Which is why she had to do what she had to do.

She kissed his cheek. “It can’t wait that long.”

Nora whistled and Gmork followed her to her car and jumped into the backseat and lay down on his blanket. “Don’t tell on me, boy,” she said as she started her car and pulled out onto the street, “But we’re going to go have a little talk with our witch.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Cyrus was lucky with traffic and made it to Grand Isle in an hour and fifty minutes. He plugged in the address of Father Ike’s vacation home into Google maps first. It led him to a picturesque street a couple of blocks from the nearest beach. The houses were all painted in bright colors—sky blue and sunny yellow, pink and green—and stood on stilts to avoid the inevitable flooding from tropical storms and hurricanes. They had names like Slow M’Ocean and Shore Beats Work. The beach house was smack dab in the center of the street, a white A-frame with red shutters.

As he was canvassing that day and knew he’d have to talk to strangers, he’d put on his best suit before driving down. Cyrus had his story ready, too. Black or white, male or female, old or young—fact was, people were nosy as hell. If he gave up a little gossip, he was sure to get some in return. He climbed the stairs to the first house on the street and rang the bell. Nobody seemed to be home, and the people in the next house over were on Grand Isle for the first time. No help there.

He got a little luckier with the third house, the pink house. Pink, in Cyrus’s opinion, was an old lady color and sure enough, an older white woman opened the door.

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am,” he said, passing her his business card. “I’m a detective. Do you live here on Grand Isle?”

“Since my husband retired in 2008. Why do you ask? Should I call my husband?”

“I’m just looking for some information about someone who stayed next door to you this summer. This man,” Cyrus said and held up the photograph of Father Ike. She took it from and peered at it, nodding.

“Oh yes, I remember him. He stayed next door for a long time. Very nice man. Isaac, I think he said. Is that right?”

“That’s right.”

“We get so many tourists, they tend to be a blur after a while. But he was around a lot. I must have talked to him every day. But just to say hello and chat a little. Why? Did he do something?”

Cyrus decided now was the time to start answering her questions. He let her hold onto the photograph. Might help jog her memory.

“I’m afraid he’s dead,” Cyrus said. “His family hired me to look into it.”

“Dead? Was he killed?”

Cyrus nodded. He was killed. That was true. He didn’t mention that Ike himself pulled the trigger. The woman gasped and covered her mouth with her fingertips in shock.