“Everett has invited John to join us for dinner tonight,” said Rachel.

“Whatever he wants to do,” murmured Grant.

Frankel noticed Grant’s eyes moving past them all.

“If you really want to be alone with your daughter and brother, Austin, I totally get it. I wouldn’t . . .”

Grant held up a hand in abeyance.

“No, sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound like that.” He turned back to face Frankel. “I’d be happy for you to join us, John.”

Rachel continued to stare at her father. “What’s bothering you, Dad?”

Grant motioned toward the church. “The constant thorn in my side.”

They followed his gaze to see the crowd thinning to expose Monte Ferguson at the bottom of the cathedral steps, his ever-present notepad in hand.

“Son of a bitch,” exclaimed Frankel.

“The second I got to the door, he confronted me about his exclusive.”

“Exclusive?” asked Rachel.

“It goes back to a deal we made before the Saint Patrick’s murder. I thought I had honored it when we let him run the story that the same person committed the murders here in Britain and the States.”

“Exactly,” said Frankel.

“Apparently, it’s not good enough. He thinks it entitled him to getting Prior Silver’s name before anyone else, so he’s not happy we released it simultaneously to all the media outlets.”

“He’s a vulture like all of those tabloid twits.” Everett shook his head. “They won’t stop until they’ve finished picking at your grave.”

“What he should print is your eulogy for Sergeant Hawley,” said Rachel. “Word for word.”

“I totally agree,” added Frankel. “You did the sergeant proud.”

“Especially that last part,” added Everett. “That packed quite the punch.”

“That was the general idea,” said Grant.

“When did you decide to add that?” asked Rachel. “It wasn’t there when I read it last . . .”

She broke off at the sound of a shrill bird chirp.

“Rachel? Is something wrong?” asked Everett. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“Kind of.” She dug into her purse and pulled out her cell phone.

“It’s a ringtone on my cell. I assigned it to Sergeant Hawley’s number—in case he—whoever—texted me again.”

Rachel glanced at the phone screen and literally dropped it into her father’s outstretched palm like the hottest of potatoes.

Grant and Frankel stared at the latest message together.

You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, Commander.

“What’s going on here?” asked a confused Everett.

Grant quickly filled his brother in on the mysterious cell chats. As he did, the gravity of the situation grew on Frankel.

“He’s referencing the end of your eulogy, Austin.”

“I’m still at a loss here,” said Everett.

Rachel nodded. “I am as well, I’m afraid.”