The Smoking Nun

by Dakota Cassidy

  “But you do know the police,” he reminded, his voice even stronger now. “In fact, you work with them on a regular basis. It wouldn’t be so hard for you to find the means to trace my whereabouts. How do I know how advanced technology’s become? Maybe they can trace burner cells now.”

  I guess that was true, but I wasn’t sure of the finer details involved, and I couldn’t help but point out how paranoid that sounded. What the heck was he going to tell me anyway?

  “It sounds like you watch a lot of TV. I’m not sure if that’s even possible.”

  “Whether it’s true or not isn’t the point. I’m simply taking every precaution. I can’t afford to be caught. I have…” He cleared his throat again. “Let’s just say, I have a history with the police.”

  So I was talking to a criminal? I was ever so glad Coop was waiting in the wings. “So you’re telling me you’re a criminal?”

  He sighed, letting out some of what I figured was frustration. “Not exactly. Not anymore, but I don’t want anything to do with the cops. Period.”

  “Okay, so why meet here—in the church?”

  “Because it’s sacred. You’re an ex-nun. You know what that means to someone of faith. The confessional is confidential.”

  Now we were getting somewhere. I folded my hands together and inhaled. “Are you someone of faith? Because I’m not a priest. Whatever you tell me isn’t confidential. I’m an ex-nun, as you said, and in the scheme of things, that means nothing.”

  I heard the person shift in their seat, likely in discomfort. “The confessional gives me a certain amount of anonymity while still allowing me to unload in person. But that doesn’t matter. Never mind who I am and why I chose the church as a meeting place,” he said briskly. “All you need to know is, I came in good faith to share something I know that could help you with Sister Ophelia’s murder. I just want to help without all the messy involvements the cops bring, okay? I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

  Now he was getting agitated, and I didn’t want to anger him enough to incite him into leaving. Some pacification was in order.

  “I get it, and I appreciate the effort you made.”

  “Good. Now, when I’m done, I’m going to ask you to count to one hundred while I slip out of here, and I want no further involvement in this disgusting mess. Understood?”

  Wow. He’d whipped through a range of emotions. Anxious, paranoid, and now demanding. But I was willing to do what I had to in order to get the information I needed.

  “Understood,” I said, but I heard my voice waver, and he picked up on that.

  “You don’t sound sure—but I am. If you can’t give me your word you won’t follow me and reveal who I am, I won’t tell you anything. You being an ex-nun should at least mean you’re good for your word.”

  I hated giving my word about things of this nature, because someone could end up hurt if I didn’t reveal my source, but I was going to do it in light of the greater good. “You have my word. Now, please tell me what you know.”

  There was an excruciatingly long pause, which I’m sure amounted to no more than two seconds but felt like two years.

  “I think I know who killed Sister Ophelia.”

  I’d believe it when I heard it. “And who do you think killed Sister Ophelia?”

  “Sister Patricia Latimer.”

  Chapter 10

  It took all of my will not to gasp out loud while I clutched my pearls in shock. Sister Patricia? Staid, rigid, sourpuss Sister Patricia was a murderer? Well, knock me over with a feather.

  As I digested that information, I let out a slow breath and asked, “And how do you know this?”

  “I heard her arguing with Sister Ophelia on Friday in the coat closet at the school.”

  I blinked in my shock. No one else knew about that conversation but myself, Tansy, Higgs, and Sister Ann—or at least as far as I knew. That meant the information was at least legit.

  That also meant this was someone from the school or familiar with the school. Golly, there were plenty of men who worked at Our Lady. It could be anyone from a priest to a janitor.

  “And before you go deducing things, I don’t work at the school. I was only there on an errand, and I overheard the conversation. You couldn’t help but overhear it.”

  Hear that? That was my theory flying directly out the window on the wings of disillusion. Dang it all.

  As he talked, his voice became stronger, as though he were getting something off his chest he could no longer live with.

  “So what exactly did you hear?”

  “I heard Sister Patricia confirm Sister Ophelia’s suspicions that she was having an affair with the parent of a student. I heard her say it loud and clear.”

  My heart began to pound inside my chest to beat the band. That was some sticky information. But hello. Sister Patricia—and I repeat, staid, rigid, sourpuss Sister Patricia—was having a torrid affair? I think if you’d told me the apocalypse was started by a bunch of kindergartners, I’d have been more likely to believe you than to believe Sister Patricia was breaking her vows so outrageously.

  I had to hold on to the edge of my seat to keep myself upright, but I still managed to ask, “Okay, did she say who the parent was?”

  He barked a cynical laugh. ”No. Of course she didn’t, but Sister Ophelia sounded like she knew. She said she saw them. If you ask me, Sister Patricia was relieved to unload and dump the burden on someone else just to get it off her chest.”

  Well, wasn’t that what confessing a sin was all about anyway? Confessing any wrongdoing was about unburdening yourself, seeking absolution.

  Also, there was no love lost between Sister O and Sister Patricia. They’d rubbed each other the wrong way. So I wondered why she’d confess something of such a sensitive nature even though Sister Ann claimed Sister O did say she saw them. This mystery man’s statement cleared that up. She’d been caught. That’s why she’d confessed. Sister O must have been in the process of confronting her.

  “And what did Sister Ophelia tell her? Did she tell her she’d have to share this with the hierarchy? Or did she promise to keep Sister Patricia’s secret?”

  “She told her she’d made a vow to God to be faithful, and she’d broken her commitment to Him.”

  Basically he was telling me the same thing Sister Ann relayed to us. Whoever this was, he wasn’t lying. Next, I asked the dreaded question—one I almost didn’t want to hear the answer to.

  “Did she threaten Sister Ophelia in any way?”

  “No. But she did beg her not to tell anyone. Still, Sister Ophelia wouldn’t hear of it. She said Sister Patricia knew she was morally obligated to tell Father Rico if she was aware of a nun committing a sin. She also said it was unfair that the sister asked her to keep a confidence when it was such an enormous infraction. She called it an albatross, and she urged Sister Patricia to talk to Father Rico so she wouldn’t have to.”

  Well, that definitely was a motive for murder for some, but a nun? I still wasn’t so sure. Sister Patricia was already breaking a bunch of commandments just by having the affair. To kill someone over it was taking a step off the edge of the cliff and falling into the abyss.

  Although, I’ll say it once more for the people in the back, I wouldn’t put murder past anyone. Not after what I’ve seen.

  That led me to wonder, would Sister O really have tattled on her? I couldn’t be sure. I’d only known her for two months. But I had to pause and wonder if even I would tell. It was such a slap in the face to her vows, but would I have had the guts to out someone if I were in Sister O’s position?

  “How do you know for sure it was Sister Patricia and Sister Ophelia in the coat closet? Are you one hundred percent sure it was them?”

  “Because I saw them,” he said with what almost sounded like disdain. “I know who they are, Trixie. I see them all the time. There was another nun who ran away before they came out, too. I think it was Sister Ann. I bet she heard them. You should ask her what she heard.
She’ll verify what I’m telling you.”

  Another bit of information, confirming what Sister Ann had told us. Also, he was familiar with the staff at the school. Did that mean he was a parent? Delivery person? Was there a camera by the coat closet? I’d have to ask Tansy to check.

  I decided to fish in the deep end of the pond in the hopes I’d get him to tell me who he was.

  “So no one else saw you at the school that day?”

  There was some agitated movement and a shuffle of his feet, before he said, “I don’t know what you’re fishing for, but you’re not going to get it out of me. You don’t need to know who I am because I had nothing to do with this. I heard something I wish I hadn’t, and I battled with myself about whether to tell anyone. My conscience won. The police were out of the question, so you were the next best thing. Don’t make me sorry. So, for the last time, this is all I know. Sister Patricia had an affair with a student’s father. She confessed it to Sister Ophelia after confronted. Sister Ophelia said she was going to be forced to tell Father Rico. I don’t know if the man is married, nor do I have any more information than what I’ve told you.”

  If he wasn’t going to reveal himself, there really wasn’t much more to say, was there?

  Sighing, I made another executive decision not to push and scare him off. “Fair enough. But if you remember anything else, if you hear something, anything, will you text me again, please?”

  “Yeah,” he drawled. “Sure.”

  And then the “fixer” in me couldn’t help but take inventory on this man who sounded so disillusioned.

  “Can I ask you one last question?”

  “Hurry it up. I have to get out of here.”

  “When you spoke of the nuns, you sounded angry. May I ask why?”

  I don’t know why I cared or even why I asked, but there were moments when he spoke that he’d sounded lost, and that, in turn, spoke to me in a way I can’t describe.

  His soft bark of laughter dripped with scorn. “Oh, believe me, I don’t think I can even define the half of it in words. Suffice to say, your God left me a long time ago, or maybe I left him when he abandoned me. I don’t know. The point is, you’re all a bunch of hypocrites anyway. I think I’ve proven that just by what I’ve told you about Sister Patricia and her little fling, haven’t I?”

  Without a doubt, this man was angry and hurt, but my gut told me he wasn’t a bad person. However, he did have some kind of grudge and he was lashing out. I wanted to understand why.

  I held up my hands as if he could see them, using them as white flags of surrender. “You’re absolutely right. What Sister Patricia did is very hypocritical. But even the holy stumble and fall. I’m sorry that somewhere along the way, something happened that left you feeling this way. But I want you to know, I understand where you’re at. I’m not an ex-nun for nothing. I’ve felt disappointment with my faith, too. But if you ever want to talk to someone—someone like me, who won’t judge you or try to talk you into coming back to the church, you can text me. I’d be happy to simply listen.”

  I wanted him to understand that even though I was no longer a nun, I hadn’t shunned my faith entirely because it had failed me. I knew exactly where he was coming from with his feelings of hypocrisy.

  After what happened to me the night I was possessed, no one had given me the second chance our faith touts. No one had even considered that.

  Yet, it didn’t stop me from believing the idea of God, whether real or imagined, was designed to spread good. I wanted this man to know you didn’t have to be bitter because you were at odds with your faith.

  There were other ways to find your own path, and being so angry could only lead to an eventual self-destruction. I wanted him to see that there could still be so much joy and happiness to be found if you only looked.

  He was silent for a time, and I decided to let him sit with my words instead of push.

  When he sighed, I heard the defeat as he exhaled. He sounded like someone who’d been on a long journey, and it was well past time to rest his weary mind.

  “You know, that’s the first time someone who’s even remotely involved with the church has said something like that to me instead of quoting me Bible verses and telling me I needed to find my way back to the flock. Thank you, Trixie. Maybe when this is all over, I might do that. Until then, I hope you find the killer—for Sister Ophelia’s sake and for yours.”

  That was my fervent hope, too. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Shall I begin counting to one hundred now?”

  He laughed, but this time it was lighter and not nearly as tight and intense. “Please.”

  As I counted out loud so he knew I wasn’t cheating, I heard the shuffle of feet, the push of the curtain opening, and then footsteps as they faded and the door to the vestibule opened and shut.

  Then there was a knock on the confessional door that made me jump. “It’s safe, Trixie.”

  I popped the door open. “Coop? How did you get down here so freakishly fast?”

  She glared at me with her ultra-serious gaze. “Demon magic,” she said flatly as she peered at me.

  Chuckling, I went to grab my phone from the altar and hit the bricks. I had some questions to ask and Sister Ophelia’s room to sift through.

  “Did you see anything?”

  “No. And he definitely doesn’t want to be seen. He had on a ski mask and a hoodie.”

  “Anything identifying? Maybe he walks with a limp?”

  But Coop shook her head, the cascade of her auburn hair floating about her back. “No. Though he was quite tall,” she said as we passed a pillar at the end of the aisle. She held her hand up to it and marked a spot. “He came to about here. I’d say he’s over six feet.”

  I sighed. Not that it truly mattered what he looked like, I suppose. I was almost more curious about why he couldn’t reveal himself to me than I was his confirmation of Sister Ann’s story. The one thing I didn’t feel was suspicion. He was a man tormented by something who was doing the right thing despite his misgivings about the law and the Lord. I felt that in my gut.

  “I felt sorry for him, Coop. Did you hear how defeated he sounded?”

  “You’re losing your objectivity again, Trixie Lavender. This isn’t about the man in the confessional. This is about finding a killer.”

  I patted her on the back. “You’re right, but that doesn’t mean I can’t care about a fellow human being and his pain.”

  “Is this one of your teachable moments?”

  I smirked at her and rolled my eyes. “This is one of my multitasking moments—look for Sister O’s killer and be concerned about a fellow human being who’s hurting. I don’t know what went so wrong for him, but I felt a connection to him just the same. I get what he’s feeling because to a degree, I’ve felt it, too.”

  “I just want you to stay focused on what we set out to do, Trixie Lavender. Find Sister Ophelia’s killer.”

  “I can do both things at once, Coop.” Brushing my hands together as we approached the door, I decided we needed to get down to the business of asking some questions. “So mystery man aside, are you ready to ask some questions with me? I need to get into Sister Ophelia’s room and see if the TV I drew is in there.”

  “Where does she live anyway? I’ve never seen a convent in Portland, so I wondered.”

  “She lives…lived in a church owned building. Co-owned, actually. By both St. Andrews and Our Lady. So the nuns all have their own bedrooms and bathrooms and then there are common areas like the kitchen and living room.”

  Coop held up her phone to show me her schedule. “Then this is where I leave you in the capable hands of Higgs. I have three appointments this afternoon at Inkerbelle’s and they’re back to back. But he should be waiting outside for you now.”

  I winced. “You told him what we were doing here at the church?”

  Coop tightened her scarf around her neck and nodded. “I texted him about why we were here and everything we learned from our anonymous man. I pres
ume you’re in for a tongue-lashing. It’s too bad Higgs doesn’t know how safe you really are with me, isn’t it?” she asked, and I heard the subtext in her question.

  Coop had been badgering me to tell Higgs about Artur, maybe even Knuckles and Goose, too. But I wasn’t ready for that conversation yet. So I kept putting her off.

  Shaking a warning finger at her, I narrowed my eyes. “I see what you’re doing there, Coop.”

  “Do you, Trixie Lavender?” she asked in a haughty tone, one identical to the one Alexis Carrington used when she had a war of words with a foe.

  I gave her a haughty look right back. “I do, and all in good time, my friend. All in good time.”

  As we stepped out into the gloomy day, I saw Higgs across the street and waved to him. He looked exhausted even from far away, and I couldn’t blame him. The men at the shelter were like corralling greased cats on a good day. With a killer on the loose? He was spitting in the wind, trying to keep them calm.

  “Thanks for your help today, Coop. I don’t know how I’d get through a single day without you.”

  She pulled the sides of her mouth up with her nimble fingers in the shape of a smile. “This is me, smiling at you.”

  I laughed as I skipped down the steps and prepared to talk Higgs into going to Sister Ophelia’s with me. I really needed to get into her room and see if the TV Artur had drawn though me had something to do with her.

  Higgs wasn’t going to like it, especially if he knew what had just occurred in the confessional, and neither was Tansy, for that matter. So I wouldn’t ask for permission. God helps those who help themselves, right?

  Tsk-tsk, Trixie Lavender. You can’t claim to disavow the Word and shed doubt on all you’ve been taught then turn around and use scripture for your own agenda. Shame on you.

  That stab of guilt I felt when I relied on the Good Book’s teachings after essentially shunning its message hit me square in the gut, but then I remembered. There was no shame in my game when it came to helping justice along its merry way. And I wanted justice for Sister Ophelia—no matter what it took.