Robbie held on to her hand, but made like the man, squiring her instead of being led—at least as far as he knew. When they came up to the priest, he let go and was the first to shake the man’s hand.

“Lovely service,” Marie-Terese, said laying her palms lightly on her son’s shoulders. “And the cathedral renovations are coming along beautifully.”

“They are, they are.” Father Neely looked around with a smile, his white hair and tall, thin bearing perfect for a man of the cloth. In fact, he kind of looked like the cathedral, pale and ethereal. “Quite a lift on her, and about time.”

“I’m glad you’re cleaning up the statuary as well.” She nodded over to the blank spot where the Mary Magdalene figure had been. “When is she coming back?”

“Oh, dear, you don’t know? She was stolen.” People pressed in, and Father Neely started meeting the stares of other churchgoers and smiling. “The police are looking for the vandal. We’re lucky, though, considering what else could have been taken as well.”

“That is terrible.” Marie-Terese tapped Robbie and he took the hint, clasping her hand and starting to lead again. “I hope they get her back.”

“Myself as well.” The priest leaned forward and squeezed her forearm, his eyes kind under his cotton-ball eyebrows. “Be well, my child.”

He was always nice to her. Even though he knew.

“You, too, Father,” she said roughly.

She and Robbie walked out into the chilly April afternoon, and as she looked up at the milky white sky, she smelled a change in the air. “Wow, I think we may be getting a snow.”

“Really? That would be so cool.”

As they went along the sidewalk, car engines were starting up far and wide as the Sunday Times 500 lit off and the congregation raced back home to collapse on sofas and easy chairs with the newspaper. At least, that was what she assumed they did, given the number of people she saw coming out of the Rite Aid down the street with their arms full of the New York Times and the Sunday edition of the Caldwell Courier Journal.

Without being asked, Robbie took her hand again as they came to the curb at the end of the block and they waited together for a break in the bumper-to-bumper. Standing by him, she worried about what was waiting for her on her phone—except she knew better than to check with him around. Her poker face was good, but not that good.

It turned out her gamble with the parking laws had worked in her favor and the Camry hadn’t been towed, but its engine was not happy about the cold weather that had rolled in. She finally got the thing started, though, and pulled out into traffic—