He used a measured, professional tone.
Father Toussaint answered, “Last Friday.” He smiled slightly. “Around four. Dominic and I went through the program notes.”
Thiago nodded and made a notation on his tablet.
“When the cathedral roof was being repaired after Katrina,” Father Toussaint said, “we had a mason who insisted the saints were the ones keeping the scaffolding steady. Claimed he’d seen Saint Joseph holding a brace during a thunderstorm.”
“And did you correct him?” Dominic asked mildly.
“Of course not. The work finished on schedule.”
Dominic smiled. “Yours is a pragmatic theology.”
Adrien opened the folder on his knee. “It will help in getting this concert staged.”
Father Toussaint stayed another twenty minutes. When he left, he hugged Dominic again and then touched my arm briefly. I latched the gate behind him.
The salon light was still on. I’d left it burning when we came outside.
“He’s been coming here for at least fifteen years,” I said.
“A frequent guest.”
“He’s a close friend of Dominic’s, not a contact.”
“I understand the distinction.”
“Then you understand why asking him to account for himself feels like—“
“I asked when he last visited.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s asking for a timeline, not an interrogation.”
“It felt like both.”
Thiago leaned forward. Without pausing or looking at my glass first, he reached across the table and refilled my wine.
He kept talking. “Luca, everyone with access to this house is an open question until we gather enough information to see the complete picture. That goes for people Dominic trusts. Especially for them.”
“You’re looking for enemies in the faces of loyal friends.”
“I’m building a timeline.”
I glanced at the gate, latched and locked.
“This house has stayed open through plenty of events that would have closed other places. It wasn’t out of laziness. It was a conscious decision.”
“I know.” He held my gaze. “And the person who set that watch knew it too. They didn’t come in through a blind spot. They came in because this house encourages visitors.”
He wasn’t wrong. I couldn’t argue with his deduction. The house’s openness was part of its character, but we’d never faced such violations in the past.
Thiago rose and went to the kitchen.
Dominic remained at the table with me.
He’d watched our exchange and didn’t intervene. He sat with his Armagnac and waited it out. Dominic gathered the cards and squared the deck.
He took his glass inside, settled it in the sink, and turned toward the stairs.
Thiago joined me, but neither of us spoke.
