“What is this place?”

“Belongs to St. Valentine’s parish. It’s a guest house for visiting priests or sisters, sometimes an emergency shelter. Sister Margaret says Father Murran came here all the time for peace and quiet when it was unoccupied. He liked the neighborhood, she said.”

“I’m still waiting on why you called me.” God, how was he going to break this to Paulina? They’d eaten barbeque with the man at their engagement party not four months ago.

Katherine peeked through the blinds. “Coroner’s here. Let’s go out back.”

The backyard wasn’t much more than a postage stamp surrounded by a wooden fence that needed repainting. An elderly couple sat in rockers on their porch across the street, watching with interest. A pretty brown girl of about eleven or twelve walked slowly past the yard, clearly trying not to linger but also curious about the fuss. A pair of fairy wings on her back glittered in the early morning light.

He and Katherine waited in silence for the girl to pass. This was no place for children to be playing. Not now, maybe not ever. Once she turned the corner, Cyrus spoke.

“Talk.”

Katherine took a deep breath and leaned back against the fence. He stood opposite her, a small fire pit full of ashes between their feet.

“Thanks for taking my call,” she said.

“Call, yeah. Case? Not yet.”

“Look, I get it. You don’t want to work with us, and I don’t blame you. But hear me out. Please.”

No, Cyrus did not want to work with the police. Two years ago, he’d been shot on the job by a fellow officer who had a file overflowing with excessive force complaints. Luckily, Cyrus had a good lawyer who’d wrangled a very nice settlement from the city. Nice enough, he didn’t have to take any case he didn’t want to take.

“I’m not comfortable with this,” he said. “Working with you? For you? Investigating someone I knew personally? Ike and Paulina used to work together at Blessed Sacrament. You ever hear the phrase ‘conflict of interest’?”

He so did not want to take this case. Katherine had a way of getting on his nerves—she was white, and acted like that made her something special down here.

She was also the last woman he’d slept with before meeting Paulina.

His life was B.P. and A.P.—Before Paulina and After Paulina. All that was B.P. meant as much to him as the ashes in the fire pit at his feet. But he tried not to hold that against Katherine. Not her fault they met on the wrong side of his salvation.

“Do you know how hard it was for me to ask you for help? You were a real ass to me, and you know it,” she said. Cyrus turned away, didn’t admit it, but he didn’t deny it either. “Doesn’t that tell you how serious I am? Something is wrong here. You’re the only PI in this town I even halfway trust.”