a pink house. Cyrus went up to the door and knocked.
A woman answered. It was the same woman who’d given them the third degree about the car.
“Yes?” she asked. “Wait. You two were here before.”
“Sorry, ma’am,” Cyrus said. “I’m a detective, I think I told you. You said something about kids messing with the car that was left on the street. Did you recognize those kids?”
The woman wore an embarrassed expression.
“Well, it was only one kid,” she said. “And she was mostly just standing by the car.”
“She? A little girl?” Nora asked. “Do you know her?”
“She lives over there in that little gray brick house. That’s her.”
He and Nora turned at the same time toward the house. A girl was sitting on the concrete porch steps, drawing or coloring. Cyrus looked at Nora. As casually as they could, they crossed the street. They stopped on the sidewalk in front of her house.
“Hi there,” Nora said. Her voice was painfully bright and cheerful. “Is your mom or dad home?”
The girl shrugged. “Soon.”
“That’s the girl,” Cyrus said under his breath. “I saw her walking by the house the morning after.”
Nora gave him a worried look. “Are you coloring?” she asked the girl.
The girl held up her book. It was a coloring book but not one for kids. This was the sort of coloring book adults used for personal therapy, with intricate patterns that took hours to complete—all butterflies. Those books weren’t cheap. Had someone given it to her?
Cyrus felt something inside him shatter and the pieces cut into his gut. She couldn’t have been more than twelve years old.
“I know you,” Cyrus said, smiling at the girl, the fakest smile he’d ever smile. “Where’s your fairy wings at?”
“Fairy wings?” The girl looked at him, wide-eyed.
“I saw you on Saturday walking on Annunciation. You had on fairy wings.”
“Those aren’t fairy wings,” she said. “That’s my backpack. It’s a butterfly backpack.”
Assume the worst, S?ren had said. This was the worst.
“I’m Cyrus,” he said. “This is Nora. We knew Father Ike. Did you know him?”
Cyrus walked slowly to the porch, Nora at his side, still smiling. They both were, smiling like it would kill them not to smile.
“He was chaplain at my school last year,” she said, closing her coloring book. “He died, right?”
Nora stepped up onto the front porch first. Cyrus kept a little more distance.
“Yes, sweetheart,” Nora said. “He died. I’m sorry.”
Her bottom lip quivered. Nora reached out and lightly touched the girls’ shoulder.
“What’s your name?” Nora asked her.
“Melody.” Her voice was choked, hoarse.
“Pretty name, Melody,” Nora said. “You and Father Ike were friends?”
She nodded, unable to speak. Tears welled in her eyes.
Cyrus pulled his white handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Nora. She held it out to Melody, who cautiously took it.
“Were you going somewhere with Father Ike?” Cyrus asked. He kept his voice soft and gentle. He’d had to ask kids tough questions before. It never got easier.
Melody wiped at her face. “I came by… He was late.”
“Late?” Nora asked. “Late for what?”
Melody glanced around like she was looking for a way to run, to get away from them before they made her break a promise Father Ike had surely told her she had to keep.
Then Nora said something to make the girl stay. “When I was fifteen, my best friend in the world was my priest. He helped me with my homework because I was terrible at math. And he gave me hot cocoa in winter. And he gave me a beautiful saint’s medal, Saint Louise. That’s my middle name. Eleanor Louise Schreiber.”
“They’re not supposed to,” Melody whispered.
“I know they’re not,” Nora whispered back. “But sometimes they do. And sometimes it’s kind of nice. I wore my saint’s medal all the time. But just because they break the rules sometimes, that’s not… It’s never your fault if they do that. And you’d never be in trouble for telling someone about it. Was Father Ike going to take you somewhere last Saturday?”
“Dad promised,” Melody said. “But we haven’t seen him in months. And Mama works all weekend. I never see her either. So Father Ike, he said he’d take me to the Butterfly Dome.”
Some prayers don’t get answered. Jesus Christ, it was a kid. Cyrus didn’t want to hear anymore. He wanted to cover his ears.
“The Butterfly Dome sounds fun,” Nora said, her bottom lip quivering.
“They say the butterflies will land right on you,” Melody went on. “And they have all kinds. Papilio nireus—that’s the blue-banded swallowtail. And Caligo