“He won’t hurt himself, will he?” Kingsley asked. She was glad he kept his head down when he asked that question so he wouldn’t see the look of horror that crossed Nora’s face.

“No,” she said. “He’s too in love with himself for that.”

“I’m not kidding,” Kingsley said. “I’m worried about him. I’m not used to being worried about him. He worries about us. That’s how it works.”

“He’s still a priest,” Nora said. “Just a suspended priest. When the one year’s suspension is over, he’ll go back to the Jesuits, and everything will go back to normal. Our version of ‘normal’ anyway.”

“Do you want things to go back to normal? I don’t,” he said.

“Doesn’t matter what I want. If he wants to go back, he’ll go back.”

“What do you want?”

“I just want him to come home.”

He nodded. “Moi, aussi.”

“Goodnight, King. I’m going to bed. You should, too.”

“Not yet.” He raised a finger, pointed it at her face. “This detective of yours.”

“He’s not my detective. He’s just a detective. And what about him?” she asked.

“Is he done with us?”

Nora shook her head. “He’s going to come see you. He wants to find out how this dead priest had my business card.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Then tell him that. It’s no big deal.”

Kingsley raised his eyebrow. She pushed it back down.

“Goodnight,” she said again.

She started to walk away. Kingsley called out after her, and Nora went back to him.

“If you hear from him,” Kingsley said softly, “tell him I bought him a present. He needs to come home so I can give it to him.”

“You bought Søren a present?” she repeated.

“A little one,” Kingsley said. “A trifle.”

“A trifle?”

“Barely a trinket.”

Nora raised her eyebrow now. Kingsley pushed it back down.

“Just tell him,” Kingsley said.

“I’ll tell him.”

“And remember,” Kingsley continued, “no strange men in the house. We keep the barbarians at the gate. That’s why I have the fucking gate.” He pointed at the iron fence that encircled the house.

“You’re forgetting something, King.” She patted his cheek. “We are the barbarians.”

Chapter Seven

Nora whistled for Gmork, who followed her from the house, neatly avoiding Kingsley’s outstretched hand on their way out the back door. Poor King. The man loved dogs, and yet Gmork had never warmed up to him or Søren or any man he’d ever met.

Nora left Kingsley’s house and walked in the direction of her home.

But she wasn’t going home. She was going to church.

Søren had been given a key to St. Mary’s, a few blocks from her house, as he occasionally celebrated Mass there when one of their usual priests was sick or out of town. She took Søren’s key with her to St. Mary’s, unlocked the side door, and slipped inside the darkened sanctuary.

Tonight the city cooled off quickly after dark. When she arrived at St. Mary’s around eleven, she could smell the slightest trace of autumn in the air. That was all Nora missed from living in New England—autumn, and nothing else. Not the traffic. Not the toll roads. Not the hectic pace of life.