his right.

Blessedly, Reverend Tim Moore, the other associate pastor, was absent. Tim had a disconcerting habit of fainting during funerals. Reverend Moore on the floor. Again!

The choir director, Paul Williams, a thin, dark-skinned man, entered the sanctuary through a side door and sauntered up the dais in a yellow three-piece suit and yellow silver-tipped shoes.

"Reverend Walker," he said into a yellow handkerchief. "Reverend Walker, we have a problem."

Reverend Walker wanted to ask him the name of the clothing store what sold him a suit that contrasted so violently with his complexion.

"Yes," noticing the man also wore a yellow polka-dotted shirt.

The choir director knelt before Reverend Jones. "There are two coffins outside. Two," holding up two fingers. "Two!"

"And?" Reverend Walker said.

"Two! One contains a dog."

Reverend Jones shook his head.

"And?"to me Robert Earl needs money in a bad way. He's having financial problems?"

"No more than anyone else. You see, Robert Earl dreams of opening a combination snake farm and gas station."

Sheriff Bledsoe arched an eyebrow. "Snakes?"

"I'm afraid so," wondering if Sheriff Bledsoe thought his entire family was insane.

"Here in Dawson?"

"Yes." Leonard sighed. "Right here. Robert Earl stopped at a gas station displaying snakes when he was in Arizona. It definitely made an impression on him; he's been talking about it for years."

"Has Robert Earl--"

Leonard cut him short. "Robert Earl is not a murderer. He's a snake lover, a blowhard, a coward, a nut--he's not a murderer. He's also a homophobe, though I'm sure you wouldn't hold that against him."

Sheriff Bledsoe ignored the slight. "I didn't say he