Mercedes nodded. “Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” Nora replied. “A little surprised. Very confused. How did you know where I live?”

“If I said it was witchcraft, would you believe me?”

“Probably not,” Nora said.

Mercedes held her hand out low, palm open. Gmork lifted his head and pressed it into her palm. She stroked his ears, tentatively at first, but when Gmork whimpered happily, she squatted down to his level and put her face near his face. She let him lick her cheek as she scratched and stroked Gmork’s ears and head.

“Does she have a name?” Mercedes asked.

“He,” Nora said. “Gmork. It’s from The Never-ending Story.”

“He’s sweet.”

“He’s supposed to be a trained killer. Turns out, he’s just a lady-killer.”

“Loves the ladies?”

“And hates men.”

Mercedes laughed softly. “I like you, Gmork.” She patted Gmork one more time on the head before standing up straight again.

Gmork trotted back over to Nora, pressing his warm body to her legs. It comforted her. Nico had bought her the dog for protection, which she never thought she would need. Now she was grateful.

“I apologize for coming so late,” she said. “If you were looking for me, I assumed it was important.”

“My friend and I were going to stop by your shop tomorrow morning to see you.”

“Your friend, the man you were with tonight?”

“Yes, he’s a private detective.”

“I would rather speak to you alone than with a man. If that’s all right. I saw your porch light was on, but I’m happy to go, if you like. Would you like that?”

Her voice was low and soothing. Nora was too curious to turn the woman away, but she kept her guard up.

“No, you can stay. It’s fine. Let’s go into my office.”

Nora had converted the house’s formal dining room into her office. She led Mercedes there through the kitchen. Nora switched on the brass floor lamp. Six oak bookcases lined the walls. Nora’s big boat of a desk sat in the middle of the room, facing the French doors that looked out onto her jungle of a patio garden.

“Can I get you anything?” Nora asked. “Water? Wine? Whiskey?”

“Wine would be nice.”

Nora went into her kitchen and quickly poured two shallow glasses of Syrah. While alone in her kitchen, she thought about grabbing her phone to send Cyrus a quick text. But she had a feeling Cyrus would immediately come over, and Mercedes might not answer Nora’s questions with a man present.

When Nora returned to her office, she found Mercedes standing at the bookshelves, eyeing the titles with interest.

“Your wine,” Nora said. Mercedes took the glass with a nod of thanks.

“You have a very large library of books on Catholicism,” Mercedes said. “The Catholic Catechism. The History of the Catholic Church. Pope John’s Journal of a Soul. Thomas Merton. G.K. Chesterton. St. Augustine. St. Thomas Aquinas… Have you read all these books?”

“I like looking for the loopholes,” Nora joked. Mercedes didn’t smile.