent.

“That’s right. Martell is Mother Jilo’s great-grandson. So it’s looking much less like this was simply a home invasion turned violent.”

“Well, I can’t imagine why Jilo would want to harm Ginny,” Iris said. “Ginny never interfered with Jilo. She never even took her too seriously.”

“And that could be reason enough for some folk,” Connor offered.

“Wounded pride,” the officer considered. “You could be right there, Mr. Flynn.”

“Have you questioned him? What is he saying about what happened?” Ellen demanded.

“He admits to being at Ginny’s, but swears he never stepped foot inside. We can’t get anything else out of him.”

“Well, let Oliver have a little time with him. That’ll get him talking. And if that don’t work, let me have him for a while,” Connor said, leaning back in his chair again.

“I already proposed that,” Oliver said. “The part about my questioning him, not the part where you try to hold onto the illusion of being a young cock. Detective Cook here would have none of it.” All eyes turned toward Cook.

“Listen, I don’t pretend to understand how y’all do this ‘woo-woo’ stuff that you are into, but I know it’s real. When I was a little boy my grandmother told me that if I couldn’t avoid you Taylors, I’d better make it my business to befriend y’all. I can’t let Oliver near this guy. If I did, I could never be sure that Oliver hadn’t influenced him not only to talk, but also on what to say.”

“You saying you don’t trust me, Adam?” Oliver asked.

“I’m saying I can’t trust you, and Mister, you know why.”

Oliver and Cook locked eyes, and a long moment of silence stretched out as we waited to see who would call chicken first. Cook let it drop. “Burke says he’ll tell us everything after he talks to Mother, but we can’t find her. No one’s seen her at her usual haunt in Colonial lately, and she’s done a good job of staying off the grid other than her appearances at the cemetery.”