Peccatum in Carne: Sins of the Flesh (The Three Sins of Mallory Moore Book 1)

by Coco Mingolelli

  Scribbling onto the paper within the thick file, he droned on. “It is our understanding that you wish to be placed in protective custody during your assistance to the case, in exchange for the Crown setting aside your lesser charges if the information comes to fruition. Is this correct to the best of your knowledge?”

  Oliver nodded, gulping down his fear of Steven in favor of escaping this hellhole. “Yes. Steven Rose killed Miss Moore’s parents, and her grandparents. It’s why he wanted me to harass her – to shake her up. He’s been looking for her for years.”

  Chuckling to himself, D.S. Thom Smythe shook his head. “And just how did you come across such information, Mr. Ulster?”

  “There’s a picture, in Steven’s home. I’d gone over to pick up some… files for him before we headed out to her place. I noticed an old photo in the hallway, framed all nice. He was sidling up to Miss Moore’s parents during some kind of party,” Oliver reasoned out. He wasn't stupid. Anyone that had seen and heard what he had would come to the same conclusion.

  “So?” the Detective questioned.

  “C’mon! It was Mallory Moore’s birthday party. Kind of odd for a man who told you he didn’t know why I was at Miss Moore’s house with another guy Steven claims not to know, huh? Really strange for a guy who I am sure told you that he didn’t even know Miss Moore before this year, or her real name!” Oliver yelled while noticing a gleam of recognition in the Detective’s eye at the last bit of information he’d spilled.

  Hoping he was right, Oliver continued to rat Steven out. “I know her real name, man – Lilith LaFey. You seem like the kind of cop who does his homework, so you know it. If Steven Rose were chasing me, I’d vanish, too. You’ll help me disappear, right?” The eagerness in his voice showed his desperation, but Oliver couldn't be bothered to care. He just wanted to stay alive.

  His interest piqued, the Detective Sergeant leaned forward. “Tell me,” he ordered.

  Chapter 11: Amor Vincit; Cedamus Amori

  (Love Conquers; Surrender to Love)

  Dawn woke to the smell of toast and eggs cooking, and her stomach growled in response. Stretching blissfully, she relished the soreness in her joints that typically came after a romp with Mallory. She rolled around for a bit in the bed, and grumbled once she’d looked at her phone. It was ungodly early – 6:22AM on Saturday, June 30th. They had only gone to bed six hours ago, Mallory insisting because Dawn needed to rest before her A-Level exams today.

  While the sounds of cooking continued downstairs, Dawn padded off to the bathroom, and yawned. She brushed her teeth, staring briefly at the newly filled prescriptions next to the toothpaste as she returned the tube to the cabinet. Mallory had hemmed and hawed over the bottles before going to bed last night, choosing not to take any in preference for snuggling deeply into Dawn’s arms. It had been almost unbearably hot under the duvet during the night, but neither of them moved.

  More hungry than worried about her appearance today, Dawn took the quickest shower she could before coming back into the bedroom to grab her iPhone. As she turned the radio app on, happy music blared from the mobile phone’s speakers. She danced and spun to where her suitcase would have been on the floor, but stopped dead as her gaze saw only indentations in the carpet where it had been. Her luggage was missing.

  She crouched to look under the bed, but it wasn’t there. It wasn’t on the cedar chest at the end of the bed, either. That left only one other place it could be: the walk in wardrobe.

  Opening the door, she entered the cavernous space that had been built into the eave of the cottage’s roof, and was instantly confused. Her roll-away was there, but it was empty. Feet shuffling to spin in a circle, Dawn rubbed at her eyes once they adjusted to the dim light. Her dresses, blouses and trousers had been hung neatly on a rack; all sorted by color. Pajamas and tee shirts were stacked on top of a cupboard, a partially empty drawer drawn slightly open in welcome.

  Selecting a pair of light blue skinny jeans and a tee, Dawn grinned like a fool as she dressed. How long had Mallory been awake? Was the woman just that sly, or was she just a heavy sleeper? Deciding she didn’t care, Dawn chuckled to herself, and slipped her feet into tiny jeweled flats that looked so very out of place next to Mallory’s dichotomy of sky-high heels and Doc Martens.

  Her nose perked at a new smell that wafted up the stairs, and she scrambled out of the room and down the stairs faster than a whirling dervish. She skidded to a stop in front of the kitchen island, mouth salivating.

  “Is that what I think it is? Did you buy coffee yesterday?” Dawn squealed in glee.

  Mallory was already impeccably dressed in a black silk crepe suit, though she’d donned an apron to cook and was still barefoot. Her hair was done up in a severe French twist, and Dawn wasn’t sure which made her mouth water more: the promise of blessed coffee, or the lanky brunette who threw a smirk over her shoulder as she moved from one foot to the other in front of the cooker.

  After she poured a cup of the dark, magical ambrosia from a carafe on the counter, Mallory raised an eyebrow and lifted the mug. “How do you like it?” she asked airily, probably already making guesses in her mind.

  Dawn’s lips quirked devilishly. “If it’s the good stuff, I like it the darker the better.”

  Mallory’s hand had already begun to draw the mug back towards the counter. However, once she pieced together Dawn’s seriousness and her joke, she slid the mug of coffee across the island and made a joke herself. “Only the best for my Beastie,” she declared, as if in a commercial.

  “None of that American crap, right? Where did you get the coffee pot?” Dawn inquired as she sniffed at the contents of the cup.

  “Tsk. It’s a good thing I asked a clerk what to buy, I had been pondering between two big brands,” Mallory said in all solemnity for a few moments before breaking out into a boisterous laugh. “No no, silly. I am fairly certain for what I paid for one pound of that vile stuff that it was picked by fairies that live in the trees of the Scottish Highlands, and only eat nuts and berries. I keep the carafe for guests.”

  “Coffee doesn't grow in Scotland, you goose,” Dawn jibed before taking a sip at the hot coffee. She moaned shamelessly as it coated her throat. “Oh-my-god-so-good!”

  Her mouth hanging open at the sound, Mallory then took a long swig of her cooling tea, and grabbed their plates of breakfast. Deciding to stand and eat, she glided one plate across to Dawn, and was immensely pleased to see her blue eyes widen in delight.

  “Eggs in the bekkie!” she crowed, throwing her hands aloft in triumph. “Oh, my mother used to make these for me… It’s been years.” A blush rapidly crept up Dawn’s neck as she realized she probably sounded half her age at the use of her childhood nickname for the food.

  Mallory merely smiled indulgently over the edge of her teacup. “Yes, eggs in the basket. My mother made them for me, as well,” she reminisced, and poked at her own breakfast.

  They ate in companionable silence before Mallory came around the island to kiss Dawn’s forehead, followed by her cheek and then her lips. The gentleness behind the kisses made Dawn blush again – how in the world could she feel unsettled by the lightest pecks on her face from the woman who had done countless things to her elsewhere? It made every moment feel new.

  Overcome with the flush of love, comfort, and safety, she leaned forward to whisper in Mallory’s ear, “Nunc scio quid sit amor.” Now I know what love is.

  Captivated from the breathy words in her ear, Mallory swallowed and murmured, “Modo itera omnia quae mihi nunc nuper narravisti, sed nunc Anglice?” Would you repeat everything you just told me, only this time say it in English? She wanted to hear it again.

  “English! She wants me to speak in English while she carries on like sex on wheels in Latin every day?” Dawn threw her head back and giggled.

  In response, Mallory wrapped her arms around Dawn’s waist to draw her into a steamy kiss. Once finished, she leaned back and licked her lips. Her green eyes twinkled mischievous
ly. “Vah! Denuone Latine loquebar? Me ineptum. Interdum modo elabitur,” she goaded.

  Dawn’s eyes narrowed, and she stuck her tongue out in feigned irritation. “Yes, you’re still speaking Latin. I highly doubt that it’s just slipping out, though.”

  “Go and fetch your testing materials before I make us very late,” Mallory pleaded in an edgy whisper, her sight zeroing in on where Dawn’s tongue had peeked through her lips moments before.

  _____________________________________

  Mallory strode purposefully from her classroom towards the Board Meeting room on the first floor, where her yearly curriculum meeting with the school administrative staff was to be held. She didn’t have much time between proctoring her 10th Year students’ KS4 Latin tests and the meeting, and her files were unusually messy.

  Still, she beamed at passing colleagues and students in the halls. Some regarded her with confused expressions, others with murmurs of surprise and a respectful ‘Good day, Miss Moore.’

  Mallory Moore so rarely smiled in public before Dawn. Today, it seemed that her cheeks hurt with the amount of joy that fell upon her lips. The school year would soon be over, and Dawn would receive her Advanced certificate. She pondered what would they do and plan together this summer – would her little supernova like to take a gap year to travel and rest? Paris was beautiful during this time of the year.

  Reaching her destination at last, Mallory’s musing thoughts ceased, and she tugged her suit jacket down in front to polish her appearance. Her hand reached for the doorknob as she blew out a tiny exhalation of focus.

  Nothing could have prepared her for what she encountered upon entering the boardroom.

  Monsignor Flaherty and Sister Eileen stood to one side, wringing their hands and looking quite vexed. The table was completely full, with every manner of Diocese official on hand. Mallory’s practiced expression of calm wavered as the corners of her mouth began to turn down. They twitched back up so quickly, those assembled would wonder if they’d seen her emote at all.

  A gentleman she recognized as Mark Dooley, the School Director sat beside some Diocese lackey, looking quite pleased with himself. The chair next to him held Barry McGovern, the father of Felicity. The man’s snide, pockmarked face actually smiled at her, and it made Mallory want to punch him.

  "Miss Moore, thank you for coming today. I am afraid this may not have been what you were expecting," Mr. Dooley stated with false sincerity. "I’d offer you a seat, but as you can see…"

  "I’ll stand," Mallory interrupted, waving her hand nonchalantly.

  It was then that she saw Joan Morrow walk in, recognizing the woman from Bridge night. A telltale green leather folio balanced precariously in the secretary’s outstretched hands as she passed Mallory with an apologetic stare.

  For her own part, Mallory did not meet the woman’s gaze, pupils returning from the corners of her eyes to stare ahead at the people gathered.

  As Joan laid the folio on the table in front of Mr. Dooley, the Director swung it open and began to write almost immediately.

  After a few moments of extremely uncomfortable silence, Mallory shifted from one foot to the other.

  It had been reaction Dooley was waiting for; and he finally looked up to speak. “Miss Moore, when you were retained for employment by the Diocese and school, you were asked to sign and agree to the terms within the ‘Code of Ethics for the Catholic School Teacher.’ You signed with full consent, and not under duress… correct?”

  Mallory bristled at the man’s insulting manner, especially put off by his waiting to speak until she appeared uncomfortable. “Yes, of course,” she replied, her patience short. It was an idiotic question meant to rile those in attendance up – she would have never been allowed to pick up a piece of chalk in her classroom if not for signing the blasted thing.

  Nodding his satisfaction at her answer, Mr. Dooley flipped through some papers in the green folder. “So then, it ought to be no surprise to you that we find you in contemptible violation of Principle I, section 6 – Respect for confidential information concerning students and their home life; Principle III, section 2c – Modeling active participation in one’s own parish; Principle IV, sections 1a and 2a – preserving the reputations of colleagues, administrators, and students as well as modeling the faith life and witnessing to the Faith Community on the parish, diocesan, national and world levels,” he dragged on, checking off the contract as he went.

  Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes or laugh, Mallory decided to put the disagreeable little man on edge. “If you don’t mind elaborating what I am being accused of in specific detail, Mr. Dooley?” she countered casually. “How am I to defend myself without full disclosure?”

  Dooley cleared his throat and leaned forward, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. “Miss Moore, I didn’t wish to embarrass a woman of caliber such as yourself with this line of questioning, but you’ve left me no choice. Are you…?” He paused to sit back and swallow against the words he loathed to acknowledge. “Is it true that you are a… Do you deny having the unnatural inclination and tendency to seek the company of women for pleasure?”

  Mallory’s eyebrow rose arrogantly at the man’s beating around the bush. “That’s the Sunday school version, yes. If you’re asking if I am a lesbian, Mr. Dooley - you are indeed correct. It’s not precisely a secret to the administrators of this fine institution, either.”

  She looked around, as if what she was searching for would appear out of thin air. “I’m sure my own student file is around here somewhere. My proclivity is well documented therein. Perhaps... perhaps we could bring Mr. McGovern’s daughter in to gossip about me some more; would that be the burden of proof?”

  Totally uncomfortable with her unabashed admittance of her sin and insolent nature, those around the table began to mutter amongst themselves. Sister Eileen leaned against Monsignor Flaherty, looking faint. He placed an arm around the inconsolable nun.

  Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do for “his Mallie girl” at this point - especially after what had come out of her mouth seconds ago, Mallory knew.

  Slapping the table to call order, Mr. Dooley’s face became dark and thunderous at Mallory’s disagreeable response and sarcasm. “Your admittance of your sins against nature and the flesh, plus our meddling into the affairs of Miss Dawn Rose and her father’s right as a good Christian to guide her in a way he sees fit would be reason enough to dismiss you, Miss Moore. Miss McGovern’s testimony was simply fact finding. You haven’t attended school mass in months, and did not return to regularity after seeking the monsignor’s counsel. You’ve tarnished the good name of poor Miss Rose in this community, as well as your own,” he alleged heatedly.

  Still as stone to hide the fury that roiled just beneath her skin, Mallory’s response was glacial. “If you mean taking Miss Rose in to protect her... to keep her from being coerced into marriage to a man that is now being held as a criminal awaiting trial, then I fully confess that too. With pride.”

  The sounds of intense scribbling were harsh against the chamber’s silence otherwise. Clearly unsettled, Mark Dooley didn’t look up from his furious slashing at the papers on the table as he issued the verdict.

  “Miss Moore, the Diocese had hoped that over time you might have outgrown your… need to sin against the flesh and the Lord’s teachings. Clearly, you are not of sound Christian mind to teach our children. We rescind our offer to have you return to St. Augusta’s next year, and your termination is effective immediately.”

  His judgmental eyes looked up at last to Mallory. “Collect your belongings from your classroom and report promptly to reception to relinquish your employee badge. That is all.”

  With a curt nod, Mallory spun on her heel to march out of the room, not affording the ridiculous situation another word.

  Her heels clicking along the tiled floors in haste, she reached the classroom door in even shorter time than her reverse trip earlier. When Mallory slung her purse over a shoulder with a
huff, she did allow her eyes to spend a moment to gaze longingly and lovingly over the rows of desks and chairs, where countless minds had been nurtured and guided by her hand, for years.

  She had returned to St. Augusta’s to ‘be the light and change you want to see in the world’ - to stop the cycle of pain. Of course, that facet of Christ’s teachings was ignored summarily in the revelation of how God had made her.

  Now alone, a painful sob caught in her throat. She wiped an errant tear from her eye and turned to the board, carefully crafting her final message to whoever cared to read it.

  “Cernit omnia Deus vindex.”

  There is an avenging God who sees all.

  “Ego sum pastor.”

  I am a good shepherd.

  Once she had left the classroom to return her badge in Reception, Mallory felt a weight she’d not recognized lift off of her shoulders. Feeling unburdened but still irrevocably saddened by the day’s events, she walked to the car while texting Dawn to catch the bus home, or to call her for a ride. Mallory didn’t specify why except not to worry; not wanting her to be distracted from her exams if she received the message while on a break between tests. They were vastly important to her future in medicine, whatever portion of that path she chose.