She reached out and took the card from him, nodded, handed it back to him.

“Mine. Old card, though. That’s not even my number anymore. Hasn’t been since we moved down here.”

“When was that?”

“Let’s see,” she said, counting backward. “Two years, eight months ago.”

Cyrus jotted all that down. “And the name Isaac Murran means nothing to you? Everyone called him Father Ike.”

“Nothing.”

“What about him? Ever seen him before?” Cyrus handed her a photograph of Murran he’d gotten from Paulina.

“Never seen him before,” she said.

“You’re certain?”

“I have never seen that man in my life. He might have known me, but I don’t know him.”

“You’re going to have to forgive me for being skeptical. Most of the time, I tail husbands cheating on their wives or blowing money that should go to their kids. One guy blew a lot of his kid’s college fund at your friend Edge’s club.”

“How is that Kingsley’s fault? He runs a club for adults, not a daycare center.”

“Just saying, the work I do…it makes you a little skeptical of everyone.”

“Most of the time, I flog husbands who are afraid to tell their wives they’re masochists or submissives. There’s a lack of trust on both sides.”

“You don’t care those men are cheating?”

She shrugged again. “That’s between them and their significant others. I’m just the hired help.”

“You’re a little more than a housekeeper.”

“Not much more. No kissing. No sex. Only pain and dominance.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “You were arrested for prostitution twice in New York. In 2006 and 2007.”

“I wasn’t convicted. Charges were dropped.”

“Charges get dropped for lots of reasons.”

“I won’t lie and say I’ve never had sex with a client. But I will say I’ve never exchanged sex for money—not that, as the kids say, there’s anything wrong with that. One detective tried to get me to give him private information about a client. When I didn’t, he arrested me for prostitution in retaliation. Another arrest was a case of mistaken identity. A wife thought her husband was seeing a prostitute behind her back. He wasn’t. He was seeing me.”

“You’ve never blackmailed a client?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t have too many clients if I did.”

“So that’s a no?”

She took a deep breath. He was annoying her. Good. The feeling was mutual.

“Do you have any clients who are in the clergy?” he asked.

“Back in New York, one of my clients was a rabbi. There was also a Baptist youth pastor, but don’t tell his momma.”

“So you’re saying you’ve never been in a sexual relationship with a Catholic priest?”

“I’m saying I’ve never seen, met, or had any kind of relationship—sexual or otherwise—with this priest.” She returned the photograph to Cyrus.

“But he had your card.”

“A lot of people have my card. You have my card.”

“True. But I didn’t call your number right before I killed myself.”

He’d shocked her again.