Sister Rosemarie said, “Everything okay?”

“I think so. Or maybe not. No one knows.” She was obviously upset. “My sister . . . That was Tabitha on the phone, and she was calling about our brother, Gus. According to Tabby, he was in an accident at work. A bad one, got his hand caught in a saw.” She visibly cringed at the words. “I guess his hand is pretty messed up, possible nerve damage, and he could lose a finger or two. The local hospital is sending him to a specialist in Seattle. A hand guy.” She glanced at the clock mounted over the door again. “I said I’d go over and be with him.”

“I’ll put him in my prayers,” the nun said, her fingertips flicking to the beads of the rosary draped from her pocket, then, as if remembering her mission, said, “This is Detective Rivers and Detective Mendoza. They said you were expecting them.”

“Yes.” Korpi glanced at the clock over the door. “I am.”

“Do you want me to stay?” the principal asked.

“Oh, no . . . no, it’s fine,” Korpi said, though she looked like a doe caught in the headlights of a fast-approaching semi.

“Then I’ll be in my office.”

“Thanks.”

With a final disparaging glance at the detectives, Sister Rosemarie swept out of the room, her boots clipping down the hallway, the rosary rattling.

“Sorry . . .” Korpi said to the detectives. “She doesn’t like any sort of trouble.”

“No trouble,” Mendoza assured her.

“Well, you are the police, and to Sister Rosemarie that means trouble. One of the parents might see. Oh, the scandal.” Then she heard herself and added, “Forget I said that,” as she walked to the door and pulled it shut. “Sorry, I’m a little . . .”

Nervous, Rivers thought, and remembered that one of the hairs found in James Cahill’s bedroom belonged to a dark-haired woman. Korpi’s own hair was a shade about the color of coffee, her eyes big and brown.

“. . . distracted, because of Gus. Would you like to sit down?” Then she looked at Rivers’s over-six-foot frame and glanced at the small desks. “We could go to the library if you’d like to sit down.”

“This is fine,” Rivers assured her. He wanted her to be as comfortable as possible and thought the classroom would provide more privacy.

“Okay, good. It’s weird, you know, that you’re here to talk about James, and Gus works for James and got hurt and . . . small world, I guess. Sometimes I think the universe is trying to tell me something. Or maybe God,” she added, as if realizing she was in a parochial school.

“How so?” Mendoza asked.

“Well, it’s kind of odd, y’know? You all coming here from Riggs Crossing to ask about James Cahill and Gus getting hurt at his shop right before you get here. His shop in Riggs Crossing. I mean, what a ko-ink-ee-dink!”