It was my turn to look at Sister Ann oddly. “Besides,” I continued, “I doubt Cordelia prefers the company of women.” I didn’t think she would like me coming out for her, particularly to a nun.

“I was under the impression she did.”

“What gave you that impression?”

“She did.”

“Oh…well, we’re not lovers.”

“I don’t mean to pry. I just noticed a connection between the two of you and assumed that that was it.”

“No.” I shook my head. “You don’t approve of that kind of stuff anyway.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Perversion. Deviant sexual behavior. Don’t we go to hell for that?”

“I’ve always believed,” she replied, “that if God is going to be strict about anything, that He will be strict about the rules concerning hate, not love. And if two people love each other, that has to be better than two people hating each other. Beyond that, it’s for God to sort out. I’m too frail to be such a judge.”

I had always viewed religion as a monolith bent on crushing all who deviated from its doctrine. And I had been quite a deviant.

“That’s it?” I questioned, not sure if her tolerance was to be believed, thinking it perhaps the ephemera of a hot afternoon, or worse, a trick to catch my trust.

“That’s it,” she calmly replied.

“Well, maybe I’ll have to re-think religion,” I finally answered.

“Please do.”

“It’ll take a while.”

“I imagine. Don’t worry. I’ll not make it my personal task to convert you to Catholicism. I doubt I could undo the damage your aunt has done.”

I shrugged noncommittally, wondering if anything could undo what Aunt Greta had done.

“But do feel free,” Sister Ann continued, “to come by and see me even after this is over. You needn’t be worried that I will be frightened off by unsavory language.”

“I might do that,” I replied. “Visit, not try to frighten you with my vocabulary.”

I took our coffee mugs back to the kitchen and washed them out. Sister Fatima was there. She told me I looked familiar and asked if I had a brother. I told her I was from a large family and that we all looked alike.

I headed back to the clinic, but without Cordelia, it was both busy and disorganized. I left Bernie my phone number and told her to call if anything happened. She nodded, but she was on the phone again so we didn’t talk.

Not that there was much to say. I went home and had a late lunch.

I spent the next day doing a title search for another client. Boring, but safe and profitable. I also tracked down a possible word processing poison pen perpetrator. He was in prison in Angola and wouldn’t be back online for a long time. I drove by the clinic in the evening, but no lights were on. I kept driving.

I continued title-pursuing in the morning and waiting for the phone to ring in the afternoon. I couldn’t call Danny and risk talking to Cordelia again. I wouldn’t call Joanne until she called me. She was probably busy with Alex, not to mention the rest of her life.

They didn’t call. O’Connor did.

“More bad news, Miss Knight,” he greeted me.

“You’re moving to my neighborhood?”

“We got a look at your precious Dr. James’s files.”

“Legally?” I interjected.

“By the book.”

“Coloring?” He ignored me.

“We found a file for Vicky Edith Williams. You remember her?”

I did. The woman in the woods at Emma’s.

“Seems she was a patient of Dr. James’s,” O’Connor continued. “You think it’s just coincidence her body got dumped in the woods and Dr. James shows up there at the same time?”

“Not coincidence.”

“You want to tell me what you know?”

“I know Cordelia didn’t leave that body in the woods.”

“You know a lot of things your girlfriend didn’t do,” he baited me.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” I retorted.

“I thought you were friends,” he countered.

“I thought you meant, like a boyfriend,” I stumbled, wondering if I had given O’Connor something he hadn’t suspected before.

“No, no such thought,” he commented.

“I think she’s getting married,” I lied.

“She was engaged, but she broke it off a few months ago.” O’Connor certainly did his homework.

“So what do you want? Me to congratulate you on your agile detection? You’ve looked through those files before. How come you never noticed it?”

“It was misfiled, under V, not W. Or else it wasn’t there when we looked the first time,” he added almost as an afterthought.

“So either it wasn’t there or you guys are incompetent assholes and missed it the first time,” I countered.

“Interesting possibility, isn’t it?” he said, ignoring my taunt.

“Why are you mentioning this to me?”

“It makes me curious, that’s all. I have to look at all the angles.”

“About time.”

“I thought I was tracking a fumble-fingered doctor. But Faye Zimmer told me different. I want who murdered that kid.”

“So do I.”

“I hope you mean that,” he said, then hung up.

I sat for a while going over in my head what I knew, what was possible. Someone was setting up Cordelia. And doing a very good job of it.

I got in my car and drove to the clinic, really just to be doing something. It was a few minutes after five when I arrived.

“No one’s here,” Bernie told the ringing phone as she breezed out the door, intent on making her escape. She plowed into me, then jumped back in embarrassment and confusion at the physical contact.

“Hi, Bern,” I said, thinking to myself, definitely a baby dykling. “Anything going on?”

“Oh, the usual. Well, the unusual, but nothing terribly exciting.”

“I see.”

“I have to go babysit,” she said, explaining her hurry. “Betty’s locking up.”

“Hurry on. I’ll see you later.”

She waved and headed for the door. I entered the office. Nurse Peterson was there.

“Oh, hello, Miss Knight,” she said when she saw me.

“Hello,” I replied. “Noble of you to close up as often as you do.”

“I don’t mind. Bernie does so many extra things for the rest of us.”

“Yeah, she’s a good kid. Can I ask you a few questions?”

“Of course. I’ve certainly asked you enough.”

“The women Cordelia’s accused of killing. Do you remember any of them?”

“I only started here recently, about two months ago. I know that one of the women was a patient here. The one you found…in the basement.”

“Beverly Sue Morris?”

“Yes, her. I think she was one of Jane’s patients.”

“Did Cordelia ever see her?”

“She might have. I don’t really know.”

“Was she here Friday afternoon?”

“I honestly don’t remember.”

“What about Faye Zimmer? Alice Janice Tresoe? Vicky Edith Williams?”

“Who?” she asked. “Could you repeat those names?”

“Faye Zimmer, Alice Janice Tresoe, Vicky Edith Williams.”

“I think…I remember Faye Zimmer. She seemed awfully young…she came in here for birth control pills. I guess now that she’s…gone, privacy doesn’t matter much.”

“It’s lost once you’re dead. For murder victims, it’s stripped away,” I told her in a quiet voice. “Do you remember any of the other women?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t. I usually work with the kids. My specialty is pediatric nursing.”

“Do you like working here?” I asked, gently probing.

“Oh, yes.” She smiled, her face becoming animated.

“Even with your views about abortion?”

“This isn’t an abortion clinic. Most of what we do here has nothing to do with abortion. I’m here because I’ve always wanted to do this kind of medicine. I can get to know my patients, not just hand them a pill. I can make a difference. When I worked in a hospital, at times I felt like I was just another white uniform. Cordelia said the only rule here is to be a kind, compassionate, responsible adult.”

“How about the people? Do you get along with the rest of the staff?”

“Yes, everyone is nice. Kind. Even though we disagree about things, I feel like, well, I’m in a family here. It makes me…I don’t know.”

“Makes you what?”

“Sometimes I wonder about things. I mean, Millie lives with a man. They’re not married. And she’s made it clear that…”

“That they have sex.” Millie would, I thought.

“Yes. I was taught that that was wrong. But I can’t look at Millie and see a sinner, or some evil harlot. That’s what my father calls women like her. And Cordelia…”

“And Cordelia?” I prompted.

“She’s very smart. Very dedicated and hardworking. One day we were talking and—I’m twenty-three now. I’ve had the same boyfriend for two years and everyone expects me to marry him. I’m not even sure that I like him. Cordelia told me that she had almost married someone to please her family. She didn’t say it like that. She said, ‘To meet expectations that had been handed down from generation to generation, to the point that I imposed them on myself. But then I realized that their expectations didn’t equal my happiness, wouldn’t make up for love that wasn’t really there.’ Then she told me—” Betty abruptly halted.

“Told you about her personal life?” I suggested.

“Yes, I guess you would know,” Betty said with a rueful smile. “I was taken aback. And I think I said something stupid like I thought she was pretty enough to get a man.

“She replied that what mattered was that she was finally strong enough to know who she was and what she wanted. That the hardest thing she’d ever done was to give herself the right to her own life.”