A woman was in the front, straightening the altar. She watched us as we entered, watched as we walked up the aisle toward her. She was older, with curly white hair, a long skirt, and sneakers.

“Can I help you?” she said.

“We’re looking for Wayne Harbaugh,” said Beth.

She tilted her head and looked us up and down for a moment, gave me an extra eyeful, like she knew my type, and then asked us to wait.

“I always feel weird in a Catholic church,” I told Beth as we sat side by side in the front pew. “Like I’m infiltrating behind enemy lines.”

“It’s just a church.”

“To you maybe, yes, raised as you were in the warm embrace of Christianity. But to me, I’m always wondering when I’ll be identified as a Jew and beaten about the head and shoulders until I run out screaming.”

“The Inquisition ended” – she checked her watch – “something like five hundred years ago.”

“Still,” I said, “it’s been known to happen.”

“What do you think, Victor, people look at you and only see a Jew?”

“I swear that lady was giving me the eye.”

“She’s a nun, she gives everyone the eye.”

“Don’t they have to wear those habits?”

“Not anymore.”

“Is that fair? How can we tell who’s who?”

“For your information, then,” she said, standing and indicating a ruddy-faced man coming into the chapel, his collar turned around, “that is a priest.”

“Yes, hello. Welcome to the Holy Name. I’m Father Kenneth. And what, pray tell, can we do for you today?”

Father Kenneth was short and solid and energetic, with a ready smile that put you immediately at ease. He didn’t look at me like I was an infiltrator, he looked at me like I was a friend waiting to do his parish some great good.

“We understand a man named Wayne Harbaugh works here,” said Beth.

“Yes, that’s true. Wayne is an employee.”

“We were hoping we could have just a few words with him.”

“Is there a problem of some sort?”

“Is he here today?” said Beth rather curtly.

“Yes, he is,” said the priest, still smiling. “He is currently at work in the school.” He paused for emphasis, widened his smile. “With the children, you see. Has Wayne done something wrong?”

“No, not at all,” I said, giving Beth a warning look. There was no need to come on like, well, like cops. Maybe she did have more of the cop in her than I had imagined. I introduced Beth and myself, gave the priest a card.

“So you’re lawyers,” said Father Kenneth. “It’s never a good sign, is it, when a lawyer steps through your door?”

“I could have news of a huge bequest left to Wayne in a will.”

“But you don’t, do you, Mr. Carl?”

“No. We just want to ask him a few questions about an old friend of his.”

“And who is the friend, may I ask?”

“Seamus Dent.”

The father nodded, pressed his thin lips together. “Poor Seamus. He was baptized here, along with his brothers. He was actually a sweet boy, if you got to know him. You should have heard him play the guitar. Magic. What happened to him was a tragedy.”

“You mean his murder?”

“Yes, and before that, too. His problems. The way his life veered off track. Although it looked as though things were coming around just before he died.”

I glanced at Beth, puzzled. “How so?”

“He looked to be clean, Mr. Carl. He was the one who brought Wayne here and convinced me to give him this job. Seamus had rededicated his life, he told me, for the good of the world. A bit ambitious, but we all need ambition. So for him to lapse like he did, and then be murdered like he was, made it doubly tragic.”

“Could we talk to Wayne about Seamus?” said Beth.

The father pressed his hands together, pressed his forefingers into his lips, considered. “Why are you interested in Seamus?”

“We represent a man who was convicted of murder, partly on Seamus’s testimony,” she said. “We’re investigating every aspect of the case, and that means we need to learn as much about the witnesses as we can.”

“This man you represent, is he currently in jail?”

“With a life sentence,” said Beth.

“Of course, yes, I see now the cause of your concern. That’s why you are such an adamant young woman. Okay, Ms. Derringer, I’ll have Wayne brought around. Do you think he ought to have a lawyer of his own present?”

“That really won’t be necessary,” I said. “We just want to talk about Seamus. To get a sense of him. Wayne is not personally involved at all.”

“You won’t mind, though, of course, Mr. Carl, if I sit in just to be sure.”

“Do you know anything about the law, Father?”

He winked. “Everything I know about the law I learned from Matlock.”

“Funny,” I said, “same with me.” I glanced at Beth and then shrugged. “Be our guest, Father.”

He brought us into a dark, book-lined room off to the side of the altar. A series of robes hung on hooks along one wall, a semicircle of leather-upholstered chairs was set up in front of a small desk against another. He bade us sit, made a call, then sat behind the desk and stared at us. He leaned forward slightly and opened his mouth as if to say something, as if to start some sort of conversation, and then gave a shrug. What was there to say, after all? We waited quietly until the door opened.

The man who came in was painfully thin, with dark, sunken eyes and a scraggly beard. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, a blue baseball cap. When he saw Beth and me, in our suits, sitting with Father Kenneth, he took off his baseball cap and clutched it with both hands, tucking his jaw in to his shoulder at the same time. He looked like a boxer on shaky legs, awaiting the knockout blow.

“Wayne,” said Father Kenneth, “these people are lawyers and want to ask you a few questions.”

“I didn’t do nothing.”

“We know that, son. Why don’t you close the door behind you and take a seat.”

Wayne Harbaugh glanced uneasily at us before shutting the door and sitting on the edge of one of the chairs, still clutching his hat.

“Wayne,” said the father, “they want to know about Seamus.”

“What about him?”

“He testified at the trial of a man accused of murdering his wife,” I said. “Do you remember that?”

Wayne looked even more uneasy, if that was possible. “Yeah,” he said. “I remember. He told me about it.”

“What did he tell you?”

“Just that lawyers made him nervous.”

“Like we make you nervous?”

“Sort of.”

“I wonder, Wayne, if you could just tell us a little about Seamus. Was he basically honest, dishonest? Did he tell the truth most of the time?”

“Go ahead, Wayne,” said Father Kenneth. “Tell Mr. Carl if Seamus told the truth most of the time.”

“I suppose he did,” said Wayne, “but not when it counted.”

I sat forward, glanced at Beth, who looked back with wide eyes.

“What do you mean?” I said.

“When it counted most, he was the biggest liar there ever was.”

“Wayne?” said Father Kenneth. “He was your friend, son. Your oldest friend.”

“But he said we was in it together, and that was a lie, wasn’t it, Father Ken? He betrayed you, didn’t he, by getting back in it? And he betrayed me just the same.”

“Why don’t you tell us about it, Wayne?” I said.

“From when?”

“From the start,” I said.

He looked at Father Kenneth, who stared at him closely for a moment and then nodded.

“Then I’ll have to talk about her,” said Wayne.

“Go ahead, son,” said the father.

Wayne closed his eyes and paused for a moment, and when his voice came out, it was stronger now, younger. “Because it was really about her, all about her,” he said. “Everything was always all about Kylie.”

And then he told his story, hesitant at first, later less so, as if there was some compulsion to get it off his soul. As he sat in the vestry, with Father Kenneth nodding, it flowed out almost like a confession. And to tell you the truth, I wasn’t surprised to hear Kylie’s name arise like a specter to haunt the dramatic twists and turns of Wayne Harbaugh’s story. I had heard what the witches on the stoop said of her, I had met her mother. I didn’t yet know the role she would play, Kylie, sweet Kylie, but I sensed from the start that whatever had happened to Wayne and Seamus, she was in the middle of it.