Mary Lou’s nose was bleeding. The HIV nun sat her on the stairs and tilted her head back, stanching the blood with her own veil. Other tenants came into the stairwell: more nuns, families with small children. The noise grew to a clamor that I couldn’t take in my current state. I collapsed on the stair next to Mary Lou with my plastic dark glasses back over my eyes.

“I need to lie down.” I was panting. “Sisters … Go to Sister Frankie’s … Look for bottle fragments … Bring flashlights … Bring camera, bring clean bag … Take pictures where you find … Pick up with glove … something clean … Put in bag … Seal … label … Now!”

Again the sisters murmured among themselves. The HIV nun, who had the hospital pass, would go with me to Beth Israel. Sister Carolyn and Sister Mary Lou would take care of hunting for more glass fragments.

Petra ran ahead to get her Pathfinder while the three nuns got me down the stairs. As they helped me into the backseat of the SUV, Sister Carolyn handed me my purse.

“You’re not what I was expecting when I looked in your billfold and saw that you were a detective.”

“That’s okay. You and your pals weren’t what I expected when I learned you were nuns.”

She smiled and cupped her hands on my forehead, a caress that was a blessing. “We’ll pray for your speedy recovery.”

When the resident made rounds the next morning, he was dismayed to see that I’d had a setback. He ordered me to stay in the hospital an extra day. Lotty saw that I had fresher bruises on my arms and legs than could have come from the fire, but she didn’t ask, and I didn’t tell.

I walked up and down the hall a dozen times, trying to build my stamina, but I had to go back to bed afterward, which was infuriating. That was basically how I spent the day, walking and sleeping, Mid-afternoon, I went downstairs for another espresso.

When I returned to my room, I found Conrad Rawlings in the visitor’s chair. Conrad is a cop. We’ve been friends, enemies, lovers, collaborators, off and on for over a decade.

I was happier to see him than I would have thought possible a few days earlier. “Have you been transferred up here?”

“Nope. Still down in your old ’hood. You and fire: you can’t leave it alone, can you?” The words were harsh, but his tone was sympathetic enough to take the sting out of them. “Your eyes going to be okay?”

“They tell me,” I said gruffly.

“I read the report. Nasty fire, that, killing a nun and all.”

“Was there any word about the accelerant?” I demanded. “It looked like it had to be rocket or jet fuel, it burned so fiercely and so fast.”