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However long it was, Jude came through the front door soon enough, a door I guessed that Diane or Wes had been too flustered to remember to lock. His phone was already in his hand, and as soon as he took in the frozen tableau in front of him — Diane blocking her son, me standing there, not sure what to do, Meg also standing but looking as if she was about to collapse at any minute — he’d connected with 911 and was telling the operator that the police needed to come to 2125 Madison Avenue as quickly as possible.

Any fears I might have had that Wes was going to tackle Jude or try to get to me fled in that moment, because he collapsed back on the sofa, head in his hands. Meg also sat, one shaky hand finding the arm of her wing chair so she could lower herself slowly.

Jude leaned toward me.

“Are you okay?”

A loaded question. Yes, I was physically unharmed…but I also knew I wouldn’t forget those tense few minutes for a very long time.

If ever.

I nodded. “Yes, I’m all right.”

Meg was watching the two of us. Although she didn’t smile — how could she, in those circumstances? — something about her eased. Her gaze moved to Diane, and she said crisply, “Diane, please go make tea. I think we could all use some.”

For a second, Diane just stared at her mother-in-law as if she thought the older woman had lost her mind. But then she nodded faintly. “Of course.”

So she went into the kitchen and put together a pot of what I thought was English Breakfast, and brought it out and set it down on the coffee table with shaking hands. I thought what I really needed then was a good, stiff shot of whiskey or maybe brandy, but I still accepted the cup she gave me, as did Jude.

Maybe he understood more than most how important it was to find a moment of normality after your world had been torn apart.

In the distance, sirens began to wail, getting louder as they approached the house. We all remained in place with our tea — well, except Wes. He hadn’t moved from the couch, of course, but I guessed he’d realized that a cup of tea wasn’t going to help him much now.

A knock at the door, and then Detective Ruiz and two uniformed officers entered the house, not waiting for anyone to let them in. Detective Ruiz surveyed our little group for a second, then said, “So, what’s going on here?”

At once, Wes Lindley rose to his feet. He looked directly at Ruiz and said, “I want to confess to the murder of Father Francis Brennan.”

Ruiz’s eyes widened for a moment, and then he seemed to get control of himself. “Mr. Lindley, before you go any further, I need to read you your rights.”

It was surreal to stand there and watch Detective Ruiz rattle off Wes’s Miranda rights. Sure, I’d seen that sort of thing on TV and in the movies plenty of times, but I’d never experienced it before in real life, taking place only a couple of feet from where I stood.

When the detective was done, he said, “Mr. Lindley, do you understand your rights?”

Wes nodded. “Yes. I just want to get this over with.”

Detective Ruiz nodded at one of the officers, a stocky guy in his mid-forties, who removed the handcuffs from his belt and moved toward Wes, and I heard Diane draw in a shocked breath, as if she’d just realized that cuffing her son was a necessary part of the process.

Meg said, “Wes, don’t say anything else tonight. We’ll call Dan Satler tomorrow to help you through this.”

I had no idea who Dan Satler was, but I guessed he must be the family’s attorney. However, I also had to wonder whether he’d be up to this particular task. Usually, the kinds of attorneys people kept on retainer were for those who specialized in trusts and inheritance or possibly property matters. Those weren’t the kinds of attorneys you hired to litigate on your behalf in a murder case.

But I suppose Mr. Satler would advise the Lindleys on that once he had the details of the case.

Even as they were cuffing her grandson, Meg said, “There’s something else, Detective Ruiz, something I was discussing with Father Frank.”

The detective turned away from Wes Lindley to the older woman. “And what was that, Mrs. Lindley?”

She swallowed, but she still held her head high. “Years ago, I committed a terrible crime, and an innocent family has been paying the price ever since. Father Frank was helping me find the courage to come forward and reveal what I’d been hiding all this time. I want to come to the station tomorrow with my lawyer to make a complete confession.”

Detective Ruiz listened to all this with an almost dumbfounded expression, as if his brain was having a hard time catching up with what his ears were telling him. But then he seemed to gather himself and said, “Yes, Mrs. Lindley, I think that would be a good idea. For now, though, we need to take your grandson in to be booked.”

Her mouth tightened, but she nodded. “Of course.”

Then the detective looked over at Diane, and I could see something in his expression harden. Of course, he didn’t have the full story of what had happened yet, but he was probably already guessing that Wes’s mother hadn’t been as forthright about the situation as she probably should have.

“And you, Mrs. Lindley — you’re not to leave town. After we’ve listened to your son’s confession, we’ll decide whether to charge you as an accessory after the fact.”

Her face went pale, but her voice sounded steady enough as she replied, “Yes, detective. I understand.”