Now the Reverend Emilio Sheehan was sitting on a bench facing Olivia, and they were staring at each other. The Rev, small and dark and wiry, was as tough as shoe leather. Though Olivia considered herself just as formidable, she was a little anxious. She could not remember ever having a one-on-one conversation with the Rev.

But she knew he didn’t do small talk, and she was not good at it, either, so she went straight to the point.

“I know everyone likes Fiji better,” she said. “And I know she’s a better person than me.”

The Rev cocked his head to one side and waited. His dark eyes were bright in the gloomy interior of the chapel.

“But I have my own strengths and weaknesses,” she said.

He nodded. “You’re a fighter,” he said.

She took a deep breath. “My father is one of the richest men in America.”

The Rev’s expression didn’t change. “And?” he said. The syllable came out cracked and harsh, like the croaking of raven.

“And you know what this man did to me when I was a little girl?”

The Rev seemed, almost undetectably, to brace himself to hear something distasteful. “Fucked you?”

“Nope. That would have been straightforward. He let my mom do things with me. Rent me out to her little boyfriends. He pretended he didn’t know.” Her lips twisted in disgust. “She charged them to have sex with me. It was like Monopoly money to her. I was like the little shoe or the iron.” Her shoulders compacted, her body hunched in on itself. She appeared about half her size.

The Monopoly references did not seem to register with the Rev. “She living? Able to pay?”

“Now there’s a question that makes sense,” Olivia said. “No, she’s not. She was the first person I killed.”

“What did you do with her?” The Rev asked this question with an almost professional interest.

“I took her boat out,” she said. “I tossed her in the ocean. I hope the fishes ate her.”

“Something surely did,” the Rev said. He approved of that.

She said, greatly daring, “Is that what you do with the bodies?”

“No,” the Rev said, after a laden pause. “Not unless it’s at the full moon, some instance of self-defense. I’m no cannibal.”

“Gotcha,” she said, puzzled by his words, but getting that he was offended. “My point is—I kill people who need killing, and it doesn’t seem to bother me. I could say my parents made me that way, but that sounds like I think I need an excuse. I don’t.”

“Dead insides,” the Rev said, by way of diagnosis.

“Exactly.” She seemed relieved to find someone who understood. “I have to wonder how you can be a reverend, and yet you do these things?”

“Hide the bodies of killers? Dispense justice to those who threaten the peace of this place?”

In a nutshell, Olivia thought. She nodded.

“Because that’s why I’m here,” he said. “I can’t say no different than that. The God of Moses and Abraham put me here to preserve and protect Midnight. That’s my job. And I’ll do it to the best of my ability.” He gave her a sharp nod in return, to tell her the subject was closed.

“I’m trying to help Manfred solve his problem,” she said. “But so far, we haven’t gotten anywhere. Do you have any advice?”

“Use every resource available,” he told her. “You haven’t done that yet. That’s quieter. But if that don’t work, go in strong and hard.” And the way he leaned back after he spoke, Olivia knew that was all he was going to say. She thought of a dozen other questions, but she’d reached his limit.

“All right, then,” she said. “I’m doing the best I can.”

“Then that’s all you need to worry about, Olivia.” The Rev extended his hand, holding it over her head but not touching it. In his creaking, cracking voice, he said, “God over the serpents and animals and creatures of the land and water, bless this thy servant, Olivia. Give her strength and courage to complete her purpose. Amen.”

Feeling oddly better, as if she’d been given a blank check, Olivia rose to her feet and left the chapel.

She had had an idea.

She went over to Manfred’s. He gestured her in and dashed back to his computer and telephone console. He picked up the phone and had it at his ear like lightning. “No, Mandy, I don’t think you need to do that,” he said. “No, I definitely think a more conservative approach . . . Why? Because if you jump ahead of your stars, you’re going to cancel out the advice they’re giving you. Wait to see what the vet has to tell you before . . . Yes, I’m sure. Wait, and you’ll be rewarded with valuable information.” After a few more minutes of reassurances, he hung up. “Wanted to have her dog put to sleep because she found a lump on the dog’s chest,” he said. “No signs, no symptoms of anything wrong. Wanted to spare the dog pain.”

“Speaking of animals,” she said, “I was just over looking at the Rev’s new paintings. And asking his advice.”

He made a face and rubbed his eyes with both hands. “Thanks for letting me know that you don’t give a damn about what I’m doing,” he said. He put his hands down and looked at her. “What’s up?” He sounded tired.

Olivia didn’t understand what he was blathering about. “While I talked to the Rev, I had an idea. Lewis doesn’t know me as Olivia, but there’s a faint chance he might recognize me, and Bertha or the gardener might, too. Despite the wig. Lewis knows you by sight. Fiji’s not good at subterfuge. We ruled out her bespelling someone. But what about the old people?”