“Out,” Rachel said.

“A holy card,” I answered, causing McCain to laugh out loud.

“Forgive me, Ms. Kelly,” he said, “but that’s a new one on me.”

Rachel started to speak but Travis held a hand up and asked, “You think a holy card from my father’s funeral Mass is something funny, Detective McCain?”

McCain gave Rachel a look of utter frustration, but there was nothing disrespectful in his tone when he said, “No, Mr. Maguire. No, I don’t. You happen to have this holy card, Ms. Kelly?”

“It’s in your room,” I said to Travis. “Mind if I get it from there?”

“Of course not.”

McCain started to follow me, but Rachel blocked his way. “Oh, no, Mac. You stay here and keep me company.”

Travis went with me. I found the holy card and let him take a look at it. He ran his fingers over it, but didn’t speak.

“It was in her coat pocket,” I said.

“She always got cold easily,” he said, and swallowed hard. “Do we have to give this to him?”

“Yes,” I said.

When Travis handed it to him, McCain asked, “Anybody see you find this, Ms. Kelly?”

“Rachel. And my aunt Mary.”

He scowled. I felt a little bit of sympathy for him. Sometimes my leads don’t go anywhere, either. But Rachel was the one who hit him where it hurt.

“Face it, Mac,” she said. “Two things are sticking in your craw right now. One, you did a lousy search of the apartment and missed some important items. Two, Irene found her cousin before you could. You keep wanting to believe she had something to do with her aunt’s death, but you don’t have shit to prove it. Not even a motive. Well, better luck next time.”

He tucked the holy card away, smiled and walked to the front door. He stopped, turned back and said, “Don’t be too sure about what I do and don’t have, Rach.”

He closed the door softly behind him.

“Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy,” Rachel said quietly.

“Jack call you?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“That reminds me-” Travis said. “I’ll be at Jack’s place for a few minutes.”

“We need to get going soon,” I said.

“This won’t take long,” he said.

When he came back, he was carrying a small cellular phone. “It’s supposed to be activated,” he said. “What’s the phone number here?”

I told him and he dialed it. The phone rang.

“Great!”

“You had Jack buy a cell phone for you?” Rachel asked.

“I bought it, but Jack agreed to put it in his name for a while.”

“How did you talk him into that?” I asked.

“I gave him the money for it. And I think he knows you won’t let me rip him off.”

“You’ve hardly known him for a day. How do you know he won’t take your money and run?”

“Same reason-I know you won’t let him rip me off. Besides, I could see you trust him. Jack’s great.”

“Yeah,” Rachel said, “Jack’s great, but don’t do too much more business this way, kid. My heart can’t take it.” I laughed. “Better not tell her about the van.”

After quickly explaining that purchase to her, he turned to me and asked, “Do you think you could drive it?” “Sure, but don’t you want to?”

He held up his injured hand. “Maybe in a day or two. By the way, Rachel, your friend is still sitting out there, watching the house.” “Oh, he is, is he?” she stood up.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “I think I’ve got a better idea. Travis, give Rachel your cellular phone number, okay?” He smiled. “I was planning to. I think we’re on the same wavelength.” While she wrote the number down, I called Jack. “One more favor, Jack.” I explained what I needed-and got his usual willingness to help out.

A minute or two after I hung up the phone, we saw Jack drive off in his van. We waited another minute or two, then the three of us walked out the front door. McCain watched us, but didn’t say anything. When we started going down the steps, Rachel said, “He’ll watch for us, don’t worry.”

There were more people on the beach now, though not as many as there’d be in another hour or so. We walked all the way to the pier, and crossed under it. We took the stairs on the far side, passed the landing leading to a parking lot and continued up to the pier itself. We walked out to the end of the pier, where Rachel said, “He’s out of the car, but he stayed at the end of the street. Watching us with field glasses. He’s bound to know something’s up, especially since you two were just out on the beach, so no need to make too big a show out of being out here.”

After a minute or two we walked back down the pier. But when we reached the stairs, we stopped at the landing. Travis and I moved toward the parking lot, Rachel waited.

Jack had already pulled around to the end of the landing. He quickly got out of the van, wished us luck, and hurried over to Rachel.

We drove out of the lot and headed toward downtown along a route of surface streets I doubted McCain-not being a local-would think to try.

“I wish I could have seen his face when he realized who was walking next to Rachel,” Travis said.

But I wasn’t in such a triumphant mood about McCain. I kept wondering what it was he thought he had on me, and if it would amount to enough for an arrest. I was innocent, but I’m not so naive as to believe that only the guilty get brought to trial-let alone convicted. And defending one’s innocence can be expensive.

Charges alone would make my job as a political reporter extremely difficult-even if the charges were dropped, I could see my sources drying up, people hesitating to open up to someone accused of murdering her aunt. For a reporter-perhaps especially on that beat-if you aren’t trusted, you aren’t talked to, and you soon have nothing to write.

I didn’t want to think about how it might affect Frank’s work if his wife faced that sort of accusation.

I tried to look at things as McCain might. My alibi was a solid one, but maybe he thought I had hired someone to kill Briana. He often mentioned the will, but why would I pay someone to kill a woman who had nothing? Nothing other than that will tied me to her though, so… so she had to have some money somewhere, or something so valuable, McCain thought I’d kill her to gain possession of it.

I could think of only one way that Briana could suddenly have come into a lot of money. It meant that Dr. Curtis hadn’t made a mistake on the death certificate; that Arthur hadn’t lied to him. Maybe Briana had married-or remarried-into money.

“Travis, you said a priest helped you move furniture into your mom’s apartment?”

“Yes. Father Chris, at St. Anthony’s.”

“St. Anthony’s, here in Las Piernas?”

“Yes. My mom liked him, even though she didn’t follow much of his advice.”

“What do you mean?”

“He kept telling her to forgive me and my father.”

“He knew your father?”

“Yes, they both kept going to St. Anthony’s, although never to the same Mass. She always went to the ten o’clock Mass on Sunday. My dad said he never wanted her to feel uneasy about going to church there, so he’d always go to an earlier or later Mass-never the ten o’clock.”

“I think she finally listened to her priest.”

He just shook his head. “You’re still on that kick about the death certificate?”

“Yes. Mind if we try to see the priest before we visit Mr. Ulkins?”

He shrugged, took out the cell phone and called information. He asked for the number for St. Anthony’s rectory and pressed a couple of buttons to put the call through from information. He spoke to the housekeeper, who was apparently someone he had met before.

“Thank you, Mrs. Havens,” I heard him say. “Yes, I’m glad I had some time with him, too… No, I didn’t know you had known him that long. Listen, Mrs. Havens, I need to speak with Father Chris. Is he in?”

There was a wait, then Travis said, “Hi, Chris? Can my cousin and I come by to talk with you for a few minutes? Thanks-you’re sure this is an okay time?”

An elderly woman greeted us at the rectory door. She exclaimed and fussed over Travis, asking several times if she could bring him anything, until a handsome, dark-haired man of about thirty came into the room. He was wearing jeans, work boots and a flannel shirt, and said, “Thank you, Annie.” She left with some reluctance, and only after Travis assured her he would visit again soon. The man in the jeans turned to us as the door closed behind her, and said to Travis, “She used to work for your father, you know.”