Laurent, nodding again, said, "Yes, I understand that about mothers."

"His," Chantelle said, "went to Mass and Holy Communion every morning of her life, six o'clock, and Ft. Dunn was there also when he was old enough, serving as the altar boy. Fr. Dunn said his mother was very religious, each day praying for him to become a priest."

Laurent watched the housekeeper raise her glass to sip the whiskey, taking time to look at whatever was in her mind. Taking forever.

Laurent said, "And so he did, hmmm? He grew up and became a priest." He waited while the housekeeper remained with her thoughts, her hand idly fingering the stump of her arm.

She said, "Yes, the time came that he went to a seminary in California to study. The place was the St. Dismas Novitiate. I saw it printed on paper he keeps, St. Dismas, the African saint who was crucified with Our Lord. From that place he came here only two or three weeks before the killing began."

Now it was Laurent who paused to put this in his mind and look at it.

"You're certain he was made a priest."

"He told me himself, yes." Now, because Laurent was silent but continued to stare at her, she said, "He doesn't lie to me, if that's what you think. He has no reason to." She said, "What am I to him? I wouldn't hurt him even if I could."

It was in Laurent's mind to wonder again, what was this relationship between the housekeeper and the priest? It seemed something more than sharing the same bed, even if that was true.

He said, "You talk to each other."

"Of course."

"About what he thinks?"

"He tells me things and I listen," Chantelle said.

"And you tell him things?"

"I try to protect him."

"From what?"

She took her time to say, "Thinking too much."

"I thought he used Mr. Walker for that."