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Rose left Ernetta's after talking to an old priest at the Catholic church in LeCrane. Yes, the priest said, he remembered Arvin Duckworth. Such a hard-headed person. The last time he came to church he pushed a priest down on the floor: called him a "pansy" and a "fairy." As for Arvin and Ernetta's baby, so many years ago, the priest had only heard rumors. It was before he came to the parish, but he did know of a few Catholics in the area who helped place unwanted children in good homes.

Yes, there were some sisters in north Florida who did this. They had a quarterly newsletter. He fished an old yellow sheet from a filing cabinet. It was written by a nun named Sister Mary Sebastian, who taught physical education and worked with handicapped children at St. Francis School in Pensacola. She lived at the Convent of the Sisters of Good Hope. Maybe the Sisters of Good Hope had helped with the child's adoption. It was possible that they had, but also possible that they hadn't. Either way, the priest said, the information would be inaccessible. There were laws about such things. Rose thanked him and left him standing in his study at his little church.

She called Joseph Corbin from the car and left a message on his voicemail.

"Check the victim list from the bombing in Rochester. Does the name 'Arvin Duckworth' appear on it? Any other information on him? He's a Korean war vet, maybe worked for the CIA, unless he lied about that. And believe me, he might have. Let me know."

She drove on to the Gulf, her mind going over all that Ernetta had told her. What if Arvin had given the baby to the nuns and the nuns had passed it on to the Colfax family? Could Arvin have known what happened to the child? Was he still alive and did he know that Stannie was his son? If so, had he contacted him?

She had an 11 by 17 photo that Ernetta had given her. It was a professional portrait of the two of them, taken a long time ago. Ernetta sat in a wicker chair, wearing a pink chiffon dress. She looked young and happy (pictures lie, Rose thought). Her hair was coiled up tight in a curly perm. Her hands lay folded on her lap, the edges of her knuckles pink. Behind her stood Arvin, a little fat in the gut but his face the spitting image of Stannie's. Really! The spitting image!

Rose could have believed Stannie had arranged the whole picture for a joke: stuffed a pillow in his shirt and had his face cropped into an old department store portrait of Ernetta You couldn't have invented anything more spooky than this picture.

She arrived at the convent in the afternoon and knocked on the big front door. An elderly woman answered.

"Is Sister Mary Sebastian here?"

"I'm not sure, honey. She's been in and out and in and out all week. Might be with her family."

"My name is Rose Merriman. I'm here to research a book."

"What kind of book?"

Rose held up her camera. "Sort of a coffee table book. Photographs of old convents, etc."

"Well, I don't know where Sister Mary is. Let me ask Sister Theresa. She's with someone right now, but she's the assistant."

Rose sat down on the bench where Jenny and Jim had sat just a few days before, her face baptized in the same colors from the same glass window. She wore a white blouse that glowed against her smooth skin. Her eyes shone.

A moment later, Sister Theresa appeared from an elevator down the hall. The doors closed behind her with a thunk. She didn't smile or frown. She didn't look curious—only tired. She took a right turn; her chair made a crunching noise over the loose tile as she glided to the entrance–way of the building and met Rose's eyes.

"Hello," she said. "You're looking for Mary Sebastian? Her nephew disappeared this week and she's gone to be with the family."

"Oh." Rose held her eyes steady, though it was hard to look at Sister Theresa without giving off bad vibes. She felt she already knew who this young woman was. And she remembered something, too—Stannie saying he had an aunt who lived in a convent. "Mind my asking," she said, "what was the nephew's name?"

Sister Theresa started to answer, but Rose's attention was suddenly distracted by the door opening behind her. A light breeze blew into the room. Just behind it came Jim Westford, rumpled and unshaven, carrying a cardboard tray of drinks and a greasy paper bag. He smiled at the receptionist and then saw Rose.

"Oh! Good Lord! You!"

"Hi again," she said."I found you."

* * *

At the Seaborough house. Jean Colfax was in a dreamy state. Too much medicine, too little real sleep. Her sister had come to visit but she'd hardly noticed.

"Where are my sunglasses?" said Jean. "It's bright in here."