Higgs waggled a finger at me and pointed to the vestibule. I excused myself for a moment and treaded out to see what was going on.
He held up his phone, pointing to the screen. “Tansy just called me. First, more prelim findings from the coroner. Sister Ophelia’s larynx was crushed. They’re releasing that information to the public later today.”
All the color drained from my face. How absolutely awful.
“She just finished questioning Sister Patricia.”
My stomach dropped to my feet and my heart began that erratic rhythm I’ve become so familiar with. “And?”
He grated a sigh. “And naturally, Sister Patricia swears she didn’t kill Sister O, but I heard Tansy say they have a witness who claims they heard Sister Patricia confessed to killing her. She thought she’d put me on hold, but she really had me on speakerphone. I guess one of the officers was in the process of reporting back to her. Lucky for us, I heard most of what was said.”
If Jesus himself walked into the church right that very second and told me the meaning of life, I couldn’t have been more floored.
“Sister Patricia confessed?” I squeaked, my eyes bulging out of my head. “To the police?”
“No. The witness claims she heard Sister Patricia confess to the person she was talking to on the phone.”
My jaw almost unhinged. “Who’s the witness?”
“Mrs. Coletti—whose first name is Mira, by the way—is the witness…and Horatio Coletti was who was on the other end of that phone call. Apparently, Sister Patricia and Horatio were having an affair.”
A vision of the fancy Mrs. Coletti, with her jewelry, furs, and perfect hair, alongside her short, overcompensating husband, flashed through my brain.
Still, I blinked in shock. I wasn’t past the part of this tale that included a confession from Sister Patricia let alone an affair.
I held up a hand, my brow furrowed. “Okay, wait. Daniel’s mother claims she heard Sister Patricia confess to Horatio Coletti that she killed Sister O? I… I don’t understand. On what planet would Sister Patricia take a phone call anywhere in the vicinity of Mira Coletti?”
“Mira claims she heard Horatio on the phone, talking with Sister Patricia. She’d suspected him of an affair for a while, so she began to lurk behind the scenes during his phone conversations. I guess she didn’t ever suspect the affair she’d catch him having would be with a nun.”
If I’d had trouble understanding a motive to murder Sister O before, I was really having trouble digesting the fact that the man Sister Patricia was having an affair with was Horatio Coletti. I didn’t want to cast judgment, but she was certainly the exact opposite of Mrs. Coletti. Though, maybe that’s why Mr. Coletti was drawn to her in the first place.
“Sister Patricia…” I murmured again, still in shock.
Higgs nodded his head. “Yep. And apparently, Sister Patricia confirmed she was indeed having an affair with Daniel’s father.”
Oh, mercy.
I reached out and gripped his forearm. “Okay, so let me get this straight. Mira Coletti actually heard her husband talking to Sister Patricia about a plot to kill Sister Ophelia?”
I realize I was repeating myself, but dang. I couldn’t have been more shocked.
“That’s what she says. She claims she found out after overhearing a phone conversation between the two of them, and she confronted Mr. Coletti.”
“So they kill Sister O because they’re afraid she’s going to tell Father Rico about breaking her vows? Why would Mr. Coletti care what Sister O did with the information?”
“Well, Mira claims Sister Patricia and her husband were in cahoots together because they both couldn’t afford to get caught playing around. Mr. Coletti due to a pretty ironclad prenup, and Sister Patricia for obvious reasons.”
I frowned, hard, rubbing my temple with two fingers. “But wait, doesn’t that just sound like revenge to you, Higgs? Mrs. Coletti’s angry with her husband for having an affair—and believe me, I’m still blown away the affair was with Sister Patricia—she’s so angry, she decides to create a story about Sister Patricia confessing to murdering Sister O. The end result being, Mr. Coletti loses his lover and his money, and he and his lover get the ultimate punishment.”
“Well, phone records indicate they’ve been in constant contact with one another before and after the murder.”
“Well, sure they are. They’re having an affair!” I said in exasperation.
Higgs held up a hand and frowned. “But that’s not the worst of it.”
I gripped the strap of my purse and braced myself. “Oh, dear. Go ahead. Hit me.”
“Carla Ratagucci confirmed that Sister Patricia went outside the exit door after Sister Ophelia the night of the murder. Her claim is, she never mentioned it because never in a million years did she think Sister Patricia would be the guilty party. Then she was so shook up by the headless corpse, she forgot until today.”
“She forgot…” How did you forget something as important as that?
“That’s what she said. She also claims she doesn’t know the amount of time between when Sister Patricia went outside to speak to Sister Ophelia, and when Davis dragged her body inside. Carla claims she was too distracted by the activities of the speed dating to remember.”
I reached out and put my palm on the wall to steady myself. “So, Carla’s story gives validity to the theory that Sister Patricia killed Sister O. Are we buying that story? Maybe Carla’s angry with Sister Patricia about something we don’t know about, and she wants revenge?”
I knew that sounded like a stretch, but I was open to anything at this point.
Higgs ran a hand through his thick hair and stretched his neck. “I don’t know, Trixie, but according to the officer who relayed this information to Tansy, Mrs. Coletti’s pretty staunch about her claim that she heard Mr. Coletti on the phone in collusion with Sister Patricia.”
“Boy,” I marveled at our good fortune and something as simple as speaker phone. “That was some phone call, huh?”
Higgs grinned and winked. “Tansy stinks at technology. She’s always struggled with computers and cell phones. But listen, in all fairness, we have to keep all of these details under wraps, Trixie. I wasn’t supposed to hear any of that, and you know as well as I do, Tansy would put us in a cell before she’d risk a leak like this in the investigation. The only official word is Sister Ophelia’s larynx was crushed and the killer’s still at large.”
I held up my fingers in Scout’s honor fashion. “I’ll keep it between us—and maybe Coop. You don’t have to worry about her. She’s like Fort Knox.”
Higgs crossed his arms over his chest. “So, theories?”
“Has anyone thought about the fact that Mrs. Coletti drinks? Or that Mrs. Coletti’s likely feeling pretty spiteful after finding out her husband’s having an affair with a nun? And how exactly do they suppose Sister Patricia, who weighs maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet, strangled Sister O with such brutality she had numerous bruises on her neck?”
Higgs held up his hands and shook his head. “I’m sure Tansy will ask those questions and more. She’s also arrested Horatio, if that makes any of this better, but that’s all I have for right now. Remember, I’m just the messenger and a lowdown dirty one at that.”
Pulling my phone out, I muttered, “I need to speak to Sister Patricia. I need to hear this from the horse’s mouth. This makes no sense, Higgs. Okay, so Sister Patricia was having a tawdry affair with a married man and she told Sister O about it, but to kill her over it in an effort to keep anyone from finding out about her behavior? I’m really struggling with that theory. If it were anyone else, it might be different, but this isn’t working for me on a million levels. And lest we forget the headless corpse? I mean, is that connected or just some random murder? Is Sister Patricia some kind of crazed killer gone on a rampage? I really need to talk to her.”
Higgs cast me a sympathetic look. “You do realize Tansy’s not going to let you talk to Sister
Patricia, don’t you? They can hold her for forty-eight hours. So you’d have to wait, even if she hasn’t already lawyered up, and no decent lawyer is going to let her talk to you, either.”
Higgs was right, but I had to do something or I was going to crawl out of my skin. “Are you okay to stay with Father Rico and the deacons? I need some air.”
He winked at me and squeezed my shoulder. “You bet. Call me if you think of anything else you want to talk over, okay? Maybe we’ll meet tonight for dinner?”
I nodded my head and waved over my shoulder. I was too deep in my head to think about dinner or talking, or anything other than the fact that I didn’t believe Sister Patricia had anything to do with this.
Did I believe Horatio Coletti had, and he was letting her take the fall for him? You bet. He was a shark who was used to getting his own way. And I didn’t care that he was allegedly on a plane home from Vancouver when it happened. Anything was possible—including the idea that he’d talked Sister P into killing for him in the name of love.
Maybe.
I shook my head. I just couldn’t swallow that story. I was going around in circles and that wasn’t helping anything.
I really needed some space to clear the fog in my head this particular murder had become. All I kept coming up with was blank spots, and I needed to fill in those blanks.
I was going to go back over the facts in the peace and quiet of my office at the shop, but before I did, I wanted to take a peek at the alleyway where Sister O had met her fate.
I’m not sure why I needed to do that. I’d avoided it thus far, but today, I felt compelled to at least look at the crime scene.
I scooted around the side of the church in the pouring rain and stared down the alleyway leading to the exit door in the basement. As I made my way toward the spot where Sister Ophelia had been found, I remembered our laughter when I’d unwittingly caught her smoking, and tears sprang to my eyes.
I realize there was likely nothing there for me to see, but walking the path she’d walked before her death renewed my vow to find her real killer—not the one Mrs. Coletti would like us to believe was the killer.
Her motive to lie about what she’d heard between her husband and his lover wasn’t exactly new. Revenge came in many forms, and jealousy was number one. But wow, that was bold, not to mention, hearsay.
The question was, did she have proof to back up her claim? And why hadn’t Sister Patricia mentioned she’d talked to Sister Ophelia just before she was killed?
I looked up to the gray, ugly sky and closed my eyes. “I’m trying, Sister O. I really am. I know you didn’t like Sister Patricia, and she was committing an egregious sin, but I don’t believe she killed you. I simply don’t.”
With those words, the rain began to come down in buckets, splashing my face and making me shake my finger up at the sky in warning.
Still, I chuckled. “Knock it off. You know what the Lord says about being petty. Sister Patricia didn’t do it, and you know I’m right. Now either be helpful or butt out.”
Ironically, the rain quite suddenly stopped.
I winked upward, heading toward the sidewalk and off to the shop with a fond grin on my face, and in my mind’s eye, a vision of Sister Ophelia laughing down on me from a cottony white cloud.
Chapter 14
“Trixie girl?” Knuckles said from outside my office door. “Can I come in?”
I rubbed my eyes and yawned, pushing Coop’s phone away. She’d let me have a look at it because it had pictures of the speed-dating event and Sister Ophelia’s body. Unfortunately, the pictures had absolutely nothing to help me identify a killer.
So I could certainly use a break from the task of finding absolutely nothing.
“C’mon in, Knuckles. I’m not doing anything but going ’round in circles anyway.”
And that was just the truth. I’d scoured the pictures Coop had taken of the people at the event with a fine-tooth comb and saw nothing suspicious.
She’d even taken a couple right near the exit door, but nothing with Sister Ophelia in them. Not before she was killed, anyway. There were, however, plenty pics of the female congregation fawning over Deacon Delacorte. In fact, Coop was quite the photographer. She’d used all sorts of fancy filters to brighten and lighten or even age some of the photos, and there were lots of them with female parishioners from Our Lady.
The one of the deacons, arm in arm, wide grins on their faces, was especially well done. Maybe I’d frame it and bring it to Father Rico as a way to cheer him up.
I’d also gone over the church’s Facebook page for any sign of anything peculiar and come up dry. In fact, Father Rico, or whoever was in charge of the church’s social media, didn’t post with great frequency.
There was a welcome post from Father Rico to Deacon Delacorte, and plenty of well wishes from the congregation for his return from his mission in China, but certainly no suspicious comments. The announcement about Sister Ophelia’s candlelight vigil was the most recent post, and Coop was right. Nothing suspicious there, either.
So what did I have? A bunch of suspects who had alibis except Sister Patricia. That’s what I had. The trouble was, her motive to kill Sister O was the strongest of them all, aside from possibly Mr. Coletti.
“Hey, you okay, kiddo?” he asked, his concerned gaze perusing my face. Gosh, I loved Knuckles. He’d become like a father to me and Coop.
I smiled and pushed the papers I’d been making notes on into a messy pile. “I’m just doing what I do.”
He nodded his head, the glint of his eyebrow piercings catching the lights overhead. “Murder board?”
“More like going-nowhere board. I’m stumped, Knuck, and now they have Sister Patricia in custody with a statement from Mrs. Coletti that’s pretty damaging.”
He winked at me and shot me a sympathetic smile. “You always say that, and then out of nowhere, you figure it out.”
I snorted. “The trouble is, I figure it out when it’s almost too late. You do remember the last crime I was involved in, right?”
Knuckles grinned at me. “I have every faith you’re honing those skills with each case you solve, and in no time, you’ll be able to open your own detective agency.”
I hopped up from my chair and held my arms out. “Hug me, mister. You’re good for my self-esteem.”
He wrapped his burly arms around me and gave me a tight hug before he said, “Speaking of faith. There’s a Sister Rita from Saint Andrews here to see you.”
That made me stop cold. “Sister Rita from the house where Sister O lived?”
“I don’t know and I didn’t ask, kiddo. She’s a nun. A cheerful enough looking one, mind you. But when I see a holy lady, I immediately turn into my fourth grade self. Which means I shut my trap and stay in line.”
I swatted his arm playfully and wrinkled my nose. “You make us sound like the monsters of religion.”
He dropped a kiss on the top of my head. “They didn’t make ’em like you back in my day, young lady. You want me to send her in or will you come out?”
I gave him a quick kiss on his cheek. “I’ll come out. Thanks, Knuckles.”
He reached over me and grabbed the store tablet, the one we used to schedule appointments and set reminders for store events, and held it up. “I’m taking this with me for a minute. I’ll bring it right back. I need to update my appointments for next week, okay?”
“Yep. Thanks for keeping on top of it. Goodness knows I’m doing a pretty poor job of much since this happened.”
I followed him out into the lounge of the shop and waved a hand to Sister Rita, who sat on our puffy royal-blue couch surrounded by some graphic throw pillows of Marilyn Monroe and Mick Jagger, looking so completely out of place, I had to stop myself from chuckling.
She was a tiny little thing, cute as a button, in fact. Her eyes were quick, darting from corner to corner in the shop, with her hands neatly folded in her lap but one foot tapping to the music on the speaker system.
&nb
sp; “Sister Rita?” Holding out my hand, I smiled warmly, hoping she didn’t feel too uncomfortable in a tattoo shop.
She hopped up, spry as the day is long for someone her age, which I pegged at about sixty or so, and didn’t outwardly appear at all disturbed by her surroundings. “Trixie Lavender, is it?”
“It is. Lovely to meet you. I’m so glad you dropped by, Sister Rita.”
She grabbed my hand with her petite one and gave it a quick squeeze, bobbing her head. “Nice to meet you, too. I’m so sorry about your aunt, Trixie. We had some really terrific discussions. Late into the night some nights. I’ll miss them so much. I only wish we’d had more time to get to know one another before…”
A bit of guilt began to settle in when she mentioned my “aunt.” Before, back at the Sister O’s house, I’d been caught up in the moment of improv, but faced directly with my bold lie, I felt immense shame as she smiled at me so cheerfully.
I fought hard to focus on her and not my guilt. “I’ll miss her, too.”
She brushed her hands down the front of her modest skirt and pulled the purse she had on her shoulder around to the front of her body, reached inside and pulled out an iPad. “Anyway, Sister Linda mentioned you’d been by, and you were wondering what happened to your aunt’s iPad. Voila,” she said with a gleam in her eye.
Stab. Stab. Stab. That was more guilt poking at me. But I pushed ahead because what choice did I have? “Oh, yes! I’d completely forgotten about that, but you didn’t have to come all the way over here, Sister Rita. I’d have been happy to drop back to your place.”
She looked down at her plain black lace-up shoes for a moment before her twinkling brown eyes met mine with guilt in them.
“I have a confession to make, Trixie. I stole this from Ophelia. In the mess of her death, I’d forgotten all about it. And I guess ‘stole’ isn’t the right word. It was more like I hijacked it,” she said with a small chuckle.
“Hijacked it?”
With a roll of her eyes, she nodded, holding the tablet out to me. “Oh, her hearing was dreadful, Trixie. Just dreadful! Our rooms were right next door to one another. She’d listen to that thing so loud when she watched her programs, I wanted to throw it out the window! In fact, I threatened to do just that the very night she…died. So when she left to go to the event at Our Lady, I snuck into her room and took it from her. I really was just going to take it to the computer store and find out what kind of ear thingamajigs it needed so she could use them, and I could get some sleep. But then… Well, you know what happened next. I darn well forgot all about it until Sister Linda mentioned you’d asked after it. I’m sorry, Trixie.”
The Smoking Nun Page 13
