“No,” she said sadly. “Lea’s parents were divorced. Her mother died a few years back, car accident I think, and her father and Lea were estranged. He remarried shortly after the divorce and moved out of the country.” Her brow wrinkled beneath her wimple. “Yes, I think so. Mexico maybe?”

“What about siblings?”

“None, but I thought you knew.” She seemed genuinely surprised. “Sister Lea was an only child, adopted years ago.”

Montoya’s muscles tightened. He felt that little sizzle in his blood, the rush of adrenaline as it spurted through his veins when he knew he’d found something important to the case.

“From St. Elsinore’s?” Bentz asked.

“Of course.” She acted as if this was common knowledge. “Most of the women who come here are from St. Elsinore’s, sisters in spirit, yes, but also sisters because they grew up in the same place, the orphanage.” The corner of her lip trembled a bit. “Just like me.”

Montoya wanted to make certain he’d heard right. “You were adopted out of St. Elsinore’s?”

Her smile was forced. “No. I never was adopted, though my brother was.” She sighed sadly. “I grew up at the orphanage. A lot of us did. The older ones, harder to adopt, you know. It breaks my heart that it’s closing. . . .”

Montoya felt a little buzz in his bloodstream. “Sister Camille was adopted from St. Elsinore’s, right?” He’d read that in his notes.

“Yes.” She was nodding.

“But Asteria, she was from a large family in Birmingham.”

“No, Detective.” The mother superior’s face was thoughtful. “She was adopted from St. Elsinore’s as well.” Her smile held a bit of sorrow as well as irony. “It was a case of the parents struggling to conceive, and then when they adopted Asteria, Mrs. McClellan, Colleen I think her name is, had another child within twelve months. After that, Asteria’s siblings came along quite steadily.”

“None of the others are adopted.”

“Not that I know of.”

Montoya’s mind was racing. Could this be it? The connection they were looking for? St. Elsinore’s orphanage rather than St. Marguerite’s convent? “Can we get a list of anyone who resides here who came out of St. Elsinore’s?” he asked.

“I . . . suppose. But now we’re stepping into matters of personal privacy.”

“Easy enough to find out through public records,” Bentz pointed out, and she nodded.

“All right. Let me talk to the women first, and then I’ll get a list for you.”

“One more thing,” Montoya said. “Was Sister Asteria involved with Father O’Toole?”