Page 24

“See ya.”

We ended the call there, and I headed downstairs for some much-needed caffeine and toast, since my stomach didn’t feel as if it would handle anything heavier than that. No sign of Hazel, either, and I wondered if she was giving herself some alone time to grieve the loss of her friend.

After my quickie breakfast, I went upstairs and got dressed in one of my few pairs of jeans — black, of course — a pullover black cashmere sweater I’d liberated from Hazel’s closet, and boots rather than flats, since the sky outside was gray and lowering, not the friendly bright blue it had mostly been since I arrived here in Prescott. When I got downstairs, Chauncey came running over to me, tail wagging, and I knew there wasn’t a chance of me heading out the door without taking him for a walk.

Which was fine; one of the texts from Roz had informed me that the crime scene hadn’t been released yet, and therefore I didn’t need to worry about coming in to work until I heard from either her or the police. Still, it couldn’t hurt to wander by and see what was going on. I’d taken Chauncey on a few long walks, and his little stubby legs had held up just fine, so I thought he’d be okay with heading down to Whiskey Row.

The coat closet held a variety of jackets and coats and wraps in different weights and degrees of waterproofness, depending on what you needed. Since the day was gray but didn’t look as if it wanted to rain, I pulled out a black wool overcoat with a black fur collar and put that on. It was a little short, reaching to mid-calf rather than my ankles, but the sleeves were all right.

It felt heavy and unfamiliar on my shoulders. In Scottsdale, I’d never had to wear anything this warm, and the few times I’d gone with friends to see the snow in Flagstaff, I’d worn a puffer coat because that seemed to be the thing to do.

I headed outside, Chauncey straining at the leash, and descended the porch stairs. As we passed Doreen’s house, she waved but didn’t say anything, her expression uncharacteristically somber, and I knew she’d heard about Father Frank and had decided to leave me alone unless I was the one to open the discussion.

But I didn’t feel like talking right then, so I only returned her wave and kept heading down Park Avenue toward Whiskey Row. A chilly breeze swirled around me, and I was glad I’d buttoned Hazel’s coat before I left the house. Any colder, and I probably would have tried to find a hat, too, even though wearing one would have done a number on my hair.

Of course, the wind wasn’t helping much with that, either. I’d applied a little hairspray, but not as much as I would have if I were going out for the evening and wanted to make sure everything stayed in place.

Even from across the street, I could see the yellow tape that barred the door to Copper State Cellars. Two police officers in uniform stood near the entrance, talking, although I was far enough away that I couldn’t hear what they were saying. A faint blur in one of the front windows resolved into Mack Donovan. He was watching the officers, but I could tell he noticed I was out there, because he doffed his hat and then gave me a small, grim nod.

Did that mean he’d seen something last night?

Maybe he had, but until Detective Ruiz determined that the crime scene had been cleared, Mack might as well have been on the moon.

Chauncey tugged at the leash and sent an inquiring look up at me. “Sorry, boy,” I said. “We can go.”

But rather than turn around, I headed west on Goodwin for a couple of blocks before cutting up toward Sacred Heart. I didn’t really know what I expected to see, but it felt like a way of acknowledging Father Frank’s loss.

The doors to the church were open when Chauncey and I approached, and I could see people coming and going, some of them wiping their eyes. My throat tightened at those signs of their obvious grief, but since I didn’t know any of the parishioners, I didn’t feel exactly comfortable going up and introducing myself and saying that the priest had died in my bar.

Arrangements of lilies lined the steps, and I could smell their fragrance, heavy and sweet despite the cold wind.

I looked down at the dog, who turned hopeful brown eyes up toward me.

“Let’s go home, Chauncey,” I said.

Back at the house, I found myself drifting toward the parlor. I couldn’t say exactly why, but I went to the Birds of North America book and lifted out Hazel’s journal, then settled down with it on the couch.

Maybe she’d left some clues in there, something about Father Frank or possibly the person — or persons — who’d wished him harm. I did find an entry from earlier in the year where Hazel had written something about him coming for tea and “wanting to talk through something difficult,” and she’d assured him she’d keep his secrets.

What secrets?

Hazel appeared then, sitting in her wingback chair as if she’d been there all along. “Yes, Father Frank came to me sometimes if something difficult was weighing on him, something he didn’t feel as if he could discuss with his fellow clergy at the church. I suppose he thought it was good to get an outside opinion, since I wasn’t Catholic but also knew how to keep quiet when necessary.”

I looked up from the journal, one hand resting on the neat but cramped handwriting on the page I’d been reading. “You mentioned that it seemed as if he had something on his mind these past few months. Did he ever say anything about it? Anything at all?”

She shook her head. Today, she was in another twinset, this one gray with charcoal beading on the shoulders, and she looked very solemn. “I think he might have been building up to it. He visited several times during the last few weeks before I died — I wasn’t going to Copper State very often by that point, and he came by here to check on me — and each time, it felt as if he was circling around something and then stopping himself before he could say anything. I assumed he’d tell me when he was ready.”

I didn’t know much about priests or churches or anything else, but I knew enough to understand that it wasn’t so strange for a priest to make house calls when a person was near the end of their life. Probably no one had thought twice about his stopping by to see Hazel.

Well, except the part where she wasn’t Catholic and had been healthy up until the day of her death, with no reason for anyone to think she was failing.

“I wish I could tell you more, Lorelei,” she said, then got up from her chair. She went toward the kitchen, but even as I watched, she disappeared again.

So much for that.

Around two that afternoon, I got a call from Detective Ruiz, who told me the bar was being released as an active scene as of tomorrow morning, so I could open on Saturday if I wanted.

I honestly wasn’t sure if I did, but I also knew that keeping the bar closed on the busiest day of the week didn’t make a lot of sense.