”No thanks.” Sarah rose from the chair and moved to the wall to push the button that summoned the guard.

”So that’s it? No thanks?”

”That’s it.”

”Fine.” Caroline got up from her chair and moved to the opposite door. Both women stood in uncomfortable silence, facing away from each other, until the guard appeared.

”The offer stays open,” Caroline said as Sarah walked out of the room. ”All you have to do is show up.”

April 12

11:15 a.m.

Agent Landers knew there’d be some added pressure to make an arrest because the dead guy was a preacher.

Not that there wouldn’t have been pressure to find out who killed him if he’d been a plumber or a bartender.

But preachers still had a special place in the hearts and minds of most upper east Tennesseans. Killing a man of God was an insult to the Almighty Himself.

The Purple Pig was a small, popular burger and beer joint about a mile from East Tennessee State University. It was like one of those English pubs-

same people, sitting in the same places, telling the same old jokes, drinking the same kind of beer.

Landers ate lunch there two or three times a month. Every now and then he’d stop in and have a beer after work. He went to high school with the owners, and he knew several of the regulars and the waitresses. Especially the waitresses. Landers had phone numbers for all of them, even the ones who were married. ”Skilled with the ladies” was how he referred to himself.

He parked his Ford in the lot, picked up the photo of Tester, and jogged up to the door. He could smell the grease as soon as he got out of the car. The Pig wasn’t open for breakfast, but there were cars in the lot. He knew the employees were prepping for the lunch rush, so he knocked on the locked front door.

Patti Gillespie opened it. Patti was a cute little brunette, barely over five feet tall. She and her brother, Sonny, owned the place. Landers had banged Patti once in the girls’ bathroom during a basketball game back in high school. He’d wanted to know what a small girl felt like.