“I’m sorry,” Violet apologized. “I didn’t expect that you’d know. Honestly. I was just wondering aloud. I mean, I guess we’ll need a priest, right? That’s usually how those things go?”

Trey rolled his eyes. He replied with a distinct air of sarcasm in his voice. “Yeah. Any idea where we can find one of those?”

Violet looked at me with an expression communicating, What is his problem? But before I could reply, Trey stood up.

“Is there a bathroom around here?” he asked.

Violet thumbed over her shoulder. “Back through the living room, on the other side of the staircase.”

Trey nodded and stepped through the doorway.

Once I was sure he was out of earshot, I explained what had happened in the fall. “We went to Father Fahey at St. Monica’s for help, but he basically turned us away.”

“Father Fahey,” Violet murmured as if she recognized the name. “My grandmother knew him. He might have even married my mom and dad. They got married here in town, you know. At St. Monica’s.”

I was surprised by that. Although I’d known that Violet’s father had grown up here in Willow, I figured her mother would have wanted to get married somewhere in Chicago. Somewhere more impressive than our little one gas station town.

Just then, we both sat up straight up in our chairs as we heard footsteps overhead.

“Did Trey… ?” Violet began to ask, but I rocketed out of my chair because I already knew what he was doing. He’d slipped up to the house’s second floor to either look around, or to look for something. Whatever he was up to, and no matter how much I sympathized with his curiosity about the Simmons family, I feared he was overestimating Violet’s coolness. Sure, she’d invited us into her home. But if she thought he was snooping or stealing anything, I didn’t think she’d hesitate for a second to call the police.

Unable to tear my eyes away from Violet’s alarmed gaze, I called loudly, “Trey?”

Sensing my panic, she, too, stood up from her chair. Then, in an unexpected burst of energy, she bolted out of the room. I followed her, and we both raced up the grand staircase in the living room. We scaled the steps with such speed that my feet slipped on each hardwood step, and when I reached the landing I couldn’t believe that I’d made it to the top without having fallen. Ahead of me, Violet trotted down a long hallway past two open doorways until she arrived at a door that was closed and jiggled its brass doorknob. It was locked, so she pounded on the door with her fist.

“Hey! Unlock this door!”

I caught up to her, and we both stood there, slack-jawed, listening for signs of activity from inside the room. I could vaguely hear a noise that sounded like drawers opening and slamming shut. “What’s in here?” I asked Violet.

She side-eyed the door and whispered, “It’s my dad’s office.”