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“Sometimes a position of power can make a life of crime all the more accessible.”
“What kind of crime are we talking about? My family might have prayed to all the saints, but we certainly weren’t saints ourselves. You’re not going to shock me with any stories.”
“You might be surprised.”
Nick shrugged, waiting until they were far enough away from the church to feel like he could speak freely. “Honestly, you can tell me anything. It’s not going to change my opinion of you in any way.”
“You keep saying that, but I know better.”
“We’re following the lead that Ronnie’s dad might be a murderer. It can’t rise to that level of dysfunction.”
“They weren’t killers,” Cleo said with a small smile as though that was some kind of comfort. “But you make a good point. We need to be focused on this Clark guy. Did you get the impression the priest wasn’t telling us the truth?”
Nick snorted. “Are you serious? He’s a priest.”
“And you think that makes him infallible in some way?”
“He’s not going to lie while he’s in the church.”
“The man was very clear. His priority is Mariena. Sending us in the wrong direction might work in his favor.”
“We will just have to agree to disagree on this one. I happen to believe that he isn’t going to sit in the church he’s spent his whole life in and lie to us. If he remembers it being Clark, I believe him.”
“Then we should be focused on finding him. We have two possible last names. Maybe a family he’s related to here in town. And his estimated age. We can work with that. Let’s get the information over to someone at Kinross, and they can use their resources to get us as much data as possible.”
“I agree,” Nick said, lowering his voice. “But we don’t tell them about what Mariena said. The odds that he’s a killer of some kind are very likely. We don’t need them all running with that idea until we have a chance to get to the truth.”
“All right,” Cleo said, seeming a bit uneasy about it. “I don’t like to hold things back from the people employing me, but I see your point. For now, we keep it to ourselves, but if we validate that it is true, we’re disclosing it.”
“Of course.”
Cleo turned on him before they reached the car. “You looked like a ten-year-old kid in there. It was adorable.”
“It was terrifying,” he admitted with a chuckle. “And nostalgic. I might take him up on mass. I’ve been missing my mom a lot lately. I think it’s seeing Sammy settling in and doing so well with Carter and Ronnie.”
“If that’s a place you can feel her presence, I think it’s nice.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “I’d like to see you in your Sunday best.”
“You’ve already seen—”
“Do not mention your birthday suit.”
Damn. She knew him so well already.
CHAPTERTWELVE
Cleo
Ronnie was in sweats and a tattered T-shirt. Not her farm clothes. Something else. Something Cleo recognized. It was the kind of clothes you wore when you were sad. Drifting. Too tired to put on anything else. Feeling unprepared to deal with buttons and zippers.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her face crumpling into tears before they were even in the door.
Nick opened his arms for a hug. “Kid, stop it. You don’t have anything to be sorry about. We’re good. Everything is good.”
Cleo was in awe of the bond he’d formed with her. Folding her into his life like a little sister. Without any hesitation. And she’d taken to him just as easily once the real work of the house had begun. They joked. Swapped old stories of their childhoods. Talked sense into each other. They’d found a connection. The kind Cleo always guarded against. It felt dangerous to make space in your life to care about someone that way. Just like that. Just because they were kind and liked you, or they made you laugh. That was enough to let them in.
“You guys were trying to relax,” Ronnie sniffled as he let her go. “I totally blew it. I shouldn’t have gone to my mom. It was stupid.”
“We all go to our moms,” Nick said, waving off her guilt. “And do you honestly think Cleo does much relaxing? She was dying to get back here.”
