Bloody Kin by Margaret Maron

alumnus—the twenty thousand or so tickets were split among the eight colleges and were never, ever sold to the general public—you settled in with a group of similarlyaligned friends for three days of intensive television viewing.
    This year’s tournament was at the Greensboro Coliseum, which was why, Kate realized, the radio announcer this morning had been so happy about Greensboro’s weather. This was also why Lacy had turned on the television for lunch, why Rob’s firm had kept the afternoon clear, and why Dwight Bryant might not be seen till Monday morning.
    As she recalled from earlier years, there were four games the first day, two the second, and the championship game on Sunday. For three days, every business office, department store, restaurant, you name it, would suddenly sprout portable televisions and radios.
    “Don’t employers mind?” Kate asked as she and Rob drove to a nearby restaurant.
    “Most employers are in Greensboro this weekend,” he said. “And those that aren’t are hanging over a television, too.”
    The restaurant was uncrowded and they were seated right away.
    “So,” Kate said, resigned to the inevitable sports talk, “is Carolina going to win?”
    “I guaran-damn-tee you, as Lacy would say. They’re unbeaten in conference play. Of course, Duke gave them a scare last Saturday and Maryland’s hungry to win a championship for Lefty Driesell, but Carolina has two All-Americans.”
    Rob brushed at a cowlick of russet hair and laughed at the polite tilt of her head. He had heard the resignation in her voice.
    “Poor Kate! You really did pick a bad time to come, didn’t you? Dead bodies in your packhouse, wall-to-wall basketball for the next three days. Depending on how many ACC teams get picked for the NCAA, you may not get anybody to talk about politics, the Middle East, or even prayer in the public schools till after the first of April!”
    “Murder takes second place too,” she said, and told Rob of his brother’s decision to wait till the next day to pick up the picture of Bernie Covington.
    “You have to remember that Dwight helped win a basketball championship in our high school division. Once a player, always a fan.”
    “You didn’t play?”
    “Oh, I played. Second string. My team just didn’t have the same talent as Dwight’s. We finished third every time. I was better at baseball.”
    “Was it hard having a brother you couldn’t match?” Kate asked shrewdly.
    “Do I sound jealous?” His slanted green eyes were rueful. “You know, Dwight could have played for Carolina. The recruiters were interested, but he wanted to join the army, see the world. When I got over to Chapel Hill, I couldn’t even make junior varsity.” He grinned at her and the playful fox look returned to his pointed face. “Sibling rivalry’s a dreadful thing, Kate. Be grateful you’re an only child. You ready to order?”
    Kate prudently chose a salad plate and glass of white wine. Rob opted for a steak sandwich and beer.
    “Who’s Bernie Covington, anyhow?” he asked. “And why does Dwight want his picture?”
    Kate had forgotten that Rob hadn’t been there when Lacy remembered that Jake’s old army acquaintance also had a prominent black mole on his right cheek. “Miss Emily must be slipping,” she teased when she had explained.
    “Dwight must have gone straight back to Dobbs,” Rob agreed.
    “On the other hand, he’s one of the few people who can spend an hour with Mother and leave knowing more than he’s told.”
    “Like what’s happened to his marriage?” Kate guessed.
    Rob nodded. “He’s hurting, but all he’ll say is that Jonna likes her own home town out in western Virginia better than she likes Dobbs or Washington and that the divorce will be final this summer if they can agree on custody and visitation for their son. I offered to handle it for him, but he told me to butt out and I did.”
    His tone was light, but Kate sensed the hurt.
    “Anyhow,” she