“So she’s been telling me. How are you, Chris?”

This was Father Chris?

“I’m all right, Travis,” he was answering. “Doing better now that I know you’re back.” He turned to me. “You must be the cousin?”

Travis apologized and introduced me to Father Christopher Karis, who, we learned, had climbed down off a roof to talk to us.

“Happy to be called away from roof repairs,” he said, extending a hand. “Which side of the family are Kellys?”

“His mother’s,” I said.

He smiled. “So she did contact her nieces. At a time like this, it must be such a comfort to Briana to have Travis back, and to be seeing her sister’s children again. Travis, what happened to your hand?”

Travis looked as if he had been punched. “Chris…” He couldn’t manage more.

“I’m sorry,” I said to the priest. “Briana was killed three weeks ago, in a hit-and-run accident.”

We didn’t rush things after that. We gave Father Chris what few details we had regarding Briana’s death. His shock and grief kept either of us from asking him any questions for a time, but he quickly became more concerned with Travis.

“But-then you don’t know! Travis, they married!”

Travis looked at me, then back at Father Chris. “Why?”

“Why? The best reason in the world. They loved each other.”

“But she was so bitter-”

“She let go of that, Travis.”

“She forgave him?”

“Yes. Yes, and asked his forgiveness. And I know she sought yours, too. She saw that all of this had been hardest on you, who hadn’t done a thing to deserve it. She came to regret those years-”

“I understood!” Travis said. “Didn’t she know that?”

“I think she did. She told me that after you started traveling, she started thinking. You brought them back together, you know.”

“No, you know she just finally listened to you. But there was so much wasted time!” Travis said.

“Yes, I suppose there was. But does that matter now? Both of your parents found some happiness together. Both were good and generous people-human and imperfect, yes, but good at heart. I sincerely believe they’re together now, in a life without pain or suffering, without separation or loneliness.”

“Yes,” Travis said after a while, “I guess I believe that, too. I just wish- I wish we could have all been together, a family again, even for a little while.”

“I know, Travis. And I’m sorry that you weren’t able to have that. But you aren’t without family-” He glanced toward me. “You have your cousins; perhaps other members of your family will be reconciled. And you have a family here-this parish will always welcome you.”

They agreed to meet again soon, and Father Chris told Travis to call him anytime-day or night-if Travis needed to talk or if he could be of help to him in any way.

Travis didn’t talk much as we left, other than to give directions to his father’s office-his office, too, I reminded myself. The office was in a beautiful old brick building, one that had once belonged to an insurance company. It stood with dignity between two taller, newer and less lovely structures, separated from them by more than the narrow alleys on each side. Travis told me that his father had bought it for a song, made a few repairs and brought it up to earthquake code. The offices took up the entire top story-the ninth floor, he said. Most of the rest of the building was rented out to other businesses.

There were a few people walking around on the downtown street that Saturday morning, but far less than the usual crowd. It wasn’t hard to find a van-sized parking space.

“I know what’s bothering me,” Travis said as I turned off the engine. “But what’s bothering you?”

“Beyond seeing how hard all of this is on you?”

He nodded.

“McCain. If your mother received anything-community property, anything-after your dad died, and that holographic will was the last one she made, I’m going to be suspect number one.”

“Ulkins will probably know what the situation is,” he said. “Mr. Brennan can help us with any legal hassles.”

I was out of the van when I realized that although he had opened his door, he was having trouble unfastening the seat belt using one hand. I had just stepped around to his side of the van when we heard glass shatter.

Pebbles of it pelted hard down on us, blue-green gravel from the sky. We hardly noticed the glass, though, for as we turned toward the building an object hurtled onto the sidewalk next to us, spraying us with blood and God knows what else, making a horrible sound, a sort of crackling thunk, as if someone had smashed a carton of eggs by hurling a watermelon at it.

This helpless missile had been a man, a frail old man.

I looked away, looked up to see where he had fallen from, and saw a sight so incongruous, I wondered if my mind had finally snapped. Above us, leaning out through a broken ninth-story window, was a man in a black wetsuit, wearing a ski mask and gloves.

Someone a few feet away started screaming, and soon several people were screaming, shouting, running toward us. I looked to see Travis, bending over the awful mess on the sidewalk, shouting, “No!” He took a breath, filled his lungs, and let it out in a long, loud “No!” again and again and again.

I shoved through the flow of people who came toward us, moved away from my cousin and the remains of a man I already knew must have been Ulkins, ran out of the crowd and into the building, hell-bent to catch the son of a bitch who was seriously screwing up the Maguire family reunion.

I got lucky-the lobby was empty, an elevator car was open and waiting. I was in it and on my way up to the ninth floor before my temper cooled off enough to allow me to ask myself what the hell I thought I was going to do when I caught up with Mr. Death in a Wetsuit. I quickly pressed eight, got out on that floor, pulled the stop button, then the “down” call button to bring the other car. When it arrived, I did the same thing- pulled the stop button. If he hadn’t escaped already, he wasn’t going to take an elevator. That left the stairwell. He might have plans for using the roof, but he’d be obvious-people on the street would be looking up at the ninth floor, the top of the building.

A man running around downtown in a wetsuit would be equally obvious. Anyone who was wearing a wetsuit inside an office building didn’t just happen to walk in off the street that way; he planned to wear it, and must have plans for getting out of it and into less attention-grabbing attire. I was counting on that to give me some time to limit his escape options.

I hurried toward the stairwell, to my right. I would just keep an eye on him, I told myself. From a safe distance. I’d stay low until I heard him pass by, then step into the stairwell and get a look at him. Tell the police where he had gone, give as good a description of his street clothes as I could manage. Nothing more. No revenge-yet.

This darkened floor of the building seemed deserted; all the office doors along the long, L-shaped hallway were closed. All was quiet. At the top of the L, far behind me, a tall window at the other end of the hall provided soft low light. The end I was approaching, near the stairwell door, was brighter. As I reached that part of the hall, I saw that the light came from a larger, second window-an old fire escape. I wondered briefly if he would make use of it, but decided he would not-too much exposure, and unlike the stairwell, it made access to other floors more difficult.

As I neared the stairwell door, I heard a soft clicking sound behind me and whirled, but saw nothing. I felt myself break out in a cold sweat. Suddenly, the hallway was filled with a loud ringing, a giant’s brass alarm clock, echoing off the walls-the elevators. The stop buttons must have had a timer on them-and now the alarm bells were heralding my presence to anyone one floor above. I ran back down the hallway, got into one of the cars and slammed my palm against the stop button, then hit the “close doors” button. Nothing happened. The ringing was so loud in this enclosed space, it made me clench my teeth. I wasn’t going to stay in that elevator car.