“Yes.” She watched as a praying mantis made its cautious way along a leafy tomato branch. Its green color was perfect camouflage. She would never have noticed it if it hadn’t moved. “I’ve tried to help but they’re very…private.”

“I will pray for them. And for the souls of Mary Catherine and Thomas Preston.” He turned to her. “Are you Catholic?”

Lucy shook her head.

“Do you pray?”

Lucy considered the question. She didn’t pray regularly, but there were times when she did. “Occasionally.”

“Ah,” he said. “I find prayer very helpful. You should try it more often.”

“Thank you for your help,” she said, getting to her feet. “You’ve been the answer to a prayer.”

His face reddened. “I try,” he said, tipping his hat.

As she meandered through the hills of New Hampshire toward the Maine border and home, Lucy thought over what Father Keenan had told her about the O’Toole family. Fred had been truthful when he told her that Mimi had no family. Their parents dead, they had been raised by foster parents. Lucy wondered if they had been placed together in the same home, or if they’d been separated, as was often the case.

It seemed a cruel twist of fate that Mimi’s sons were close to being in the same situation, though Preston at least was older than Mimi and her brother had been. How old were they when their father was killed? How long after that did their mother take her life? Father Keenan had said she was “fragile.” Did that mean their mother suffered from mental problems even before the shooting? Lucy found that the information she’d gotten from Father Keenan was creating more questions than answers. She couldn’t wait to get back to her computer and put Google to work.

She had just passed the “Welcome to Maine” sign when her cell phone rang. Normally, Lucy didn’t like to talk on the cell phone when she was driving; she’d seen too many near misses by drivers who were completely oblivious to the cars around them as they engaged in a fascinating conversation. But today she practically had the road to herself and she would make it brief, tell whoever was calling that she would get back to them as soon as possible.

“Mo-o-om!” wailed Sara, when she answered

Lucy felt the car swerve a bit. “What’s the matter?”

“I wanna go ho-o-me.”

“Calm down and tell me what’s the matter,” insisted Lucy, pulling into a convenient rest stop.

“I just wanna go home.”

“Are you sick?”

Sara produced a sound that could be taken as either affirmative or negative, Lucy couldn’t decide which. Whatever it was, it was clear Sara was in some sort of distress and needed her.

“Where are you?”

“Lake Wah-wah-wingate.”