Chapter Six, Part Two

Like last time, Father Cash was hungry to talk about Sella afterward.

"I know you think I'm crazy, Judith, but there really is something going on. Something ominous."

"I can see why it might look that way," I mumbled.

"If Sella's death were the only part of it, I might agree with you, but—"

"I know, Lena is incommunicado, and that's out of character." I pulled myself out of his embrace. "You sure are good with the pillow talk these days."

Ignoring my words, he sat up and swung his feet out of bed. "There's something I think you need to see."

He padded into the other room and returned a few minutes later with a leather-bound book the color of dark cherries. A page had been bookmarked with a receipt and he handed it to me. "Read that, then tell me you don't think she was running from someone."

I took the diary and it found it smooth and surprisingly heavy for its size, with thick creamy pages. I opened it to the marked section, and after a brief glance at the receipt (a 16 oz. Coke and packet of peanuts) I read the entry. Sella's handwriting was tidy and stylish - almost a calligraphy. After reading the entry twice, I handed it back.

"She felt threatened. She was running from someone," Father Cash said, giving me a pointed look.

"You might call it that," I said cautiously. "But it's pretty vague."

"'I have to get away. I have no choice any more,'" he read. "What's so vague about that?"

I lay back among the covers and sighed. "Only that she was a teenage girl, and teenage girls see the drama in everything: a zit, a bad grade, not enough pepperoni on a pizza..."

"Judith..."

"I'm not saying it couldn't be something bigger than that. It's just that I was a teenage girl myself, not so long ago, and you're going to need more evidence than that one page to convince me." I frowned. "Is there more?"

Father Cash turned away. "I see we're not going to get very far with this."

While he returned the diary to wherever he had been stashing it, I sat up and started pulling on my clothes, wondering if he was pissed at me again. What a waste of time this afternoon had been.

When several minutes passed and Father Cash still had not returned, I wandered into the living room, where I found him wrapped in a faded bathrobe, watching the documentary again with the sound off. "I'm sorry," I told him.

He shrugged in answer.

"I really am concerned about Lena," I told him. "If you give me her full name and an address, I can go down to the library tomorrow and use their computers to do an internet search."

"No need."

I stood silent, pondering. "Well," I finally said, "If you find out anything more, anything that might bolster your theory, I really would be happy to help, it's just that in the absence of any other evidence—"

"I know. You've made yourself very clear."

"Fine," I said. "You know where to find me." I let myself out and trudged up the stairs. To hell with him. Maybe I would call that nice fisherman, after all. Or better yet, maybe I'd just call Arlo. Rent would be due soon and I could use a little work.

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Chapter Six, Part One

Of course I didn't call him.

For the next few weeks I settled back into my usual routine of making drug deliveries and turning tricks, earning enough to keep the bills paid, plus a little left over for a new-to-me pair of shoes from the thrift store. Thinking I might raise some steady money, I applied for a waitress job at one of the chowder shops but never got a call back. I began feeding a stray cat in the hope that it might intimidate some of the rats that hung around the back stoop of our apartment building where the garbage was collected for weekly pickup. And in an attempt to brighten my dismal flat, I bought a nasturtium, guaranteed to grow, and put it on my living room windowsill.

Most importantly, though, I tried to reconcile with Father Cash.

It wasn't an easy decision. If life had taught me anything, it was to avoid lopsided relationships and not let anyone think I might need them more than they needed me. But Father Cash had been kind and probably would have been no less generous with food and quilts if I had never allowed him into my bed. And so I gathered a few coins and dollar bills, bought some peanut butter and Ritz crackers, and waited, reading by the window, until I saw him coming up the walk. When I knocked on his door a few minutes later, I hardly knew what to expect, but after what seemed a long time, he finally answered.

"Hello, Judith."

His posture was stiff and erect. His voice was gentle, but he didn't smile.

I held up the plastic grocery bag. "I know it's supposed to be a casserole, but I thought I'd spare you my attempts at cooking and bring you something edible."

"That's very thoughtful of you, but—"

"Just let me in, would you?"

He stepped out of the way, but he wasn't happy about it. I set my offerings on the scuffed and blemished coffee table and looked around. Nothing had changed much, except for a cardboard box in the corner that I assumed contained Sella's things. "How have you been?" I asked.

"About as well as can be expected."

"No luck reaching Lena?"

Father Cash shook his head.

"Surely she has friends or an employer who—"

"There's no need to pretend that you care, Judith."

I turned on him in exasperation. "I'm not pretending anything. Just because I don't want to follow you on a goose chase doesn't mean I'm not sad about what happened or concerned about you. You're my friend."

Our eyes locked and he looked away first. "I was just getting ready to watch a Ken Burns documentary. You're welcome to stay."

It wasn't what I had in mind, but since I didn't have a TV or laptop, a show of any kind was a treat. I settled in on the sofa and accepted a glass of greenish wine and a Ritz cracker. The documentary was, appropriately enough, about the Great Depression, and the black and white vistas of blowing dust put me in no fit frame of mind to deal with what Father Cash said when he finally spoke again.

"It was very inappropriate of you to flirt at my niece's funeral."

For a moment all I could do was stare.

"You were rather taken with that fisherman."

"He seemed like a nice guy." I reached for a cracker. "But if making polite conversation counts as flirting, then I guess I flirt with everyone."

"It's okay," he said. "You're young, far from home, and in a precarious position. Of course you want a relationship with someone close to you in age; a provider who can give you a little stability."

"I do want stability," I told him, offended now. "But I have no intention of latching on to a man to get it. I can straighten things out for myself."

"I see."

He turned back to the television, and so did I. A few minutes later, though, he hit the mute button. "You need to decide what you want, Judith. That young fisherman is the sort who wants a girl he can marry, and you—"

"I know what I am," I snapped. "And I have had no contact with him since the funeral. He gave me his number, but I didn't call it. He asked for mine, but I refused. I wouldn't even let him bring me home, so he doesn't know where I live. If you want to make some kind of grand romance out of that, go for it, but for now will you please drop it?" I reached for the remote and turned the sound back on.

For a long time, it was just him and me, and the soothing sounds of Ken Burns describing a long-ago catastrophe. Finally Father Cash said, "I'm sorry, dear. I didn't mean to offend."

"Yes, you did," I said. "You're jealous."

"Maybe so, but I obviously have no right to be."

I shrugged and reached for my wine glass.

"So since you aren't...involved with anyone, perhaps we can kiss and make up."

Why hadn't I seen this coming? I suppressed an inner sigh of annoyance. "There's nothing to make up, and you were never much into kissing, anyway."

"You're right. We can skip the kissing."

I took a big gulp of my sour wine and figured once a whore, always a whore. I stood up and let him lead me to his bedroom.

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Chapter Five, Part Three

As we approached the iron gates of the cemetery, we filed in behind the other cars in a motley procession that wound its way through the plots. Since this was a relatively new cemetery, there were few markers, making Sella's gravesite both a relief from the bare, flat land, and a monstrous thing at the same time with its yawning pit torn from the tundra. A couple of people were removing the flowers that had been at the church from one of the cars and placing them around the head of the grave, offering the only spot of color for miles around.

I stepped out of the truck and immediately regretted having gone to so much trouble to borrow a dress. The cold wind whipped my skirt and chilled my legs, and the only things that kept me from jumping back in the cab were Cade's encouraging smile and the sense that I needed to make a good showing in front of Father Cash. Gritting my teeth and huddling in my coat, I tried to find a place among the small knot of mourners where I would be blocked from the worst of the wind.

Thankfully the priest didn't seem any more keen on the weather than I was, and hurried through the little ceremony, in spite of the annoyance in Father Cash's eyes. Well, what of it? We were all stomping our feet and shivering, and nothing said on earth was going to help Sella now.

Father Martinez asked if anyone wanted to say any words. Of course Father Cash did, and strode to the head of the grave. "Friends," he said, "Thank you for being here today." He went on to tell us a little of Sella's history. "When she called me from the bus station just a few short weeks ago, I went to meet her and found a girl much changed. She was nurturing a great hurt and a great fear, but deep inside, I know she was still the same sweet child. I believe that what happened on the waterfront was more than what it appeared, and although God longs to have each and every one of us by his side, this is not how He would have had it."

A few people in the crowd raised their eyebrows and Father Martinez gave him a warning look.

"Evil lurks in this world, and Satan tries to leave his mark." He caught Father Martinez's alarmed expression and gave a tight smile. "But we take comfort in knowing that evil cannot win, and even now Sella has her victory in the arms of her Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ."

"Amen," Father Martinez said firmly. "Would anyone else like to speak a few words?"

I ducked my head, hoping frantically that Father Cash wouldn't expect me to say anything. I had hardly known the girl, and my last attempt at public speaking had been in eighth grade.

To my surprise, Cade spoke up beside me. "If I may, Father."

The crowd parted to let him approach the coffin, and Father Cash stepped aside with chilly good manners. Cade hardly seemed to notice, and turned to face the group.

"I'm just a fisherman, and I don't always have the right words for things," he said, "but when I found Sella in the water, I felt like I was finding my own child. She was a beautiful young lady, full of potential for happiness and good works, and it's a sad day when someone like her is lost to us. The world can be a pretty mean place, and we need good, kind, wise people to balance things out. Even though I never knew her alive, I feel like she would have been one to tip the scales of good in our favor. Her departure is a loss to us, and a gain to Heaven."

There were nods of approval and a few amens as Cade returned to his spot by my side and Father Martinez asked if anyone else wished to speak. Getting no takers, he wrapped things up as quickly as he could, much to Father Cash's annoyance. After we had all filed past the lowered coffin for the last time, Father Cash took him aside with a frown, and I turned expectant eyes on Cade.

"I want to talk to him a minute," he said, gazing in Father Cash's direction.

Just my luck. A conversation with him right now could easily turn into a grilling as to why I hadn't offered to share a reminisce about Sella. "Could I go sit in your truck, then? I'm freezing."

Cade led me back to the truck and opened the door, still casting glances toward the two priests, who were deeply absorbed in what appeared to be a tense conversation.

"It may be awhile," I warned him.

"Yeah, he's pissed about something." With a sigh, Cade went to the other side of the truck and got in.

"It's just not how he would've done it," I said. Cade cranked the engine and turned on the heater. I stretched my hands toward the blast of warm air.

"How come he didn't perform the ceremony? Do Catholics have rules about what churches a priest can use?"

"Not that I know of. It's just that Father Cash is defrocked."

"Oh." Cade put the truck in gear and we backed out onto the cemetery road. "Do you know why?"

I tried to suppress a smile. "He likes women a little too much."

Cade gave a knowing nod. "That's got to be tough. He should've gone protestant. They would've let him marry."

"I don't get the impression one woman would've been enough."

"Old-school Mormon, maybe?"

In spite of myself, I smiled, imagining Father Cash trying to manage a bevy of wives. "I guess he missed his true calling."

"A lot of us do."

We both lapsed into silence and it was only as the gray clapboards of town came into view that Cade remembered to ask where he was taking me.

"You can drop me back at the church."

"I don't mind taking you home."

I hadn't been looking forward to walking in the cold in Donna's thin dress, but that didn't mean I wanted Cade seeing the run-down tenement where I lived, either. "Thanks, but the church is fine. Really."

"Suit yourself."  He drove to the church in such a state of silence that I wondered if he was angry at me. But when he pulled up to the church door, he merely turned to me with concern in his eyes. "You sure you don't want a ride home? I really don't mind. I don't have anything else to do today."

For a moment, I reconsidered. Surely he didn't think I was well-off, so why should I be embarrassed at letting him see my poverty? Nevertheless, I shook my head. "I'm going to pray a little while."

Cade grinned, but didn't challenge my lie. Instead, he fumbled among some stray items in a cupholder and scribbled on a gas receipt. "Here."

I took the slip of paper. It was his phone number.

"Call me sometime. I'll buy you a cup of coffee." Then, misreading my hesitation, he added, "Just as a friend. I haven't met very many people here who I'd like to know better."

"Me, either."

"Can I get your number, too?"

"No." I reached for the door handle. "It's nothing personal, I swear. And I'll call you. I promise."

I jumped out of the truck and darted into the church, my heart pounding. Wasn't it just my luck that in this, of all places, I'd meet a nice guy. And wasn't it my rotten luck as well that I wasn't the type of girl he should be getting mixed up with. 

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Chapter Five, Part Two

I had already decided that I wasn't going to go to the graveside. I felt too awkward and had no love for the misery of standing outside in the cold. Nevertheless, when Cade asked after the service if I was going, I hesitated.

"You can ride with me, if you don't mind my truck's a little messy and smells like fish."

It was at that moment Father Cash walked up to us. Betraying nothing in face or manner of our earlier falling out, he took my hands in his. "I'm so glad you came, Judith."

"You knew I would be here."

He gave a tight little smile and turned to my companion.

"This is Cade Dermott," I said. "One of the fishermen at the pier that day."

Father Cash shook Cade's hand.

"I'm sorry for the way all this came about," Cade said, "But I feel privileged to finally meet you. You've done good work in my neighborhood."

"I'm just the hands and feet; the Lord does the work," Father Cash said. "Thank you for all that you've done. I know that can't have been an easy day for you."

"That's for sure."

Father Cash turned to me. "The cemetery is too far to walk, but I think there is room in Father Martinez's car for one more."

Before I could answer, Cade spoke up.

"I told her she can ride with me, if she likes. My pickup isn't much, but it does the job."

While I held my breath, Father Cash looked from Cade to me and back again. Then with that same polite smile and a glare of accusation in his eyes, he said to me, "Whatever you like, Judith. You have the directions?"

I told him that I did, and he turned away. I stared at his back as he headed toward the rear of the church and a little cluster of church people who were waiting for him.

"You ready go?"

I looked up into Cade's ice-blue eyes and saw only warmth. "I think so."

#

The cemetery was a new one outside of town, at the end of a bleak road off the main highway in and out of town. Cade's truck wasn't as messy as he had warned, nor did it smell too offensive, although there was a distinctly stale and fishy cast to the air. The heater worked, though, and I was grateful to settle in and relax in the luxury of Cade's inconsequential talk punctuated by silences that felt as comfortable as a pair of old slippers at the end of a long day.

As I watched the landscape go by, I found my thoughts drifting toward home. Like Sella, I had left a green and sunny place, trading it for this brown tundra, and just like her, I was letting it kill me. Yes, I was physically safe, but did that really count for much when I wasn't truly free? Poverty could confine as much as any coffin or jail cell, perhaps even more.

"Where are you from, originally, Judith?"

Had Cade been reading my mind again? "South," I said. Then, in the hope of distracting him from further inquiries, I added, "You?"

"Maine."

"You're a long way from home, and not much warmer."

Cade grinned. "That's for sure. I used to work in lobster. Tried to make a go of being independent, but I had a few setbacks."

"So you came here instead?"

"It's not as crazy as you think. I could've stayed in the northeast and worked for one of the big fishing corporations, but this place is wide open; only a couple big guys, and lots of ways to make a name for yourself."

I nodded slowly. "Make your fortune, then go back home?"

"That's the plan, unless it changes."

"I can't imagine wanting to stay here any longer than necessary."

Cade gave a little shrug. "I've seen prettier places, but life is what you make it." He waved a hand in the direction of the dun-colored landscape. "Even this has its uses, and in the right hands, I bet it could be made pretty nice, too."

This made me smile. "You're an optimist."

"No point living any other way. Seeing the gloom in everything is just a fast track to dying."

I had nothing to say to this, and returned to gazing out the window.

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Chapter Five, Part One

Whether he raised the funds somehow, or simply cajoled the right people, I'll never know, but Father Cash managed to get a full Catholic service at St. Ignatius. I had heard from some of the locals that the little church near the center of town wasn't named after the Ignatius who founded the Jesuits, but after the one who was fed by the Romans to wild beasts. This felt appropriate to me as I walked up the jagged stone walk in my badly-fitting, borrowed dress, unsure of my welcome but well aware of Father Cash's resentment.

I stepped inside and paused a moment in the gloom to examine the row of votives in red and green glass holders. Although I wasn't Catholic, the intimacy of the close room and flickering lights calmed me. I removed my hat, shoved it in the pocket of my jacket, and headed into the nave.

I saw no one I knew, not even Father Cash, and for a moment I wondered if I was at the wrong funeral. I had forgotten to look for a program on my way in, but there was a sign with a photograph and flowers by the closed coffin at the front of the church, so I made my way forward, as self-conscious as though this were my own funeral and I was sneaking in, hoping to go unnoticed.

The enlarged photo of Sella showed a pretty girl of about nine or ten, wearing a pink dress and beaming at the camera. Father Cash must not have had a more recent picture, and Sella probably hadn't brought any photos with her in her flight from home. I gazed into the brown eyes of the honey-skinned little girl and wondered how such a cheerful-looking child became in just a few short years the sullen, nearly catatonic teenager who could barely stir herself from Father Cash's sofa.

"Life is full of strange turns."

I looked around and was met by the same arresting blue gaze I had seen on the dock when they brought Sella's body to shore. "You read my thoughts."

The fisherman shrugged his heavy shoulders in their boxy jacket. "It's the obvious conclusion in a situation like this." He stuck out his hand. "Cade Dermott. Sorry I didn't properly introduce myself the first time."

"I think we were both a little preoccupied." I shook his hand. "Judith McGillum. I'm Father Cash's neighbor."

Cade nodded. "I wondered what the relationship was."

I wasn't sure how to answer this, and just then the music started. I glanced around for any clues that there were special seating arrangements.

"I think we can sit anywhere," Cade said.

Of course. With no friends or family of the deceased, other than Father Cash, why not let people sit where they wanted? Lacking any better ideas, I followed Cade to a pew a few rows from the front, empty except for a couple of thin gray women at the far end, who looked to be recipients of Father Cash's charitable efforts. We took our seats, and Cade removed a spindled program from his pocket. I glanced over his shoulder and saw that it would be a fairly simple ceremony. As simple as the Catholics could make it, that is, what with the full Mass and all.

I was searching my memory, trying to remember a few of the responses to the Mass from the couple of times I had been to a Catholic service back home, when a movement at the front of the church caught my eye. Father Cash, solemn in a black suit but not daring to wear his renegade priest's collar, had emerged from a room behind the altar and was taking his seat on the front pew. I wondered if he had seen me, then let the thought pass. No doubt he was worrying about his sister and wishing he had the authority to perform today's ceremony himself. I was the farthest thing from his mind, and that was for the best.

Beside me, Cade leaned in and whispered in my ear. "That's the uncle, right?"

I nodded.

"I've seen him around my neighborhood. Nice guy. Brings food to people who are old and can't get out."

I nodded again, but although my gaze was fixed firmly on Father Cash, it was Cade that I was thinking of. He was warm and solid, his muscles tight underneath the cheap suit. I had been with so many men for money since arriving in Cold Haven that I had thought myself immune to them, but there was something about Cade's presence that calmed and comforted me, as if I were one of those flickering votives in the vestibule; a weak light with only a little warmth, but still real, still alive. Had the moment continued even a second longer, I might've slipped my hand into his like a child thirsting for comfort and connection. Instead, Father Cash turned his head and locked eyes with mine. I sucked in my breath, grabbed the nearest hymnal, and cast my eyes on the first page I opened it to.

How great are the works of the Lord.

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Chapter Four, Part Two

I used to have nice clothes; things that would've been appropriate for a funeral. But most of what I didn't leave behind, I had long since sold, leaving me in a quandary over what to wear to Sella's funeral.

The service would be small, and limited to Father Cash and the neighborhood rabble, so it wasn't as if a high standard of dress would be required. Nevertheless, for the first time in a year, I found myself peering into a mirror and actually giving a damn what I looked like. I told myself it was just because it wasn't proper to go to a funeral looking like the whore and drug mule that I had become, but the issue ran deeper than that. Although Father Cash had informed me of the time and place for the service, he hadn't exactly invited me, either. He had merely left a note of the date and time, stuck to my door with a piece of tape.

I couldn't not go to this thing, but I couldn't show up in boots, faded leggings, and a jacket. I needed to look like I cared enough to wear my best, and my best sucked.

I had just gotten my heat turned back on, otherwise I would've probably bought something appropriately solemn at the thrift shop. Lacking that option, I called Arlo. It took him a few rings to answer, and when he did, he sounded hung over, so I got straight to the point.

"I've got a funeral I've got to go to today," I said. "I got nothing to wear."

Arlo muttered something that sounded like, "Not my problem."

"Yeah, well, I was wondering if you could float me some cash. Just enough to buy, you know, a dress or something."

"I don't do loans. You know that."

"Well..." I thought fast. "I meant like, if you've got something I could do for you tonight, you can maybe pay me now, more like an advance..."

"Don't do advances, either."

I sighed in frustration and tried to think if I had any other arguments I could bring to bear. Before I could give up and tell him thanks for nothing, Arlo spoke again.

"Come over. We'll figure something out."

This sudden shift was in some ways more disconcerting than his earlier refusal. Arlo never fucked his subordinates, so I knew I wouldn't have to worry about that, but did he have some even more unpleasant task for me? Lacking other options, I told him I'd be right over.

By the time I got to Arlo's little walk-up over a liquor store, I had allowed so many crazy scenarios to populate my mind that I almost turned around and went home, clothes be damned. But I hadn't walked all this way in the cold just to leave empty-handed, so I knocked. After a moment, there was a shadow at the peephole, and then a scrabbling at the lock.

The door opened and instead of Arlo, I saw his skinny girlfriend, Donna. She was tousle-haired and bare-faced, with only a smudge of gooey lip gloss on her fleshy lips to indicate she had made any effort at her appearance. She let me into the room and motioned toward an item on the sofa. "Arlo says you need a dress."

She said it with such piercing contempt that I considered telling her to keep her dress and go fuck herself, but that would've pissed off Arlo, who had obviously leaned on Donna for this favor. I couldn't afford to get on the bad side of anyone who could get me some work, no matter how degrading, so I picked up the black dress and held it out in front of me to see if it would fit.

"It's all I got for a funeral," Donna said. "I want it back by tonight, and if you mess it up, you buy me a new one."

"Right."

She opened the door again. "See you later."

I folded the dress and forced a smile as I left, but once the door had slammed behind me, I wadded it up and shoved it into my satchel. The apartment had been too dark for me to assess it properly, but I could tell by touch that the fabric was thin and cheap, hardly worth Donna's protective attitude.

When I got home and could examine it more closely, I was even more annoyed. The dress was clean but faded, with pilling around the underarms and back of the skirt. It also needed ironing, and of course I had no iron. I did have gas again, though, so I heated a clean skillet on the stove, spread the dress on a table with a towel for padding, and did the best I could to get out the wrinkles.

Once on, the dress's other shortcoming was revealed. Although it seemed to fit well enough, it had been constructed badly and with every movement, the seams moved and the bodice twisted, so that I had to periodically grab the skirt and jerk the dress back into place. In the mirror, though, this defect wasn't immediately obvious, and with some black tights and boots, my hair neatly combed and a dab of lipstick, I figured I looked fairly presentable, as long as the lights were dim. It was the best I could do, anyway, so why worry? I grabbed a hat, scarf and jacket, and headed to the church.

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Chapter Four, Part One

"I'm sure it was an accident," I told Father Cash, as he sat at the end of the narrow sofa that just this morning had been Sella's bed. "She was enjoying the waves and the seagulls, and her foot slipped."

He rubbed his eyes but refused to look at me. "It's very thoughtful of you to reassure me, but lying is a sin. Either Sella was killed or she wanted to die."

"Wanting to die and committing suicide aren't the same thing. Maybe it was an impulsive act, or she simply made a situation and let it happen."

"She had stones in her pockets and her ankles were tied together. That's hardly 'letting it happen'."

I had nothing to say to this.

"If someone murdered that sweet girl...."

"Why would anyone around here want to murder her? She knew no one but us. And besides, if someone wanted to drown her, they would've tied her arms and her legs, but only her legs were tied. She could've done that herself."

"But that would mean she took her own life." Father Cash shook his head. "That's a very grave sin."

My first instinct was to point out that no one, not even the pillars of his useless religion, had ever held back from doing what they wanted just because it was a sin. The pain on his face was so genuine, though, that I edged closer and reached for his hand, struggling to find words that were both honest and kind. "Even if she sinned, it was because she wasn't in her right mind. I'm sure Jesus understands."

Father Cash pulled away. "You know nothing about Jesus."

So much for honesty and kindness. "Look, we can wonder all day long, but without any evidence one way or the other—"

"Exactly." He turned on me, his eyes welling with angry tears. "She left no note. She didn't put her things in order. She went out expecting to be right back. Something bad is going on."

"Perhaps so," I said, more to quiet him than because I agreed.

"We have to find out who did this, and why."

Clearly he was out of his mind. Even if Sella had been murdered, which I doubted, playing detective was a dangerous game. "That's what the cops are for, you know."

He waved a dismissive hand. "Those incompetents say it's a suicide."

"Maybe you should hire a detective, then."

"Don't mock me, Judith. You know I have no money. I don't even know how I'm going to pay for the funeral."

He had gone to the window by now, where he pulled back a corner of the industrial brown curtain to gaze out at the darkness. I stared at his back, wondering if I should ask the obvious question. He solved the problem for me.

"I tried to reach Lena..."

"Still no luck."

Father Cash shook his head and let the drape fall back into place. "I know you think I'm imagining things, but how can I not think something is very wrong when my sister falls off the earth and her daughter turns up in this forsaken place, only to end up dead a few weeks later?"

"I can see how that would worry you," I admitted.

"Worry?" He came over and took my hand with haunted earnestness. "Judith, my sister is a kind, gentle woman, who wouldn't just disappear for no reason. And Sella was a good kid, who would never run away from home unless something terrible had happened."

I held my breath, knowing whatever I said, it would be the wrong thing.

"Please help me."

Our eyes locked, and it was I who looked away first. "I'm sorry, but if I knew how to unravel someone else's life, I'd fix my own, first."

Father Cash dropped my hand. "Of course."

His cool tone chilled me like a Cold Haven wind. "I'm flattered that you asked. Really. It's just that—"

"You can't. I understand." He started toward the door. "It's probably time for you to go. I'm tired, and there's a lot for me to do."

I took a few tentative steps toward the door, which he was now holding open for me. Clearly he didn't intend for me to linger. "If you want, I can come back tomorrow and help you go through her things."

Father Cash forced a smile that didn't extend to his eyes. "Thank you, dear, but I know you're busy, and it's something I should do myself."

He closed the door behind me, and after a confused moment standing on his battered welcome mat, I headed up the stairs. I was almost to my own flat when I realized just how angry he really was.

He hadn't offered me his usual priestly blessing. 

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