“Oh, dear God,” Ned’s wife whispered.

The other crossed herself.

“But she was preggers, right?” Connie had lost all sense of propriety.

“I’m so sorry,” her husband said, and to his wife, “Come on, honey, let’s go.”

“But the auction hasn’t even started.” She was slurring her words now, and Val, irritated and ready for a fight, wondered how many drinks she’d had before she’d walked through the hotel doors.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” she said, trying to appear cute.

Her husband wasn’t having any of it, and he herded his tipsy wife out of the room. They wove their way to the doors while the rest of the people at the table picked at their food, a silent, awkward table in the midst of noise.

Slade placed a hand on Val’s knee and warned her with his gaze to not make a scene. He was right, of course. Especially when she considered what she planned to do later. She didn’t want anyone to notice her. Or miss her.

Her gaze skimmed the crowd again, and she noticed several people from the police department. Her gaze locked with Bentz’s for a second, and she saw Montoya leaning against a post and eyeing Father Thomas, who, just as dessert of Bananas Foster was served, introduced Sister Charity and the St. Marguerite’s choir.

The reverend mother seemed to have shrunk in the past few days, her skin paler than Val remembered, the starch drained out of her.

“As you know,” Charity said into the microphone after she’d tapped it to see that it was still live, “we’ve suffered some terrible losses at St. Marguerite’s lately.” Her voice was clear and strong, even over the feedback of the mic. “Our choir, too, has been affected, but in honor of those who have passed and those who are missing, for the glory of God and this great cause, we will perform.” The corners of her mouth tightened a bit as she paused, then said, “But first, I’m going to ask you all to pray with me and observe a moment of silence for Sister Asteria and Sister Camille, who were called home so recently, and for those who are missing from our order.” She glanced at Father Paul, who led the prayer; then, after a quiet moment when nothing so much as ice cubes clinking disturbed the silence, Sister Charity led the smaller group in song.

Val watched, listened, and wondered what it would have sounded like if her sister and the novitiate who had the beautiful voice, the one who was always humming, Sister Louise, were still in the group. As it was, the hymn was melodic and, to Val, melancholy, the nuns sad as they raised their voices.