“All right. I buy it now.” He ended the call.

“Thank you. Would you like to have a seat?”

“I’ll stand.”

“So will I then. What can I do for you?”

“You live here?” he asked.

“I have my own place, but I’m here a lot. I’m on the day shift.”

“Day shift?”

She walked to the mini-bar and poured herself a glass of ice water.

“Juliette’s at thirty-five weeks. She could go into labor any time now. Papa is with her at night. She needs someone with her during the day. At least Papa thinks so,” she said and smiled. “Papa Kingsley.”

“How do you happen to know Mr. Edge?”

“We’re…family. In a way. I live just one street over.”

“Related?”

“Sort of,” she said, wagging her head from side to side. “Céleste calls me Aunt Elle. And Kingsley’s like a brother to me. Same father, in a way.”

“Foster father?”

She seemed to think good and hard about that.

“More like a godfather.” She smiled behind her glass.

“I see.” Cyrus wrote all that down. He saw her rub a spot of paint off her arm with her thumb. “You’re repainting the house?”

“Just the nursery,” she said.

“No offense, and I’m sure you’re a fine housepainter, but I’d think a man with Mr. Edge’s money could hire a whole team of professional housepainters.”

“He could. But he’s feeling extra protective of Juliette lately. He’s not comfortable with strange men in the house, even to paint. I offered to do it.”

“Wouldn’t I count as a strange man in the house?” Cyrus asked. He watched her over the water bottle as he took a sip.

“I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “Are you strange?”

“Stranger than I look. I might not be the best judge of that, though.”

“Strange but not dangerous. You’re not even carrying a gun.”

“People might think threat of force is a good way to get to the truth,” he said. “But it’s not. People lie more when they’re scared, not less.”

“I’m not scared,” she said. “I’ll be honest with you if you’re honest with me.”

“That’s a good deal,” he said. “Should I start?”

“Please. I’m sure you didn’t come here to hire me for my painting skills.”

“I’m here about a dead priest.”

Her reaction wasn’t what he expected. She set her glass down with a thud that sent water spilling over the lip. Then she sat—almost falling—onto the sofa, her lips parted in a gasp, her eyes wide with shock and horror.

“What?” she breathed.

“Father Isaac Murran. Do you know that name?”

She took a shuddering breath and leaned over, head on her knees.

“Ma’am? Ms. Sutherlin?”

“I’m fine,” she said. She held up a hand. “Give me a minute.”

“Of course. Take all the time you need.”

The dog trotted over to his mistress and rested his head on her knee. She sat up and exhaled through her lips.

“I’m all right, boy,” she said to the dog.