On a whim, Jesse stopped by the youth center where Sister Mary John worked. He had met the sister some years back while investigating the disappearance of a Paradise resident, a runaway girl who had been living on the streets of Boston. Sister Mary John had been helpful, and she and Jesse had remained friends.

Sister Mary John was the opposite of how one imagines a nun to be. She was nearly six feet tall and strikingly good-looking. Instead of a habit, she wore contemporary clothing, always stylish and hip.

“The better for getting close to the girls,” she had said.

Dark brown hair framed her angular face, softening the edges of her sharp features. Her pale green eyes radiated warmth and compassion.

They sat in her small, cluttered office. Jesse was sipping coffee from a take-out cup. The sister drank from a water bottle.

“I’m sorry it’s such a mess in here,” she said. “We’re just now on the threshold of the season.”

“The season?”

“Summertime. When every day brings with it a fresh batch of troubled strays, most of whom manage to find their way here. We do what we can, but money’s scarce and the need is great. Actually, it’s hell.”

“How do you handle it?”

“Stoicism. Prayer. Scotch.”

Jesse grinned.

“Why are you here,” she said.

“I’m stymied.”

“Stymied?”

Jesse told her the story of the murdered girl at the Surf & Sand.

“You think she might be a runaway,” the sister said.

“I have no idea.”

“I take it she wasn’t carrying ID.”

“Correct.”

“Prints?”

“She’s not in the system.”

“There are lots of them here, Jesse.”

“And the chances of finding one?”

“Slim to none. Particularly a dead one, God forgive me for saying it.”

Jesse finished the last of his coffee. He looked around for a garbage can, found one, then tossed the empty cup into it.

“You know how things stick in your mind,” he said. “How they can haunt you?”

“More than I’d like to admit.”

“I keep thinking that I knew this girl.”

“And?”

“For the life of me, I can’t figure it out. I was hoping you could help.”

“By identifying her.”

“Yes.”

“Is there a photo?”

“A crime scene one. It’s not pretty.”

“It’ll have to do.”

“I’ll have it faxed to you.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, Jesse. But I’ll do what I can.”

“Police chief couldn’t ask for more.”

“Nun could, though.”

Jesse looked at her.

“You do know that nuns love to be taken to dinner,” she said.

“Is that mentioned in the Bible?”

“I’d have to go look it up.”

Jesse smiled.

“Is there any chance you’re free for dinner,” he said.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she said.