Heather nods. “Just down the street. On Christchurch Grove. Ours are the blue and red houses facing each other. We’re married to the O’Leary twins, you see. She’s married to Sean, and I’m married to Daniel.”

This is way more information than I asked for. I smile and step away, toward the street.

“What are you doing living with Mal if you two aren’t a thing?” Maeve narrows her eyes at me.

Everything in her face is squeezed in concentration, like her life depends on my next words.

“We work together. I thought he married Kath.”

“He did.” Heather sighs, as if everyone knows how that turned out.

Well, I don’t. I’d kill for an answer. Well, maybe not kill, but seriously injure someone. Preferably Mal himself.

“Did they get a divorce?” I’m starting to think I’ve gone mad. Either Mal and Kathleen have a super-open relationship or I’m missing something crucial here.

“Mal would never.” Maeve’s bitter tone does not escape me. “He’s loyal to a fault.”

Yeah. Loyal. So, so loyal.

“Kath left him, then?”

Their eyes grow so big, I’m afraid they’re going to roll out of their sockets. Realizing this is a dead-end conversation, I mutter a goodbye and start backing away, turning around and taking off.

I need to talk to someone, all right. Father Doherty. Yeah, he’ll be able to tell me what the hell this entire inheritance obsession is about, and maybe shed light on the Mal-and-Kathleen situation. God knows Mal is not helpful in this regard.

I know Father Doherty lives in this village. It’s just a matter of finding him. I’ll go door to door if I must.

I tromp my way back toward Mal’s cottage and take the long way up, the one between fields of barley and wheat. The air is fresh, and the wheat is brown and beaten by the cold, whooshing back and forth in the wind like silk. By the time I see the cottage, my heart rate is back to normal.

I push the door open and find Mal sitting in the backyard, which has been fully furnished with loungers, a dining table, two fire tables, and a fancy grill. The entire house looks different. Uncluttered, yet full of new, shiny things. I watch Mal sit back at one of the tables outside through the living room window. He’s flirting with two American girls from Richards’ staff. He is nice, Old Mal again. The one I fell for. I shake my head, roll my eyes, and head to my room, stepping over the threshold.

I blink.

Turn around.

Stalk back to the corridor.

Check it really is my room—it is—then re-enter, looking around.

What. In. The. Name. Of. Jesus. And. His. Holy. Crew?