Grace Ellison

“Thalia is such a pretty name. Is it Greek?” The girl looked at her in surprise. “Very good, Lieutenant. My mother is from Athens. Thalia was the Muse of Comedy. She also worked part-time as one of the Graces”

“popular, were combined with the special virtues of some local bootlegger, the eloquence of some Negro preacher, the strength and grace of some local athlete, the ruthlessness of some businessman-physician, the elegance in dress and manners of some head-waiter or hotel doorman.””

“Lieutenant Jackson, I presume?” “I, uh, how, um, yes.” Impressive elocution there, Taylor. She cleared her throat. “How did you know?” “I saw the news,” Thalia said simply, nonjudgmental. “Lovely.” “I wouldn’t worry about it. No one in their right mind will believe that you killed someone without reason. It’s in your eyes. You’re a guardian, not an avenger.” Oddly pleased, Taylor smiled at the girl. “Some would disagree with you. You’re Thalia Abbott, I presume?” “And you aren’t Catholic, I’d presume.” “You’re right. I was raised Episcopal. My dad was Catholic, though. How did you know?” “You don’t have that guilty look on your face. Though you crossed and blessed yourself, you walked right past the confessional without a second glance. Most nonpracticing Catholics couldn’t do that.” She smiled, and Taylor felt herself smiling back. This was not what she’d expected from her morning. Grace from a seventeen-year-old ex-porn star. “Let’s walk,” Thalia said. She guided Taylor out of the sanctuary, into the sacristy. She held a cloth in her hands, Taylor realized she was dusting as they went.””