I looked over at my cousin, whose errand had put him in a somber mood. He was sitting stiffly, his injuries undoubtedly making the ride uncomfortable.

“Travis,” I asked, bringing him out of his reverie, “do you remember when Mrs. Havens was your family’s housekeeper?”

“We never had a housekeeper at our house,” he said. “Mrs. Havens kept saying she worked for my father. She must have worked for my dad after my parents separated.”

“I think she may have worked for your father and Gwendolyn, before Gwendolyn died.”

His eyes widened. “What?”

“Father Chris called her ‘Annie.” The housekeeper at the DeMont farm was named Ann Coughlin. Different last name, but maybe she remarried, or changed it. I just think it’s unlikely that your father had two different housekeepers named Ann.“

“But that would mean she was the one who found Gwendolyn’s body…”

“More than that. Suppose she hadn’t mopped the floor where your father walked, or disturbed the place on the bed where your father put his hand into Gwendolyn’s blood?”

“He would have been arrested for murder. Dad’s alibi wouldn’t have mattered much if Richmond had found that evidence intact.”

I shrugged. “Richmond might have blown it in some other way. I’m beginning to doubt that Mrs. Coughlin was just some befuddled old lady who messed up a murder scene, though. I think Richmond assumed that’s all she was, and she took advantage of that.”

She greeted us at the rectory door, again fussing over Travis. Father Chris had been called out to a sick parishioner’s house, she explained to us. Would we please wait? Travis and I exchanged a glance. We were brimming with questions for her; Father Chris’s absence would make asking them less awkward.

“I’m so glad you’re safe!” she said, seating Travis in the most comfortable chair she could find. “I read the stories in the paper.” She gave me a wink. “If I wasn’t gray already, that would have done the trick.” She propped a pillow behind him, then looked between us.

“She may be your cousin,” she said to him, “but I don’t see much of your mother’s side of the family in her. And I still say you look just like your father. Oh, I don’t mean all bruised and so, but I thought so even when I saw you as a baby.”

“You saw me as a baby?” he asked warily. “But my father didn’t have a housekeeper then.”

She hesitated only slightly before saying, “Oh, he did, just not at your mother’s place.”

“You worked for him at the DeMonts‘,” I said.

She sighed. “Yes, you’ve figured that out, haven’t you? Well, I don’t guess I’m obliged to keep these secrets after all that’s happened. Yes, I worked for Mr. Spanning at the DeMont place, and for Papa DeMont and Miss Gwen before him.”

“Ann Coughlin?” I asked.

“Yes, that was my first married name. Mr. Coughlin died and I later on married Mr. Havens. Mr. Havens, God rest his soul, died a few years back. Mr. Havens was always good to me.

“But Mr. Coughlin! He used to lose his temper with me every now and again, and he wasn’t above using his fists on me. Called it ‘teaching me a lesson.” Probably would have killed me one day, except young Arthur-oh, he must have been about eighteen then-he found out about it and put a stop to it. Told Mr. Coughlin there’d be none of that on the DeMont place, or he’d give him a lesson of his own-one that would make him feel like he’d been to college.“ She laughed. ”Mr. Coughlin never laid a hand on me after that. Well, all I’m saying is, I knew who helped me, didn’t I? And I never forgot it. And I was proud to be able to help him whenever he needed it.“

“When Gwendolyn was murdered-” Travis began.

“Yes, I helped him then, too. I was shocked, of course, but I knew he wasn’t the one that had done the killing.”

“But you couldn’t be certain!”

“Who on earth could be any more certain, I ask you? I spent more hours in that house with the two of them than I did in my own home. Arthur was never anything but kind to Miss Gwen. There wasn’t a mean bone in his body. And he never would have done anything to harm her.” She paused, then added, “I knew your daddy and I knew his brother, too-from the time your daddy was a little boy.”

“If you saw Travis when he was a baby,” I said, “you must have known about Arthur’s other life.”

“Yes. As I say, you can’t hide much from the person who cleans your house and washes your clothes. I’m sure there are plenty of people on this earth who will judge him harshly for what he did, but I won’t be one of them. That’s all I have to say about that. He helped me when everybody else just pretended not to see anything wrong-that man got me out of a living hell. I would have done anything to try to repay him for that.”

She turned to Travis. “I was always begging him to work it out so that I could see you, so proud he was of you. So one day, I told Miss Gwen I had some shopping to do, and he told your mother he had some shopping to do, and I got to see you! Oh, I was thrilled. You could just see how much he loved you, how precious you were to him. I told him then and there, he was right, having you was worth the world. The very world.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Havens,” he said softly. “For telling me that, and for-well, thank you for everything you’ve done for us.”

“Travis,” I asked, “do you have the key with you?”

“The key!” she exclaimed. “But surely you can’t need it now! I read where they caught him! He’s locked up, right?”

Travis pulled the little key from his pocket. “Gerald? Yes, Mrs. Havens, but we want to make sure he stays locked up.”

She frowned, then said, “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

By the time she came back, her new boss had returned. That’s how it worked out that when we opened the small strongbox, a Catholic priest happened to be present. I wasn’t surprised to find a knife with a broken tip and dark stains on it. But I was surprised to see it resting on a pair of stiff, blood-stained gloves.

“Don’t touch anything in that box,” I warned the others.

“How did my father get these?” Travis asked.

“Well, you don’t have an older brother, so there’s no way you could know,” she said. “But one thing a younger brother always knows about an older one is where he likes to hide things. Arthur found these that Sunday, he told me, and I helped him hide them before the police even knew she was dead. Gerald was fit to be tied, of course, but Arthur told him if he ever brought any harm to you or your mother, someone else would turn that over to the police, along with some notes. I was the someone else!”

“But-but Mrs. Havens!” Father Chris said, looking at his elderly housekeeper in an entirely different way. “This was evidence! The woman lay there murdered for a full day after you knew about it!”

“I loved Gwen, Father, but she was dead. Wasn’t going nowhere, right? And what was more important, to protect three innocent people’s lives, or let the likes of Harold Richmond use that evidence to hurt them? And before you say another word, Father, ask yourself if Arthur Spanning could have possibly paid a higher price for loving his brother as himself. If anything, that man loved his brother too much!”

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked out. She was back less than a minute later to say, “Two weeks notice, Father. Time I retired. Travis, you call me.”

I’m still not sure if it was the notes, the knife, or Reed Collins’s bold assertion (made without checking with any lab) that DNA could easily be lifted from the inside of Gerald’s gloves that made the difference. Reed liked my theory that Gerald’s wetsuit trick indicated a certain fear about leaving DNA around, and put it to the test.

Personally, I think having his ass kicked by a woman so disordered Gerald’s way of looking at the world, he took one glance at the notes, knife and gloves and started unburdening his conscience. This, I’m told, took the form of a lot of ranting about bitches who could have been happy with him, traitorous brothers, whores and bastards-but the district attorney, a judge and a jury of his peers were able to sort it all out and find him guilty.