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The only other people in the place were an older couple who sat at one of the tables near the front window. They seemed engrossed in their own conversation and were far enough away that I decided to take the risk.

“Father Frank,” I ventured, “is it okay if I ask you something?”

Immediately, his gaze moved from the wine bottles to my face. I got the feeling he was almost relieved, as if my asking him questions helped a little to make him forget his ghostly condition.

“Of course, Lorelei.”

I pulled in a breath. “I’m not asking who confessed to you, or what they said. But in the weeks before you died, did anyone come to the rectory more often than usual? Was there anyone who came to you for counsel who hadn’t done that on a regular basis before then?”

His graying brows pulled together. I could see the way he wrestled with himself, as if he was trying to decide whether he could answer at all.

But I’d only asked him about a pattern, not a specific person. I’d hoped that might be all right.

Apparently, it was, because he said at last, “Yes, there was one person. They came to me first about eight months ago. Then they came again, and several more times during the months that followed. The visits became more frequent during the last month. This wasn’t in the confessional, you understand, but in my office. We spoke as friends.”

That sounded promising. “Can you tell me anything about them?” I asked, knowing I sounded a little too eager. “Anything at all that won’t violate any confidences?”

Another hesitation. But then he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Lorelei. I can mention that someone visited me, because anyone who saw them at the rectory would know. But I can’t say anything more than that, because that would point to them, and what they brought to me was given in trust.”

As disappointed as I was, I couldn’t really blame him for that. Even in death, he was protecting his parishioners. However, that didn’t mean I was about to give up.

“Just one more thing,” I said. “Did Hazel know about this person? Did you ever talk to her about them?”

Once again, he waited a few beats before replying. But then he said, “I never named them to her. But I believe she might have suspected. She had her own way of seeing things. She wouldn’t have asked me directly, however. She respected the confessional seal, even though she didn’t believe in it herself.”

For a moment, I could only gaze back at him. Hazel had figured something out, or at least had been close to figuring it out.

Something is different.

Before I could speak, the priest drifted away from the stool where he’d been sitting and then vanished. I’d noticed that he had a hard time talking for very long, or even appearing for more than a few minutes. He hadn’t gotten used to being dead the way Mack — or even my Aunt Hazel — had.

A minute or so later, Roz emerged from the office. Happy Hour wasn’t due to start for another forty-five minutes, but I supposed she wanted to get the lay of the land and see how busy we were.

“Still quiet,” she said after a quick glance at our only customers, the retired couple at the table by the front window.

“Yes,” I replied. Something had been ticking in my mind ever since that brief nod from Jude Marsh the night before, and I realized I needed act on it now before Happy Hour descended.

Or before I lost my nerve.

“I need to run out for a little bit,” I told Roz. “I want to stop by Marsh & Hollow.”

“The bookstore?” she said, looking blank.

I supposed I could forgive her for that reaction. During our short acquaintance, I definitely hadn’t shown much sign of being a bookworm, even though I actually did like to read when I had some downtime and could curl up with a book for an uninterrupted hour or so.

“Yes,” I replied, then added, “I think I owe Jude Marsh an apology.”

Now her eyebrows lifted a fraction. However, all she said was, “All right. Take your time. Things are pretty quiet right now, but try to be back by four.”

That had already been my plan, so I nodded, then took a brief detour into the office to fetch my purse before I headed out.

No need for a coat on this mild, lovely autumn day. The breeze was fresh but not cold, and I tried to take courage from the feel of it against my cheeks and in my hair.

I could do this. I needed to do this.

Still, the walk felt far too short. When I opened the front door at Marsh & Hollow, a chime above it sounded, announcing my arrival. Inside, it was all warm wood and books and light slanting through the big picture window, the Swiss cheese vine still luxuriating in its prime spot on top of its antique shelf. The air smelled of old paper and something I thought was lemon oil.

The tortoiseshell cat I’d seen during that brief glimpse two nights ago was now lying on the counter, its green eyes half-slitted. However, I could tell it was watching my every movement.