“I’ll help,” Fiji said instantly. Despite the fact that her attention was apparently focused on Diederik, she’d been listening. Now she pulled an elastic band from the pocket of her skirt.

Of course she’d have one, Olivia thought. Of course she’d be ready to help. But there was no sting to these thoughts. Olivia had finally accepted the fact that Fiji was simply that kind of person.

“I’ll help however you ask me,” Bobo said.

Joe hesitated for a moment. “Chuy and I will do what we can,” he said cautiously. “And, of course, Rasta is always ready to help,” Joe added, and everyone laughed except the Rev and the boy.

Olivia nodded to show she’d registered their offers.

Fiji had put Diederik’s hair back in a neat ponytail. He looked like a different kid. He looked older.

“Rev, Diederik here needs to take a bath,” Olivia said, so Fiji wouldn’t have all the grooming to herself. “And he needs clean clothes.”

The Rev looked at the boy as if he were seeing him for the first time. “If you say so,” he said. “Diederik, I have to take care of you right. I promised your father.” He turned to look at the rest of them. “The chapel will be empty for a while. Keep an eye on it. I have a funeral today at four. A cat named Meatball.”

Mr. Snuggly froze in the act of licking his paw. He made a sound that was close to that of coughing. Olivia realized that the cat was laughing.

“That’s worse than ‘Mr. Snuggly’?” Olivia murmured. The cat gave her a disdainful look.

The Rev left without any more words, taking Diederik’s hand again as if Diederik were a three-year-old instead of . . . Well, how old was he? Olivia watched the ill-assorted pair as they went to the Rev’s house, presumably to put Diederik in the bathtub. She said, “You figure he’s eight years old?”

Fiji frowned. “Last night I thought he was a lot younger. His clothes flapped on him.”

Bobo shrugged. “I think he might be as much as eleven.”

Fiji was returning Mr. Snuggly to the basket. “I’d believe eleven,” she said. “And today his clothes are tight.”

Joe said, “I wonder how old he’ll be tomorrow.” And he left without adding to his statement. They all stared after him.

“I wonder what he knows,” Fiji said.

Olivia, bored with the conversation, said, “I’ve got to go over to talk to Manfred. I’ll call him first.” She went down to her apartment to get her cell phone.

When it was in her hand, she was tempted—once again—to call Lemuel.

But she didn’t.

8