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I rose on tiptoe and planted a big kiss on his mouth. He stumbled back, pushing away from me so hard that he fell into the bedroom and left me pushed into the hallway beyond. Masculine laughter filled the hallway. Two bright spots of color flamed on Marks’ cheeks as he lay panting on the carpet.

“You’re lying in your evidence, Marks,” I said.

“Get her out of here, now.”

I blew Marks a kiss, and left through a grinning parade of policeman. One of the uniforms offered to let me kiss him any time. I told him he couldn’t handle it and left through the front door to laughter, catcalls, and masculine humor mostly at Marks’ expense. He didn’t seem to be a popular guy. Go figure.

Edward stayed inside for a few moments, probably trying to soothe things over like a good Ted would do. But in the end he came out of the house, shaking hands with the cops, smiling, and nodding. The smile vanished as soon as he turned so that I was his only audience.

He unlocked the car and we got in. When we were safe inside of its mud-stained windows, he said, “Marks has gotten you kicked off the investigation. I don’t know how he did it, but he did it.”

“Maybe he and the chief go to the same church,” I said. I had snuggled down into the seat, as far as the seatbelt would allow. Edward looked at me as he started the engine. “You don’t seem upset.”

I shrugged. “Marks isn’t the first right-wing asshole to get up in my face, and he won’t be the last.”

“Where’s that famous temper of yours?”

“Maybe I’m growing up,” I said.

He shook his head. “What did you see in the corner of the room that I didn’t? You were looking at something.”

“A soul,” I said.

He actually lowered his sunglasses so I could see his baby blues. “A soul?”

I nodded. “Which means that someone in that house did die, and within three days.”

“Why three days?” he asked.

“Because three days is the limit for most souls to hang around. After that they go to heaven or hell or wherever. After three days you may get ghosts, but you won’t get souls.”

“But the Bromwells are alive. You saw them yourself.”

“What about their son?” I asked.

“He’s missing,” Edward said.

“Nice of you to mention that.” I wanted to be angry at him for the game playing, but I just couldn’t find the energy. No matter how blasé I was about Marks, it did bother me. I was Christian, but I’d lost count of the number of fellow Christians who’d called me witch or worse. It didn’t make me angry anymore, just tired.

“If the parents are alive, then the boy probably isn’t,” I said.

Edward pulled out onto the road, easing his way among the plethora of marked and unmarked police cars Marks had brought with him. “But all the other murder vics were cut up. We didn’t find any body parts in the house. If the boy is dead, then it’s a change in the pattern. We haven’t figured out the old pattern yet.”

“A change in pattern may give the police the break they need,” I said.

“You believe that?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“What do you believe?”

“I believe that the Bromwells’ son is dead, and whatever skinned and mutilated his parents took his body, but didn’t cut it up. However the son was killed, it wasn’t by being torn apart or there would have been more blood. He was killed in a way that didn’t add blood to the room.”

“But you’re sure he’s dead?”

“There’s a soul floating around the house, Edward. Someone’s dead, and if there are only three people living in a house, and two of them are accounted for . . . You do the math.” I was staring out the car window but wasn’t seeing anything. I was seeing that young tanned face smiling in the pictures.

“Deductive reasoning,” Edward said. “I’m impressed.”

“Yeah, me and Sherlock Holmes. By the way, now that I’m persona non grata, where are you taking me?”

“To a restaurant. You said you hadn’t had lunch.”

I nodded. “Fine.” Then after a moment, I asked, “What was his name?”

“Who?”

“The Bromwells’ son, what was his first name?”

“Thad, Thaddeus Reginald Bromwell.”

“Thad,” I said softly to myself.