Lethal Lineage by Charlotte Hinger

Church in America was still part of the Anglican Communion even if some faction was always raising hell.
    Frankly I didn’t give a damn what Agent Dimon thought of our church. All I cared about was finding a Sleep Inn where there was good lighting the whole width of the bed so I could read a little before I went to sleep. Because I had no intention of driving back home until I got some rest.
    I stood. “I’ll call back with my motel number. I’ll leave around eight tomorrow morning so let me know if you have more questions.”
    ***
    I swung by Wal-Mart to pick up toothpaste, a toothbrush, a few cosmetics, deodorant, a nightshirt, and Loren Estleman’s latest mystery. At home everything was prepacked into a tote. I kept supplies of my favorite toiletries so I could go anywhere, anytime, at a moment’s notice. But today, I hadn’t planned to drive on in to Topeka. I had intended to talk with the bishop and go straight home.
    After taking a long shower and washing my hair, I thought questions would still be banging around in my brain. But when I settled down to read, I was a goner. I woke up about two to use the bathroom and saw that I hadn’t even managed to turn off the lights. Since I hadn’t asked for a wake-up call, I slept until nine and then I felt like I’d been beaten.
    No room service here. There was a café across the street and I was starving. I threw everything into the Wal-Mart shopping bag and slid the heavy brocade drapes open to let in sunlight before I called the KBI to see if they needed anything before I headed back.
    “As a matter of fact, we do have some issues,” Agent Dimon said. “It’s about the service at your church.”
    Inside, I groaned, but I wanted them to have some respect for the Western third of the state and I couldn’t expect that if I acted like some wimpy woman who crème-puffed out over having to work a few extra hours.
    “Certainly, I’ll swing by as soon as I’ve had breakfast.”
    ***
    Agent Dimon gestured to a chair directly opposite him. At least we had some privacy even though his office was sparse, almost monk-like.
    He did not waste time on small talk, and reminded me of the serious, bleak man who played Hotch on
Criminal Minds.
    “Would you please go through every step of what occurs with the wine and the wafers.”
    “I’ll be glad to but you’re looking for clues in the wrong place. Probably because it’s been done so often on TV and in books, where someone slips poison into the communion wine.”
    Again, I explained why this was not a possibility because the Bishop sipped first, then Reverend Mary, then the remainder of the congregation.
    “It’s sort of like the dog that didn’t bark,” he said.
    “Exactly.” I was relieved he understood. “Only in this case, there’s all the people who were not poisoned. That’s my point exactly. It would be impossible for the suspect to poison one person without poisoning them all.”
    He took extensive notes and his eyebrows rose over the locked anteroom. “We’ll know more when we’re sure what poison was used. In the meantime, we’re going to find out where Mary Farnsworth came from and needless to say we need to know more about that mysterious bishop. And we want to interrogate the woman who heard the man say words that apparently set this whole episode off.”
    “Edna Mavery? I wish she didn’t have to be involved. She was extremely upset.”
    “Has to be done. You know that.”
    “Of course. Just go easy. Don’t badger her.” We didn’t need another death in Carlton County and Edna looked like a heavy breeze would blow her into Kingdom Come.

Chapter Fourteen
    On the way home, I replayed everything, sure of only a few things. The KBI would soon know the chalice had not been tainted, the carpet just contained cheap wine, and none of the gathered linens had absorbed even a trace of poison.
    Then my mind rebelled against the next confusing fact. Mary had been poisoned. The KBI said so, and the