He turned into the driveway of Aunt Colleen’s small house, wondering what the hell the priest had been running from.

Mathias Glanzer!

That’s who it was. Father Mathias, Jay was certain of it, and yes, he was associated with the college in some way. Huh, Jay thought. What’s the deal?

Jay parked, pocketed his keys, and dragged his briefcase and computer into the cottage. With Bruno at his heels, he walked into the kitchen, where he studiously ignored the exposed sheetrock and lack of countertops. As Bruno sloppily drank from his water dish, Jay pulled a beer from the refrigerator and followed a short hallway to his pink office. Bruno, water dripping from his snout, tagged after him.

“I really have to paint in here,” Jay advised the dog as Bruno curled into his dog bed in the corner of the room, where once Janice’s—or had it been Leah’s?—twin bed had been positioned under a canopy of posters and album covers of the sisters’ favorite rock stars. David Bowie, Bruce Springsteen, Rick Springfield, and Michael Jackson came to mind.

He sat down at the makeshift desk, then hooked up his laptop, waiting for an Internet connection. Logging on to the Web site for All Saints College, he browsed through the list of instructors until he found a picture of Father Mathias Glanzer, head of the drama department.

Twisting off the cap of his Lone Star, he took a long swallow. In the photo Father Mathias looked almost beatific, his expression warm, friendly, at peace. He sat wearing a white alb with a gold-embossed overlay stole. His hands were folded and his blue eyes, behind rimless glasses, stared straight into the camera’s lens. His chin was sharp, his lower lip slightly larger than the upper, his nose narrow. The entire photograph gave the viewer a sense that they were staring at a composed, calm man of conviction.

Far from the vision Jay had experienced earlier, when the priest had seemed rattled—or furtive—as if a demon straight from hell had been on his tail.

Why?

Jay shook his head. He’d had a long day and had to get up at the crack of dawn to drive to New Orleans. Shoving all thoughts of the holy man from his mind, he found the e-mail addresses of the students in his class and attached his syllabus. He saw Kristi Bentz’s name again and frowned.

Bad luck, that.

He grimaced. Maybe Gayle had been right when she’d charged him with never really being over his high school girlfriend. It had seemed ridiculous at the time, the ranting of a jealous woman.

But…