Before I could change my mind, I took out my cell phone, drew a deep breath, and dialed the number. Mom answered on the third ring.

"Hello! It's a blessed morning!" she said perkily. Clearly she hadn't checked the caller I.D.

"Mom, it's me."

As I expected, her tone instantly changed. "Zoey? What's happened now?" I was too tired to play our usual mother-daughter games. "Where was John late last night?"

"What ever do you mean, Zoey?"

"Mom, I don't have time for this crap. Just tell me. After you two left Utica Square, what did you do?"

"I don't think I like your tone, young lady."

I stifled an urge to scream in frustration. "Mom, this is important. Very important. As in life and death."

"You're always so dramatic," she said. Then she gave a nervous little fake laugh. "Your father came home with me, of course. We watched a football game on TV and then we went to bed."

"What time did he leave for work this morning?"

"What a silly question! He left about an hour and a half ago, as usual. Zoey, what is this about?" I hesitated. Could I tell her? What had Neferet said about calling the police? Surely what had happened to Professor Nolan would be plastered all over the news later today. But not yet. Not now. And I knew darn well my mother couldn't be trusted to keep anything quiet.

"Zoey? Are you going to answer me?"

"Just watch the news. You'll see what it's about," I said.

"What have you done?" I realized she didn't sound worried or upset, only resigned.

"Nothing. It's not me. You better look closer to home for who did what. And remember, I don't live at your home anymore."

Her voice turned brittle. "That's right. You most certainly do not. I don't know why you're even calling here. Didn't you and your hateful grandmother say you weren't going to talk to me anymore?"

"Your mother is not hateful," I said automatically.

"She is to me!" my mother snapped.

"Never mind. You're right. I shouldn't have called. Have a good life, Mom." I said, and hung up on her. Mom had been right about one thing. I should never have called her. The card was probably just a coincidence anyway. I mean, there are only about a gazillion religious specialty stores in Tulsa and Broken Arrow. They all carry those crappy cards. And they all tend to look the same-either doves and waves washing over footprints in the sand, or crosses and blood and nails. It didn't necessarily mean anything. Did it?

My head felt as woozy as my stomach felt sick. I needed to think, and I couldn't think while I was so tired. I'd sleep and then try to figure out what I should do. Instead of throwing the card away, I put the two halves in the top drawer of my desk. Then I yanked off my clothes and pulled on my most comfortable pair of sweats. Nala was already snoring on my pillow. I snuggled next to her, closed my eyes, forced my mind to clear of terrible images and unspeakable questions, and instead concentrated on my cat's purring until I finally drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

Chapter Sixteen

I knew the second Heath got back in town because he interrupted my dream. I had been lying out in the sun (see, clearly a dream) on a big, heart-shaped floatie in the middle of a lake made of Sprite (who knows?), when all of a sudden everything disappeared and Heath's familiar voice burst into my skull.

"Zo!"

My eyes fluttered open. Nala was staring at me with grumpy green cat eyes.

"Nala? Did you hear something?"

The cat "mee-uf-owed," sneezed, stood up long enough to pad around and around in a circle several times, then she plopped down and went right back to sleep.

"You're really no help at all," I said.

She ignored me.

I looked at the clock and groaned. It was seven o'clock, p.m. Jeesh, I'd slept for about eight hours but my eyelids were like sandpaper. Ugh. What did I have to do today?

Then I remembered Professor Nolan and the conversation with my mom and my stomach clenched. Should I tell someone about my suspicions? As Loren had said, the People of Faith had already been implicated in the murder by the awful note that was left behind. So, did I really need to say anything about the fact that I wouldn't be surprised if the step-loser was involved? Mom had made it clear to me that he'd been home all last night, and this morning. At least, that's what she was saying. Could she be lying?

A shiver went through my body. Of course she could be. She'd do anything for that disgusting man. She'd already proven that by turning her back on me. But if she was lying, and I told on her, then I'd be responsible for what happened to her. I hated John Heffer, but did I hate him enough to cause my mom to go down with him?