What if she hadn’t been called to the accident that night ?

What if she’d never learned about her husband’s infidelity with her sister?

What if she’d swallowed her pride, tried to talk things out reasonably?

What if Cammie had never left Bad Luck . . .

“Stop it,” she warned herself. This was getting her nowhere. She shook off all the old, melancholy memories, forced herself to push past her grief and think like a cop again.

She thought of nuns Cammie had mentioned: Sister Edwina, whom she thought was “the ultimate ice princess,” and Angela, who was “a silly goose. A Goody Two-shoes.” The statement would have been odd if it hadn’t been issued from Cammie, with her wicked sense of humor.

“Aren’t all nuns good?” Val had asked during one of Cammie’s first visits to Briarstone House, and Cammie had smiled, a naughty glint in her eye. They’d been standing in the herb garden, near a trio of birdhouses sitting atop poles of differing lengths, the sun so intense they were squinting.

Cammie had emitted a low chuckle. “Of course most nuns are good. Very good. It comes with the territory. Angela falls into that category, but Sister Edwina?” Cammie had held out her flat hand and tilted it back and forth, indicating that she was wavering on her opinion of the tall nun. “Not so much. And Sister Devota?” Cammie had rolled her eyes. “The perpetual victim.” Nodding to herself, she added, “There are still a couple I can’t figure out. Irene sometimes takes on the world and doesn’t care. If the meek are going to inherit the earth, then Irene’s going to end up broke. She’s like a Russian soldier one minute, and then kind and calm the next. That Irene’s an odd one.”

Cammie had thought for a second. “And Sister Zita is so . . . quiet. She’s always watching everyone. It’s a little creepy. Ever so silent until it’s time to play yes-woman to the reverend mother. It’s like she’s trying to earn points with Sister Charity, or maybe the priests or God. Who knows? It just doesn’t seem authentic, but then I should talk.” She’d walked over to one of the birdhouses and peeked inside the hole. “No one home, huh?”

“Not yet. So, do you have any friends?” Valerie had asked.

“From that group? Just Lucia, and that’s probably because we went to the same high school, you know, had kind of a ‘shared history’ ”—she made air quotes—“even though we really didn’t know each other back then.” She’d admitted, “I get along with Angela. She really is just plain sweet, I think. Pretty impossible not to like.”

“The Goody Two-shoes?”

“Yeah. Well, I guess I was just being a little catty.”

“You?” Val had teased.