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shouldn’t be poking around where he’s not wanted. Robert’s got no time for me but as much as you like for the servants. I’m sure he shares his bed with them too. That’s what I was lighting the candle for.”
    “I’m sure you must be mistaken.” Simon clasped her hand. “There must be a reasonable explanation.”
    “Not one he’d confess to you or anybody else.” Jean pursed her lips. “They’ll be damned, the both of them.”
    Simon laughed. “I shouldn’t think so. There’s always time to repent.”
    * * * *
    The church was filled with shadows when Simon turned the lights off at four o’clock. It was usually enough to send people scurrying to the refuge of the open doors at the end of the nave. The only light inside the church now came from the flickering votive candles as they burned away the prayers said over them.
    Simon’s footsteps rang against the wood floor and echoed from walls of eighteenth-century granite as he walked past the pews, checking for lingering parishioners and lost possessions. He paused at the third row from the back at the sight of a silent figure on her knees, a rosary in her hands as she prayed.
    “I’m sorry, I’m closing the church for the night.” His voice was soft enough to prevent her from being startled.
    She looked up, her face translucent in the dim light from the stained glass windows. “I’m sorry, Father. I’ll go.”
    Simon held out a hand to help her to her feet. “It’s Susan, isn’t it? Susan Pargeter?”
    “That’s right, Father.” Susan took his hand and edged out of the pew. “I was praying for Mrs. Peters. Is it true she killed herself?”
    Simon shook his head. “There’s no doubt about it. I feel responsible. I used to see her regularly but I had no idea whatsoever she was so depressed or likely to do such a thing.”
    “Nor I, Father. I saw her every day to take her a hot meal and she never once said she was tired of her life. I don’t like to think of her going to Hell. She was a good woman.”
    Simon nodded, holding out his hand to help the woman out of the pew. “I’m sure that at worst she’ll spend a little time in purgatory, Susan.” He led the way to the doors. “What sins she had are between her and God now.”
    “Then I’ll pray for Our Lady to intercede on her behalf.” Susan paused at the door. “Father? Is it true that she took sleeping tablets?”
    “That’s just a rumor, Susan.” Simon held the door open for her and repeated what he’d said to Jean. “Gossip for old women and nothing to take any heed of.”
    “But there’s no trace from sleeping pills, is there? How would anyone know if that’s what she took?”
    “She didn’t, Susan.” Simon took out his set of keys in an effort to chivvy her out. “Besides, if she’d taken any pills at all it will be picked up in the autopsy. Your body can’t digest pills after you’re dead.”
    Susan frowned, lingering on the threshold. “But what if the sleeping pills were just a cover for something stronger? What if she’d taken heroin or worse after the sleeping pills? How would anyone be able to tell that?”
    “She didn’t take any pills, Susan, and she didn’t take any heroin, none at all.” Simon ushered her out and locked the great oak doors behind them. “If she’d eaten or injected anything it would come up on the blood test.”
    Susan stared at him for a moment, until Simon felt like looking away. “That’s good to know, Father, Thank you.”
    Susan turned and hurried down the path toward the park, her coat tails flapping.
    At the door, Simon turned to look back into the shadowed nave. A second image of Grace intruded, this time of her red and bloated face, looking up at him as she hung from the banisters. He rubbed his eyes and left, locking the church doors before his rounds.
    * * * *
    It was evening before Simon had finished visiting parishioners and was walking back through the cemetery on the way home. At least it was beginning to get