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the oven,” Charlotte told Cyrus. “Let me guess, you won’t listen to reason because you know everything, so that beat-up Chevy of yours is parked out by the road yet again.”
    Cyrus looked sheepish. “Be nice to my Chevy,” he said of the maroon station wagon he’d driven for years and which several parishioners managed to keep running most of the time. “I park it there because it’s easier if I need a tow truck.” His shirt started to steam a little in the warmth from the oven. “Remind me to fill you in on Ozaire Dupre, Spike. He’s hopping mad about you taking food out of his family’s mouths…his words. Exaggeration, of course.”
    Spike ground his back teeth. “There’s enough boiling business for both of us in this town. He just thinks he should get it all. Okay, we’ll get to him later.” Ozaire was the custodian at St. Cécil’s and his wife, Lil, kept house for Cyrus. Spike didn’t know how anyone could put up with them.
    “Put your troubles aside, Father, you’re in plenty of time for a good, hot meal,” Charlotte said and grimaced. “We had company that didn’t want to go home and she made me late with dinner.”
    “I’ve eaten,” Cyrus said. “Thanks anyway. Madge made us muffulettas that must have weighed a pound apiece. That girl can make magic with a mess of oysters and mud-bugs.”
    “She surely can,” Spike agreed. Cyrus and Madge sometimes troubled him. The priest was married to his calling and his church and Madge served the man and his passions with cheerful efficiency, but Spike had known both of them too long not to have felt the bond between them, the unrequited love—at least on Madge’s part, and Cyrus’s affection and protectiveness toward her.
    “You hung up on me, Charlotte,” Cyrus said.
    Spike watched the woman’s facial expression with interest. He’d swear she had no recollection of hanging up on Cyrus.
    “I did not,” she said. “Well, maybe I didn’t exactly say goodbye but you shocked me when you said Louis had come to Rosebank and left without seeing us.”
    “But you’re okay, just disappointed?”
    “Mad would be closer,” Charlotte said. “Just wait till I talk to that man.”
    This time it was the phone that jangled and Charlotte plucked a cordless off the wall. “Rosebank.” The look on her face put Spike on alert. Cyrus also watched her closely. “What’s wrong?” Her voice rose. “You sound as if you’re outside. Where are you calling from? Your cell phone’s here by the sink. No, I won’t put Spike on the line. Tell me what’s goin’ on right now.”
    She listened for not more than two seconds before thrusting the receiver at Spike. “She’ll only speak to you. I don’t know what’s happened.”
    “Hey, Vivian,” he said. There was no reason to be elated she’d asked for him but he was anyway.
    He could hear her teeth chattering but she didn’t answer him. Boa yapped in the background.
    “Vivian?”
    “Yes, sorry. Something awful has happened. I need help.”
    “Stay calm,” he said out of habit. “Where are you?”
    “In the grounds out front of the house.”
    He stopped himself from asking what she was doing there. “Are you hurt?” He headed for the front door, catching up his Stetson as he went.
    “I’m fine. No, I’m not fine, I’m scared. It’s Louis Martin. He’s been hurt.”
    “I’m on my way. Guide me to you. Hang on.” He turned back and said, “Cyrus, stay with Charlotte and be ready in case we need to get more help.”
    “Please hurry,” Vivian said. “It’s terrible. I can’t leave. You can’t leave someone like this.”
    “That’s right,” he said. “I’m coming to you. I’m outside the house now. Standing on the steps.”
    She gave him directions and he followed them, quickly getting drenched himself. Each time he looked at the ground, water ran from the brim of his hat. Edging between potted laurels, he saw the flashlight she’d told him she had. He still had to walk a