“If that were all, I wouldn’t be here and neither would you. I saw his phone. He called that number last night before he shot himself. He called Sister Margaret, then he called that number. We know why he called Sister Margaret. We need to know why he called Nora Sutherlin.”

“Maybe he just likes her books? Maybe he thought it was a suicide hotline?”

“Maybe he was following orders?”

“Orders? What the hell does that mean?”

“I mean Nora Sutherlin moonlights. I’ll give you one guess.”

He sighed heavily. “Just so you know, next time you call me with a case,” he said, “I am not answering.”

Chapter Two

Cyrus meant to be at Paulina’s at eight, but he squeaked in the driveway at 8:10. While he knew she’d forgive him for being late, he still jogged from his car to the house to shave those last few seconds off his time. He found her in the bright white-tile kitchen pouring coffee into two yellow mugs.

“About time,” she said, playing grumpy. He came up behind her, putting his hands on her hips and kissing her cheek. She stirred the cream into her coffee, and left his black.

“Long night. Bad morning. I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s all right. Sit. Tell me about it.”

Cyrus took his seat and watched Paulina finish breakfast. Seeing her bustling around the kitchen in her red summer dress and sandals with the straps around her pretty ankles was a balm to his soul. She worked at a local Catholic middle school as a guidance counselor. Monday through Friday, she wore neck-high blouses and ankle-length skirts or suit pants. She saved her pretty dresses for weekends, for him.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

“You’re stalling. Is it bad?”

“Baby, come here. Please.”

She knew him too well to fall for that. She turned to face him, hip against the counter, arms crossed over her chest. “What happened?”

“I got some bad news. Father Ike’s dead.”

Paulina gasped. “What?”

“That’s why I’m late. A detective called and asked me to come by the scene. I needed a shower after.”

“The scene? A crime scene? Was he murdered? Jesus.” Paulina crossed herself before clasping her hands as if to pray.

He shook his head. “Suicide.”

“No,” Paulina put her hand over her heart. “Father Ike? Why?”

“That’s what they want me to find out.”

“Was there a note?”

“No note,” Cyrus said. “But he called a friend of his, a sister, and left her a voicemail message that made it very clear he was planning to kill himself.”

“Do you think he was sick? Cancer or something?”

“They want me to look into that.” He rubbed his temples with his fingertips.

“Cyrus? What is it? What aren’t you telling me about this?”

He didn’t want to tell Paulina. Normally, he wouldn’t. He made it a rule to never drag her into his cases, for her sake and the sake of the women he helped. But she and Ike had been friends. This was different.