by Kylie Logan
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?” When Levi stopped the Jeep, I hopped out (yes, I winced doing it) and opened the back door so Tyler could get out, too. I led the way into the house, Tyler trailing behind me and Levi right behind him.
I walked into the living room and stopped near the windows. It was a mild evening and the windows had been left open. A soft breeze moved the curtains to the tempo of a heartbeat and brought with it the scent of damp earth and new life.
“Right out there.” I pointed toward the garden. “Levi and I, we were here earlier. That’s where we saw the warblers.”
“Three of them,” Levi added. “Right there near those rose bushes.”
Tyler narrowed his eyes and scanned the patio and frowned. “Well, they’re not there now.”
“That doesn’t mean they might not come back.” Levi took a step nearer. “You should watch for a few minutes. You never know. That’s the whole thing about being a birder, isn’t it? Patience. It’s all about patience.”
“Patience.” I spoke the word on the end of a sigh. “But that’s not something you have a whole lot of, is it? If you did, you wouldn’t have been so anxious to kill Sister Catherine.”
I didn’t need to look Tyler’s way, I felt the change in his body. He flinched, then went rigid, and I knew in my gut that he would have recovered in an instant and taken off for the door if Levi wasn’t right behind him.
“You didn’t think you could actually get away with it, did you?” I’m not sure how I managed it, but I kept my voice light and even when I pointed toward the garden. “Look, a cardinal. They’re such beautiful birds. But then, you don’t care much about birds, do you? The birding thing, that was just a cover. Like genealogy was for Joe Roscoe.”
Tyler might not be able to step back, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t edge to his left, a little farther away from me. “I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about how to a lot of people, all nuns look alike. But the truth is . . .” I waved toward the doorway and when I gave the signal, the nuns marched into the room.
Sister Liliosa and Sister Margaret led the way. Sisters Paul, Grace, Francelle, and Mary Jean were right behind. When I’d stopped by earlier in the evening and told them what I had planned, they had agreed to line up in front of the fireplace. I bet when they did, they didn’t picture themselves as I saw them now, like a gleaming army of angels, their heads high and proud, their eyes shining.
“These nuns don’t look alike, though—do they, Tyler? I mean, not like Sister Sheila and Sister Catherine did.”
He sniffed. “I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I shook my head. “If I were you, I’d work on a better defense. I don’t know what you’re talking about isn’t going to hold much water in court. Why don’t you try something like this . . .” I strolled around to his left so that I could turn and face him. “You thought you’d killed Sister Catherine the first night the nuns were here. That’s why you went back to the mainland the next day. You figured you’d done what you came to the island to do. But then you saw the news, right? You saw the news, and realized you’d killed the wrong nun. They did look alike, didn’t they? The light was fading and their habits were the same. You came up on Sister Sheila from behind. It must have been quite a surprise when you heard who she really was.”
He shook his shoulders and I suspected he’d offer another lame excuse, so I breezed right on. “You couldn’t come back right away because the weather was bad and the ferry wasn’t running. But you showed up again when it was. You said it was because somebody told you there were warblers. And when you got back, that’s when Sister Helene was killed.”
When I moved to stand in front of Tyler, Levi had moved, too, and now, he was stationed in the doorway, his arms crossed over his broad chest and his feet planted. “That part didn’t make any sense. I mean, Sister Helene being killed. But really, the truth of the matter had been staring us in the face all along. See, both Sister Catherine and Sister Helene were at that dinner back in New York. They . . .” I stepped nearer to the man who’d registered at my B and B as Tyler Stevens. “And their families.”
“Now, Sister Helene, she went to look around the island on the morning she died,” Levi added. “And if she just so happened to meet someone she recognized—”
“She would have had to be silenced. And you see,” I added, “that’s what had us confused. Because there didn’t seem to be any connection between Sister Sheila’s and Sister Helene’s deaths. But of course there was, because Sister Helene recognized you, Michael.”
Tyler’s face went pale, but I knew from experience that that didn’t mean a thing. Who wouldn’t be a little off their game with accusations coming at them from all sides? “I don’t know who Michael is,” he stammered. “And even if I did—”
I perched myself on the arm of the couch. “Michael is Sister Catherine’s brother. And you know what we found out today? That when Michael and Catherine’s grandmother dies . . . and unfortunately that looks like it’s going to happen soon . . . Sister Catherine’s shelter back in Philadelphia is going to inherit all of Gram’s money. I didn’t realize how much there was of it. Not until just a little while ago. A few million is going to do a whole lot of good at the shelter. A few million . . . it’s also as good a motive for murder as any I’ve ever heard.”
“Killing for money.” Sister Liliosa was so incensed, her shoulders shook. “It’s terrible.”
“It’s ridiculous, that’s what it is.” Tyler . . . or I should say Michael Lang . . . swung around to take us all in. “You’re all talking crazy. I don’t know who this Michael guy is and I certainly am not related to any nun, dead or alive. I’m leaving, and I’m leaving the island, but you can be sure I’m going to contact my attorney about all this when I get home. You can’t just fling around accusations and say that I’m someone I’m not. You can’t prove it. Not any of it. Now . . .” He sniffed, raised his chin, and stepped up to the doorway. “If you don’t get out of my way,” he told Levi, “I’m thinking some slick attorney can get a kidnapping charge added to the suit I’m going to file against you all.”
Levi didn’t argue. But then, he didn’t need to.
He stepped out of the doorway to reveal who’d been behind him the entire time.
Sister Catherine.
21
Of course Hank had been nearby the whole time and as soon as we picked Michael Lang up off the floor where he had fallen into a swoon when he saw the sister he thought was dead, Hank read him his rights and hauled him away, and the nuns surrounded Sister Catherine like a host of ministering angels and helped her to a seat on the couch.
“That was so brave of you,” I told her.
She smiled through the tears that streamed down her cheeks. Sister Catherine’s left arm was in a sling, her hair had been shaved, and her scalp was slick with salve to ease her burned skin. There were cuts on her cheeks and both her eyes were black and blue.
“I can’t believe it,” she whimpered. “My own brother.” She’d been reluctant to believe me from the moment I suggested what might be going on, but now she’d seen it with her own eyes and she couldn’t deny it. “He dyed his hair,” she said. “He’s not a redhead, he’s a blond like me. Even so, we sat at the same table with Sister Helene and her family at that dinner in New York. There was no way she wouldn’t have recognized him.”
“And he couldn’t risk her coming back here and telling you she’d seen him.” Someone had the good sense to bring over tissues, and I plucked one from the box and handed it to Sister Catherine.
“But how . . .” She blew her nose and looked at Levi. “How did you know?”
“That was all Bea,” he told her.
The nuns gathered around and I explained. “It was his voicemail. You were right, Sister. It was nearly impossible to hear him. Tha
t noise in the background? I recognized it right away. It was the blast of a ferry horn. Of course, that doesn’t mean anything. There are plenty of ferries in plenty of places in the world. He could have been calling from anywhere. But I listened really closely and that’s when I knew that he was at our marina, because in addition to the ferry horn, I heard something else.”
Sister Catherine sniffled and dabbed at her nose. “There was chanting in the background, like a crowd.”
“A crowd of protesters,” I told her. “And there was no way you would have recognized it because, really, it’s so silly, it must have sounded like nothing more than a jumble of words. But I knew what they were saying—swim free and never get caught!”
Sister Catherine shook her head. “It’s so sad. All this time, I thought Michael had turned his life around. But I guess he never did. He never stopped wanting more and now that Gram is near death . . .” She sobbed.
“But how . . .” Sister Liliosa stood behind the couch and she patted Sister Catherine’s shoulder. “How could he have possibly known? About the oven?”
That was an easy one, and I let Sister Catherine explain. “It was the Official Special Day Hallelujah Celebration Cake, of course. Once Joe Roscoe was arrested and we thought we were all safe, Michael knew I’d make it. It was the recipe we used to celebrate every . . .” She sniffled. “Every special occasion.”
“And what about putting out word that Sister Catherine was dead?” Sister Francelle asked.
Since it was my idea, I explained. “I figured it was one way to see if we were on the right track,” I told the nuns. “Once Michael thought he’d done what he came to the island to do, he’d leave. I was right. We caught him just in time.”
“It’s all so very sad,” Sister Catherine said, and though I knew she was right, I also knew that we all needed the kind of catharsis that would only come from recognizing that we’d gone through a tough time together and come out on the other side stronger than ever.
“You still have the recipe for Official Special Day Hallelujah Celebration Cake, don’t you?” I asked her.
“I don’t need a recipe,” she said. “I’ve made the cake so many times, I could bake it in my sleep.”
“Then let’s get going.” I stood and helped her off the couch. “If ever there was a time we needed Official Special Day Hallelujah Celebration Cake, it’s now!”
* * *
That night we were all gathered in my dining room—the nuns, the librarians, every police officer Hank could spare, the firefighters, Levi, and of course, the League of Literary Ladies. We let Sister Catherine do the honors, and she sliced thick pieces of the Official Special Day Hallelujah Celebration Cake we’d spent the last couple hours making.
The cake wasn’t just delicious, it was fabulous, and a couple bites worked miracles all around. By the time Chandra, Luella, and Kate helped me pass around coffee, we were all smiling and chatting.
Well, except for Levi. He finished his cake, set his plate on the table, and quietly moved toward the door.
I could have pretended I was so busy talking to Hank that I didn’t see him making his exit, but let’s face it, that would have been immature, not to mention unworthy of me.
I made my apologies to Hank and caught up with Levi in the kitchen just as he was about to go out the back door.
“Thanks for your help,” I said.
He paused, his hand on the doorknob, and glanced over his shoulder at me. “You think we’ll work together again?”
“I can’t say.”
He turned to face me, but he kept his place near the door and I was glad. I stood firm, too, near the breakfast bar, far enough away to signal that for now, the best thing we could do was to keep our distance.
“I’ll see you again?” he asked.
“You willing to risk getting whacked with a wet mop?”
He grinned. “You’re worth it,” he said, and he walked out the door.
* * *
The nuns left the next morning with the promise that they would return someday. I was glad. These were women I was proud to know, and I wanted the chance to talk to them when we didn’t have to worry about houses falling down on us.
The librarians, too, headed back to where they’d come from and once they were gone, it was just me, Chandra, Kate, and Luella. We sat on my front porch and enjoyed the silence.
That is, until Luella spoke up. She looked across my yard toward Chandra’s. “I thought you said the surveyors were coming.”
Chandra pursed her lips and looked up at the ceiling. “They’ll be here,” she said. “They’ve been busy . . . uh . . . doing . . . uh . . . you know . . . surveying stuff.”
I had had a week of mysteries and investigating. I wasn’t exactly in the mood to try to figure out what Chandra was up to, so I asked her point-blank, “What’s going on?”
Her cheeks turned the same cherry red as the T-shirt she wore with her yellow capris. “They’re going to be here,” she said, lifting her chin and tossing her head so that her blond bob wiggled. “And they’re going to build the biggest pool and install the biggest lamppost this side of the Ohio mainland.”
My ears had stopped ringing that morning—thank goodness—and apparently, the silence had cleared my head. I pinned Chandra with a look. “That’s a lot of baloney!”
Kate sat up straight on the wicker couch next to me. “What are you talking about?” she asked me.
But Luella was more perceptive. “What are you up to?” she asked Chandra.
Chandra picked at an invisible piece of lint on her capris and her determined expression collapsed. “I just thought . . .” She burst into tears.
Pools and lampposts and fishing protests aside, there is nothing like tears to bring out friends’ loyalty. We got out of our seats and gathered around where Chandra sat sobbing on the wicker rocking chair.
“I tried to stay strong,” she sobbed. “I thought I could pull it off. But . . . but after everything that happened this week and those poor nuns who died and those other nuns who were so brave and so loyal to their friends . . .” Her wail startled the gulls on the strip of grass across the street and they took off over the lake. “I can’t lie to you anymore! There is no pool! There is no lamppost and Luella . . .” She reached for Luella and squeezed her hand. “There aren’t going to be any more protests. I promise, I promise, I promise!”
Kate, Luella, and I exchanged looks. “Want to explain?” I asked.
Chandra nodded and we all returned to our seats and gave her a moment to compose herself. After a whole lot of sniffling, she did, and looked at each of us in turn. “Don’t you realize it’s been a year?” she asked, her voice watery. “It’s been one whole year since Alvin Littlejohn sentenced us to be a book discussion group. And because of that—”
“We had to meet for one full year,” I said. The truth dawned on me and I would have slapped my forehead if I wasn’t afraid my ears would start ringing again. “Chandra, were you trying to get us to take you to court? So Alvin would sentence us to another year in the League?”
She nodded, and cried and after a minute of taking it all in and realizing what it meant, I have to say, there were tears in all of our eyes.
“It doesn’t take a court order!” Kate plumped back in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest. “Even if we weren’t forced into the book discussion group, we’d still be friends.”
“I doubt it.” I looked around at my friends’ horrified expressions. “But I’m glad we are and as far as the League of Literary Ladies . . . Chandra, it’s your choice. What book will we be reading next?”
If you enjoyed this book, try a taste of
IRISH STEWED
the first book in Kylie Logan’s Ethnic Eats Mysteries!
Coming soon from Berkley Prime Crime
1
“I can explain.”
&n
bsp; At my side, Sophie Charnowski pressed her small, plump hands together and shifted from one sneaker-clad foot to the other. The nearest streetlight flickered off, then on again, and in its anemic light, I saw perspiration bead on her forehead. “It’s like this, you see, Laurel.”
“Oh, I see, all right.” Good thing I was wearing my Brian Atwood snakeskin ballet flats. In heels, I would have tripped on the pitted sidewalk when I spun away from the building in front of us and the railroad tracks just beyond. When I pinned short, round Sophie with a look, I meant to make her shake in her shoes, and it gave me a rush of satisfaction to realize the ol’ daggers from my blue eyes still carried all the punch I intended. Sophie flicked out her tongue to touch her lips, then swallowed hard.
While she was at it, I stabbed one finger toward the train station and the sign hanging above the door that declared the place “Sophie’s Terminal at the Tracks.”
“This wasn’t what I expected,” I said.
Sophie rubbed her hands together. “I know that. Really, I do. I can only imagine how you must feel.”
“No.” I cut her off before she could say anything else ignorant and insulting. “You can’t possibly imagine how I feel. I just drove all the way to Ohio from California. Because you told me—”
“I wanted it to be a surprise.” Sophie was a full eight inches shorter than my five foot nine, and as round as I am slender. She had the nerve to look up at me through the shock of silvery bangs that hung over her forehead. Believe me, the hairstyle wasn’t a fashion statement. When I picked Sophie up at her small, neat bungalow so we could drive across Hubbard and she could show me the restaurant, I had the distinct feeling I’d just woken her from an after-dinner nap. “I knew once you saw the place—”
