Last to Die

reinforce their weirdness.”

“Maybe,” said Maura. “But it’s also the one place where they find acceptance. With people who understand them.”

This was not what Jane expected her to say. The Maura she saw now, sitting by the fire, seemed like a different woman. The wind and humidity had transformed her usually sculpted black hair into a tangled thatch. Her plaid flannel shirt was untucked, and the cuffs of her blue jeans were stained with dried mud. Only a few days in Maine, and she’d been transformed into someone Jane did not quite recognize.

“You told me earlier that you wanted to pull Julian out of this school,” said Jane.

“I did.”

“So what changed your mind?”

“You can see how happy he is here. And he refuses to leave. That’s what he told me. At sixteen, he already knows exactly what he wants.” Maura sipped from a cup of tea and regarded Jane through the curling steam. “Remember what he was like in Wyoming? A wild animal who always got into fights, whose only friend was that dog. But here, in Evensong, he’s found friends. This is where he belongs.”

“Because here they’re all oddballs.”

Maura smiled at the fire. “Maybe that’s why Julian and I bonded. Because I am, too.”

“But in a good way,” Jane quickly added.

“Which way would that be?”

“Brilliant. Determined. Reliable.”

“I’m starting to sound like a German shepherd.”

“And honest.” Jane paused. “Even when it means losing friends because of it.”

Maura stared into her teacup. “I’m going to pay for that sin forever. Aren’t I?”

For a moment they didn’t speak; the only sound was the rain hitting the window and the hiss of the fire. Jane could not remember the last time they had sat together and quietly talked, just the two of them. Her bag was already packed and she was expected back in Boston tonight, but Jane made no move to leave. Instead she remained in the armchair, because she did not know when they would have this chance again. Life was too often a series of interruptions. Phone calls, family crises, other people always interrupting, whether it was in the morgue or at the crime scene. On this gray afternoon there were no ringing phones, no one knocking on the door, yet silence hung between them, heavy with all that had been left unsaid these past weeks, ever since Maura’s testimony had sent a cop to prison. Boston’s finest did not easily forgive such acts of treason.

Now, at every crime scene, Maura was forced to walk a gauntlet of chilly silence and hostile stares, and the strain was apparent in her face. In the firelight, her eyes seemed hollow, her cheeks thinner.

“Graff was guilty.” Maura’s fingers tightened around the teacup. “I would testify to that again.”

“Of course you would. That’s what you do, you tell the truth.”

“You make it sound like a bad habit. A tic.”

“No, it takes courage to tell the truth. I should have been a better friend.”

“I wasn’t sure if we were friends anymore. Or if I’m capable of holding on to any friends.” Maura stared at the fire, as if all the answers could be found in those flames. “Maybe I should just stay here. Become a hermit and live in the woods. It’s so beautiful. I could spend the rest of my life in Maine.”

“Your life’s in Boston.”

“It’s not as if Boston ever embraced me.”

“Cities don’t embrace you. People do.”

“And it’s people who let you down.” Maura blinked at the firelight.

“That could happen anywhere, Maura.”

“There’s a hardness to Boston. A coldness. Before I moved there, I’d heard about chilly New Englanders, but I didn’t really believe it. Then I got to Boston, and I felt like I had to chip through ice just to know people.”

“Even me?”

Maura looked at her. “Even you.”

“I had no idea we gave off those vibes. I guess it ain’t sunny California.”

Once again, Maura’s gaze was on the flames. “I should never have left San Francisco.”

“You have friends in Boston now. You have me.”

A smile twitched up the corner of Maura’s mouth. “You, I would miss.”

“Is Boston really the problem? Or is it one Bostonian in particular?”

They didn’t need to say his name; they were both thinking of Father Daniel Brophy, the man who’d brought both joy and sorrow into Maura’s life. The man who had probably suffered just as deeply from their ill-considered affair.

“Just when I think I’m over him,” said Maura, “when I think I’ve finally crawled out of the hole and back into the sunlight, I’ll see him at a crime scene. And the wound rips right open again.”

“It’s hard to avoid him when death scenes are what you both do.”

Maura gave a rueful laugh. “A healthy way to build a relationship! On tragedy.”

“It is over between you, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Maura paused. “And no.”

“But you’re not together.”

“And I can see how much he’s suffering because of it. It’s written all over his face.”

And on your face, too.

“Which is why I should leave Boston. Go back to California, or … anywhere.”

“And that will solve everything?”

“It could.”

“You’d be two thousand miles away from him, but you’d also be two thousand miles from every tie you’ve built over the last few years. Your home, your colleagues. Your friends.”

“Friend. As in singular.”

“You didn’t see the memorial service we held for you when we thought you were dead. When we thought the body in that coffin was yours. The room was packed, Maura, with people who respect you. Who care about you. Yeah, maybe we’re no good at showing our feelings. Maybe these long winters make us all crabby. But we do have feelings. Even in Boston.”

Maura kept staring at the fireplace, where the flames were slowly dying, leaving only the glow of ashes.

“Well, I know someone who’ll be really sorry if you go back to California,” said Jane. “Does he know you’re thinking about this?”

“He?”

“Oh geez, don’t play dumb. I’ve seen how he looks at you. It’s the one reason Sansone and Brophy dislike each other so much. Because of you.”

Surprise flickered in Maura’s eyes as she looked at Jane. “Anthony Sansone was never on your list of favorite people.”

“Talk about oddballs. And he’s part of this weird Mephisto group.”

“Yet now you’re telling me he’s a reason for me to stay in Boston.”

“He’s worth considering, isn’t he?”

“Wow. He’s come a long way in your estimation.”

“At least he’s available.” Unlike Daniel Brophy was what Jane didn’t have to add. “And he has a thing for you.”

“No, Jane.” Maura slumped back into the armchair. “He doesn’t.”

Jane frowned. “How do you know?”

“A woman knows.” Her gaze drifted off again, pulled like a moth back to the moribund flames. “The night I got here, Anthony showed up, too.”

“And what happened?”

“Nothing. The next morning we had a meeting with the faculty. And then he was gone again, off to London. Just a phantom who flits in and out of my life.”

“Sansone’s been known to do that kind of thing. It doesn’t mean he’s not interested.”

“Jane, please. Don’t try to talk me into another bad affair.”