=1.=   2.

Gabriel had the feeling that Faith expected him to beat a path to the front door at any moment now, speeding back to Seattle with the wheels squealing and him screaming bloody murder.

Literally bloody murder. . .

Granted, it wasn't every day that one found a dead body in the basement, but it wasn't as if Gabe never saw pictures before. He was an attorney. There were worse things.

Daddy Boot, or D.B., was apparently of the same opinion.

"I'm just saying," he huffed indignantly to one of the other Houstons -- Martha, if Gabriel recalled correctly, "if Billy Bob had messed up my case of wine, and if he hadn't already been dead, I'd've made him! Be dead again, I mean."

"Honestly, D.B.," said Martha crossly. "He was such a young boy! Too soon for his time, if you ask me."

"Well, I didn't, now did I?" D.B. sniffed and patted his mustache to make sure there weren't any stray waffle crumbs in it. "That boy always did travel with the wrong crowd. 'Mark my words,' I said. 'He'll come to a bad end.' Didn't I say it, Eula Mae? Didn't I?"

"Billy Bob just rode the tractor with a few other kids at midnight," Faith sighed before Aunt Mae could answer. "I hardly call that 'coming to a bad end.'"

"True," said another Houston family member, nodding as he searched his pockets and located a pipe. "It's not like he sprayed graffiti or smoked pot. Not like those city kids up north."

Gabriel struggled to remember the man's name. With his richly dark hair, he looked young enough to be Faith's cousin, but considering her family's convoluted relationships, looks were a very poor judge of things. He could've been her great-uncle twice removed, for all Gabriel knew. Family introductions hadn't been completed last night, thanks to the furor about Billy Bob.

Juniper looked reproachfully at the dark-haired man. "Not in the kitchen, Vicar."

"But Juniper-berry --"

"You know the smell of tobacco ruins my cooking. If you'd like to be head of the kitchen from now on then go right ahead."

Vicar scowled. "I'll be in the living roo --"

"Outside," Cousin Wilhemia, D.B., and Martha cried, two of them punctuating their words with their fingers pointed out the back door.

Vicar made a sound similar to a horse's snort before stomping off to the porch. One of the teenagers chuckled; Fancy's baby burped goodbye.

Gabriel glanced at Faith curiously. "I didn't know he was a minister," he said.

Faith looked blank. "Who?" Then her expression cleared. "Oh, Vicar! No, he isn't. He was christened after the priest who delivered him when Aunt Susie-Lou --"

"Bless her soul," murmured Martha as she crossed herself.

"-- gave birth during confession. Father Mirhearty wasn't too happy about it, of course, but he hadn't been able to find a doctor in time so he had to catch Vicar all by himself."

"Two months later he was accepted at another congregation in Louisiana," murmured dainty Fancy as she jiggled the baby in her arms. "He was out of this town in a shot. Never saw a body run so fast since the time Jefferson found mice in his car engine."

Jefferson's cheeks turned hot as everyone directed eyes at him. "They were mice!"

D.B. harrumph'ed. Uncle Ackson looked sympathetic. Jerry, the little tyke, snickered.

"You can't blame Father Mirhearty," Faith pointed out. "We all know how low Aunt Susie-Lou's treshhold of pain was. She'd scream the house down if she so much as pricked her finger. Imagine her reaction at childbearing, with Father Mirhearty at the other end! The man must've been badly traumatized by the whole experience."

Murmurs of "true, true," echoed around the kitchen. Gabriel found himself murmuring it too, even though he hadn't even known Aunt Susie-Lou.

Still, he was confused. "But if Vicar was named after Father Mirhearty, why is his name Vicar?"

"Oh," said Aunt Mae, patting Gabriel's hand with a grand-auntly smile on her face. "Susie-Lou didn't know Father Mirhearty's name at the time. None of us did until two days later, when she'd already filled out the birth certificate. By then it was too late."

"Besides," said Cousin Wilhemia, "can you imagine going through life with a name like Mirhearty?" She laughed.

Gabriel wisely chose not to comment. Faith caught the gleam in his eye and nudged him reprovingly, but had to stifle her own giggle.

One of the kids glanced at his watch and, with typical teenage brevity, said, "Well, gotta go," before heading toward the door.

"Chance!" Fancy reprimanded.

"Thanks for breakfast, Aunt Junie," Chance called dutifully, disappearing past the door without stopping or looking over his shoulder.

Fancy sighed and glanced apologetically at Gabriel. "He's at that stage."

Gabriel wasn't quite sure what stage Fancy meant, considering most of the teens he'd been exposed to carried guns and switchblades. Chance was extremely well-behaved by comparison. Then again, this was rural Oregon he was in. And these were the Oregon Houstons. According to Faith, nothing more need be said.

"He said he's meeting with Jed at the supply store," said Faith as she got off Gabriel's lap to put her dishes in the sink.

"Without his jacket? That boy!" Fancy bounced off her chair and glanced around wildly before placing her baby in Gabriel's stunned arms. "Just a moment, sweetie. Chance!"

Gabriel was still reeling after the dust had settled behind Fancy's abrupt departure. He stared at the baby in half-amazement, half-horror.

Jerry seemed to pick up on his fear. "You're gonna drop her," he said maniacally.

"Jerry!" Faith glared.

"He is! Look, the head's headin' thataway! He's gonna crack her skull on the linoleum!"

Gabriel hastily shifted his arms to hold the baby more securely. Uncle Ackson, the genial fellow, must've felt sorry for him because he ambled forward to take his daughter.

"Out," Faith said, advancing towards Jerry.

"Well, he was."

"We've got grown-up things to talk about. Take your cousins and go play in the living room."

"But I wanna hear about the murder!"

"Out!"

Jefferson was obliging enough to shepherd the kids out of the kitchen, leaving the adults ready to talk.

Aunt Mae was visibly worried. "You don't suppose any of us are under suspicion, do you, Wilhemia dear?"

Cousin Wilhemia slurped her coffee before settling into her sheriff mode. "Since we can account for everybody's location last night, that should leave us in the clear. Billy Bob might've been killed before last night, though, which might make things more difficult. Hopefully Rye will have details from the autopsy folks by the time I check in today."

Rye was Ryan Grisham, her deputy. Faith had told Gabriel last night that the young man appeared to have a crush on the older Wilhemia. It was kinda sweet, she'd grinned. The boy would save the last donut for her.

"Can't have been the night before," D.B. protested. "I was down there checking on my case of wine then, and there wasn't a dead body while I was there. I'd've noticed."

"Why you were checking on it, I'd like to know," sniffed Martha. "Nobody's been interested in your wine for the two weeks you've had it, and I warrant nobody's interested in it now."

"Now, Martha, I'm sure it's a very nice case of wine Daddy Boot has," Aunt Mae murmured assuagingly.

Martha gave one more sniff before sipping her tea. D.B. bristled but was checked with a warning look from Juniper. The kitchen was Juniper's domain, and she ruled supreme. No one could squabble without her advance permission.

Cousin Wilhemia stretched her booted legs before thumping to her feet. "Well, better be off now. Thanks for the waffles, Juniper. I'll be back tonight with news." She grabbed her hat from the top of the fridge and stomped out the back door with what Gabriel observed was her typical disregard for refined behavior. Perhaps she'd been a trucker in a previous job.

Faith came to stand beside Gabriel, and he wrapped an arm around her waist. "This is certainly an interesting turn of events," he commented.

Faith gave a weak laugh. "Bet you never expected this as part of your induction to the family, huh?" She dropped a kiss on his upturned forehead. "For the record, I thought you held Li'l Q perfectly."

Gabriel beamed, so pleased that he forgot to ask why the baby was named Li'l Q.

D.B. eyed Gabriel suspiciously. "You're interested in a killing? Why? You a voyuer or something?"

"D.B.!" Martha scolded.

"What? I'm just watching out for our Faith. I'd've said he was just like one of them lawyer-types, but Jefferson's a lawyer-type, so I didn't."

Jefferson nodded commiseratively at Gabriel, who nodded back.

"Well, I'm sure Faith has better sense than to marry a murderer, don't you, Faith?"

"Yes, Aunt Martha," Faith sighed in resignation.

"You have to admit it's something to think about," Jefferson pointed out. "Why would somebody kill Billy Bob and dump his body in our basement? The house is always crowded -- somebody could've walked in on the killer at any time."

"We were especially noisy last night," Juniper acknowledged. "What with Jerry trumping Ackson just like that, and everyone in and out of the kitchen grabbing a bite. The killer couldn't have entered through the back door."

"That would've been a big risk to take," agreed Faith. "Couldn't have used the front door either -- we were all there watching Jerry 'trump' Uncle Ackson."

"But what other way is there to get into the house?" Aunt Mae fretted.

Gabriel got to his feet. "Well, no time like the present to find out, don't you think?"