by Metsy Hingle
“I can’t explain it, Reverend Mother. Not so that you’d believe me or even understand. Sometimes even I don’t understand.” Kelly whooshed out a breath, then met the nun’s eyes. “But I know Sister Grace wasn’t alone in the chapel the night she died. Someone was with her and that person killed her.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just do,” Kelly told her.
The nun paused. “But who would want to kill her? She was a nun. What possible enemies could she have had?”
“I don’t know,” Kelly admitted, frustrated. “I’ve asked myself that same question over and over and I keep hitting a blank wall.”
“Perhaps that’s because Sister Grace wasn’t murdered,” the Reverend Mother offered, her eyes filled with pity. “I know the two of you were close. And you said yourself that you feel guilty because you didn’t realize how ill she’d been. But you mustn’t blame yourself, Kelly, and you mustn’t search for some other reason or person to blame for Sister Grace’s death. Our lives and our deaths, they are all a part of God’s plan.”
“Her death wasn’t part of God’s plan. She was murdered,” Kelly insisted.
“That’s grief talking, child. You—”
“It’s not grief, it’s the truth. I saw Sister Grace in the chapel and she wasn’t alone. There was someone with her, someone who injected her with something and killed her.”
“You saw Sister Grace the night she died?” she asked, her voice unnaturally calm.
“Yes.”
“But how is that possible, when you told me yourself that you were in Europe when she died?”
“Because I…I am able to see things…things that have happened, things that will happen.”
“You’re saying you’re psychic?”
“That’s what some people call it. Others call it second sight. Whatever it is, when I touch a person or an object, I get a flash…images of what’s happened to that person or what’s going to happen to them.” Kelly swallowed and pressed on, just wanting to get it out. “When I was at the attorney’s office yesterday, he gave me Sister Grace’s rosary. When I held it in my hand, I saw her. I saw Sister Grace in the chapel on the night she died and she wasn’t alone. There was a woman in the pew behind her and that woman killed her.”
She’d shocked the nun. Kelly read it in the other woman’s face, in the stillness of her body. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Do you believe me? That I can see things?”
The Reverend Mother met her gaze. “I’m a Catholic and a nun. I believe in the Lord Jesus, the Virgin Mother and miracles. I believe that Our Lady appeared to peasant children in Fatima and Medjugorje, to St. Bernadette in Lourdes. So I believe in things that can’t always be explained.”
“Do you believe me? Do you believe that I saw Sister Grace murdered?”
“I believe that you think you saw something. But whether it was Sister Grace’s murder…well, I simply don’t know. The doctor found no evidence that there was any foul play involved. He ruled Sister Grace’s death due to a heart attack. There’s nothing to suggest otherwise.”
“But what if that’s not what happened? What if she was murdered and I can prove it?”
“How would you do that?”
“By having her body exhumed, running tests to see if there was something injected into her system that would cause a heart attack.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” the nun told her.
“No it’s not, Reverend Mother. Since she had no next of kin, you could order that they exhume the body.”
The Reverend Mother shook her head. “You don’t understand, Kelly. There is no body to exhume. When the church revised its laws about internment, leaving the choice of burial or cremation to the individual, Sister Grace left instructions that her remains be cremated.”
Jack half listened to the conversation at the dinner table, his thoughts still on the Gilbert murder case and Kelly Santos. When his sister fidgeted beside him, he shifted his focus to those gathered to celebrate his mother’s birthday. Just family, his mother had claimed, even though not everyone seated at the table fit that description. In addition to himself, his older brother, Peter, and Meredith, she’d invited his oldest friend, Alex. In many ways, Alex was like his brother, he thought, since the friendship that began when they were both fifteen continued even though they were now thirty-three.
His gaze shifted to Margaret “Margee” Jardine, who was two years older than him. Margee’s parents had been neighbors to the Callaghans for years, and she’d been a fixture at their house. Except for a two-week period one summer when they’d both been teens, he’d thought of her as a sister. The only other nonrelative was Alicia Van Owen, who had come into their lives a year ago and had been taken under his mother’s wing. At thirty-three, Alicia was smart, sexy and beautiful and he hadn’t felt anything remotely brotherly toward her—which explained their affair. But as much as he liked her and enjoyed the sex, there had been something missing. He wanted what his partner Leon shared with his wife. Yet he couldn’t see himself spending the rest of his life with Alicia, starting a family with her, growing old with her. Once he’d finally realized that, he had broken things off. Only Alicia hadn’t wanted to accept it. At least not until the other night when he’d handled things with all the finesse of a gorilla.
Meredith leaned toward him and muttered, “I still don’t know why we couldn’t have had a real party.”
“Because it’s Mother’s birthday and she wanted a small, quiet dinner with just family,” Jack pointed out, taking care to keep his voice low.
“Then what’s little Miss-butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth Van Owen doing here? She’s not family.”
He didn’t bother pointing out that technically neither was Alex or Margee Jardine. “Mother invited her. Now quit being a brat and be quiet,” he told her.
But within moments, Meredith was whispering, “You do know that Mother’s got her heart set on you marrying her, don’t you?”
Yes, he’d figured that out, Jack admitted silently. And despite what his mother or Alicia might have their hearts set on, it wasn’t going to happen. Which was what he’d told Alicia point blank at the Halloween gala. He winced as he recalled how poorly he’d handled it. He’d felt like a heel when her hazel eyes had filled with tears, but she’d claimed she understood and insisted she still wanted them to see each other as friends. Either he’d been a cop too long or had known enough women to realize when someone was feeding him a line.
“You’re not really going to marry her, are you?”
Unable to resist getting a rise out of his baby sister, he replied, “And what if I said that I was?”
Meredith whispered, “Then I’d kill you.”
“What’s the matter? I thought you always wanted a sister.”
Meredith shuddered. The look she gave him would have charred meat. “I’d sooner be an orphan than have her for a sister.”
Jack chuckled.
“Jackson, what are you and Meredith whispering about?” his mother demanded.
“Meredith was just asking me to recommend a good security company for her boutique,” he said, trying to come up with a plausible cover fast.
“There are several firms that I’ve worked with,” Alicia offered politely. “I’d be happy to give you a list of them.”
“Since my brother’s a cop, I think he can advise me on security firms better than someone who sells houses.”
“Meredith Elizabeth Callaghan! That was uncalled for, young lady,” their mother chided. “Apologize to Alicia.”
“Really, Mary Ellen, that’s not necessary,” Alicia said.
“It most certainly is necessary. Meredith,” she prompted in that “you’re in deep trouble” voice that Jack remembered hearing all too often growing up.
“I’m sorry,” Meredith said without an ounce of sincerity. When their mother leveled her eyes on her, his sister continued, “I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. I appreciate your offe
r, but Jack has already promised to help me. Right, Jack?”
“Right.”
“No offense taken,” Alicia accepted demurely. “I think it’s wonderful that you can turn to your brothers for help. You’re lucky to have siblings.”
“Trust me, it has its drawbacks,” Meredith countered. “Big brothers can be a real pain sometimes.”
“But at least you never have to worry about being alone,” she replied, and Jack was reminded that Alicia had lost both of her parents suddenly when they’d been killed in a car accident a year ago.
“But you’re not alone, dear,” Mary Ellen Callaghan informed her. “You have us.”
“That’s very kind of you. You have no idea how much that means to me. Thank you.”
“Nonsense. There’s no need to thank me for anything,” his mother told her. “Why, you’re practically family—just like Alexander and Margaret.”
“She means it,” Margee assured her. “I was only knee-high when my parents bought the house down the street. I spent so much time over here that Miss Mary Ellen and Mr. Tommy probably could have claimed me on their tax return. The door’s been open to me ever since.”
“And it always will be,” his mother replied. “I just wish your parents could have joined us tonight.”
“So do they, but Daddy’s determined to stay in Paris until he can work out the negotiations for the new hotel the family’s trying to buy. But they said to send you their love,” Margee told her.
“What an interesting business your family’s in,” Alicia responded. “I’m surprised you didn’t decide to follow in their footsteps and get involved with hotels instead of going into law.”
“I found the law more exciting.”
“Tell her the truth, Margee. You became a lawyer to irritate me,” Peter teased. He laughed and continued, “Margee here was always tailing behind me, making a pest of herself, trying to best me when we were growing up. I think she went to law school just to prove to me that she could do it, too.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Callaghan. I went to law school for me—not you,” Margee countered.
Mary Ellen shook her head and made a tsking sound. “They’ve been bickering like this practically from the time they were in diapers,” she explained. “Now, if you two will behave, Alicia has some good news to share with us. Go ahead, dear.”
Alicia blushed prettily. “This is your birthday celebration, Mary Ellen. No one’s interested in hearing about my little bit of news.”
“Of course we want to hear. Don’t we, Jackson?”
“Sure,” he said, because it was expected.
“All right, if you’re sure,” Alicia began. “I was told today that I’ve hit the platinum level for real estate sales within the company. That means my sales have exceeded five million dollars already this year.”
“Congratulations,” Jack told her.
“Yes, congratulations,” Alex added, and several more congratulations followed.
“So does that mean you get one of those dorky little pins to wear on your jacket?” Meredith asked, making no attempt to hide the fact that she wasn’t impressed.
“Actually, I get a platinum-and-diamond pin and a free trip to Europe,” Alicia informed her.
“Isn’t that simply wonderful news?” his mother asked.
“Yes, it is,” Jack replied, and as his mother turned the spotlight on Alicia, insisting she tell everyone about her latest success, Jack tuned them out. His thoughts immediately returned to Kelly, the way she looked, the way she smelled. Damn, why did she have to be connected to his investigation?
A kick beneath the table connected with the left side of his calf and Jack glared at his sister. “Knock it off.”
“Then wake up,” she whispered. “Big brother’s about to make a toast.”
Peter stood at the head of the table, tapping a spoon against his wineglass. “If everyone would please raise their glasses, I’d like you to join me in toasting my mother, Mary Ellen Callaghan, a woman whose beauty remains timeless whatever her age. Happy birthday, Mother.”
“Happy birthday!” The words echoed around the table.
“Thank you. All of you. And that was a lovely toast, Peter. I may just forgive you for not attending the Halloween gala on Saturday night. You were missed.” She turned her gaze upon Alex. “And so were you, Alexander.”
“I wanted to go, Mrs. C. I swear I did, but I had a trial to prepare for,” Alex offered as his excuse. “You know how it is, a D.A.’s work is never done.”
“Neither is an attorney’s,” Peter added.
“That depends on how good the attorney is,” Margee pointed out, earning a hard look from Peter. “Some of us can actually do the job and still have a social life.”
“Now, isn’t this something,” Jack offered, stirring the pot. “I’m the one who’s out there chasing down the bad guys and keeping the streets safe while you guys spend the day sitting behind your desks pushing around a bunch of paper. Yet, I’m the one who manages to make it to Mother’s gala and you don’t.”
“Not all of us have cushy jobs like yours, little brother. We don’t get to clock out at the end of a shift and go home,” Peter informed him with that “gotcha” look in his eyes.
Jack acknowledged his brother’s score with a grin. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Chasing down killers is a real cushy job.”
“Shall I serve the salad now, Mrs. Callaghan?” Tilly’s husband, Edward, asked.
“Yes, please.” And once the task had been completed, she directed her attention back to Jack. “Really, Jackson,” his mother began. She brought a hand to her throat. “You and your brother can make all the jokes you want, but every time I think of the danger you’re in, coming face-to-face with some criminal armed with a gun or heavens knows what kind of a weapon, it makes me absolutely ill.”
“Mother, I’ve been trained to handle dangerous situations. It’s my job. It’s what I do.” Wanting to ease her worries, he quipped, “Besides, haven’t you heard? Us good guys always come out on top.”
“How I wish that were true,” she told him with a sniffle. “I can’t help but wish you had stayed in law school and become a lawyer like your brother and Alexander and Margaret. Why did you have to become a police officer?”
“You know why, Mother. Law school wasn’t right for me,” Jack told her, deciding there was no point in rehashing the subject. “I would have made a lousy lawyer.”
“He’s right,” Peter announced after finishing off the better part of his salad. “Jack would be bored silly dealing with normal people. He’s much better suited to dealing with psychotics and criminals. He finds it exciting.”
“Whereas Peter’s idea of exciting is discussing contracts and corporate mergers with stuffy old geezers.”
“Not all of my clients are old geezers,” Peter advised him. “Just today I met with a beautiful and intriguing young woman.”
“Really?” his mother returned. “Do I know her family?”
“Actually, you’ve met her, Mother. Her name’s Kelly Santos. She went to high school with Meredith.”
At the mention of Kelly’s name, Jack fell silent. He studied Peter, not sure what to make of his brother’s description of Kelly. Nor was he sure why the idea that Peter might have been attracted to her disturbing.
“Kelly Santos is in New Orleans?” Meredith asked.
“Yes,” Peter confirmed.
“That name sounds so familiar,” Mrs. Callaghan said. “But I can’t seem to put a face to it.”
“You remember her, Mother. The tall, skinny blonde with spooky eyes that lived at St. Ann’s,” Meredith explained. “Last I heard she was a hotshot photographer working in New York. What’s she doing here?”
“She’s one of the beneficiaries in Sister Grace’s will. I sent her a letter, asking her to get in touch with the firm,” Peter explained.
“I didn’t realize nuns had wills,” Alicia commented, joining in the conversation. Her hazel eyes sparkled with
interest. “I mean, I always assumed that they didn’t have very much and that what they did have would go to the church or the poor when they died.”
“Actually, she didn’t have much in the way of assets—or even possessions for that matter. And most of what she did have went to the church or other members of her religious order. But she had a few personal items that she bequeathed to Kelly.”
“How fascinating,” Alicia remarked. “And this Kelly person is here to collect her inheritance?”
“I’m not sure the items that Sister Grace left her could be classified as an inheritance,” Peter commented.
“Well I certainly hope she didn’t leave her those dreadful outfits they make the nun’s wear,” Meredith remarked. She took a sip of her wine. “Not that Kelly would even want them. When I ran into her in New York a couple of years ago, I was positively salivating when I saw the gold mine of clothes she had at her disposal.” She focused on Peter. “Speaking of clothes, how did she look?”
“Nice. Really nice,” Peter said with a smile.
Meredith visibly perked up. “What did she have on?”
“I don’t know. Some kind of skirt outfit.”
“Come on, spill it, big brother,” she demanded. “Was it a designer label? I bet it was. She’s always shooting magazine spreads for the biggies like Karan and Versace and Valentino. She probably gets the stuff for free,” Meredith said. “Oh, why didn’t I become a photographer?”
“Because you like being in front of the camera, not behind it,” Peter told her.
“True,” Meredith replied, a grin on her face. “So tell me, did this skirt outfit have a jacket? Were you able to get a look at the label inside it?”
Peter laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”
Alex joined in the laughter. “Come on, Meredith. What guy knows a Valentino from a paper sack?”
“Ones who are educated,” Meredith tossed back.
“Get real,” Jack chimed in. “Do you really think we men pay attention to those things? A guy notices what’s in the clothes, not whose name is on it.”
“Jack’s right. I didn’t notice any labels. But I certainly noticed her legs. She’s got really great legs.” Peter paused and very casually, he asked, “Don’t you agree, Jack?”
