A Perfect Grave Part 21

This is all you are and all you will be.

This is your life.

Right here. Right now.

Henry's finger is on the trigger.

Shoot. Don't shoot.

Don't let me die!

Chapter Twenty-Nine.

Sister Denise's anguish intensified after they'd returned to Seattle and were immersed in the large reception at the shelter.

It was noisy and chaotic. So many people had donated food, had volunteered to help, and so many offered their condolences. Strangers, like this woman and boy who'd approached her.

"I'm Rhonda Boland," the woman took Denise's hand. "This is my son Brady."

"I met Sister Anne at my school," Brady said.

"h.e.l.lo, dear. Sister Anne just loved going to the schools." Denise smiled.

"We wanted to come to pay our respects. She was so kind to Brady. He'd lost his dad a while ago."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. We will pray for you."

"Thank you," Rhonda said, "but since then, Brady has-"

Rhonda was uncertain how, or if, she should tell this nun standing before her, this complete stranger, that she was terrified for her son and thought that maybe it was selfish at a time like this to even raise his situation. While Rhonda grappled with her emotions, Brady just came out and said it.

"I'm real sick and I need a major operation and we're kind of scared about it."

"Oh, no, sweetheart," Sister Denise said. "We'll say many prayers for you and include you in the ma.s.ses in the Archdiocese."

"Thank you, Sister," Rhonda said.

"Thanks," Brady said.

"Well, it's exactly what Sister Anne would've done. Thank you both for coming."

Those warm condolences from strangers were like balm for Denise.

Still, she remained conflicted until she found a moment and the courage to pull Sister Vivian aside.

"Sister, I think we should tell the police about Anne's journal."

"This is not the time, Denise."

"The other sisters have a right to know who she was. That she also made mistakes in her youth, whatever they were."

"Sister, I remind you to keep this information confidential. It is private and the journal is property of the Order."

"We should share it with the police. They've asked for our help about her past."

"You don't understand. We must do all we can to take care of her memory."

"I understand."

"I don't think you do."

"I had my hands in her blood, Vivian! I understand!"

"Lower your voice." Vivian saw Sister Ruth coming. "This discussion is over. I'll consider your concerns."

After Denise left, Sister Ruth touched Vivian's arm, then pointed to two uniformed cops who were talking to people taking notes.

"The officers want to talk to you."

Vivian nodded. "First, I need to talk to Father Mercer in the office. I'll be out in a few minutes."

On her way back to her post at the serving table, Denise was approached by a small group of kindly paris.h.i.+oners who placed envelopes in her hand containing cash donations.

"Thank you. G.o.d bless you."

Denise headed for the office, to put the donations in a safe place. She saw the door was open a crack and overheard Vivian talking to Father Mercer.

"Jeb, any luck on finding out who screened her? She wrote here..." Denise couldn't believe her eyes. Vivian was showing Mercer the journal. "...she wrote Sister M."

"May I see that and the date?" After consulting it, Mercer said, "That would be Marie when she was in Paris."

"Is she still living?"

"I believe so. In Montana, or Canada, the western part, Calgary, I think. I'll keep going through my personal files and make some calls."

"I want to know more about Anne's past and if it has anything to do with these cryptic writings in her journal, her agonizing over sins she'd committed. Was there something that was missed when she was screened?"

"Oh Viv, when young women want to enter the Order, they often overdramatize their lives, you know that."

"In Anne's case we don't know what she confided to her screener."

"Do you think it's a factor in her death?"

"Only G.o.d knows."

"And the person who killed her," Father Mercer said. "Such a cold-blooded, vile act. May I take Anne's journal with me to read tonight? I'll return it to you before I fly back to Maine tomorrow morning."

"Absolutely."

Mercer flipped the pages.

"I vaguely recall Marie telling me that there was something a little disconcerting about Anne Braxton's history prior to her taking her vows."

"Jeb, it's my duty to find out as much information as we can, so I can determine what we should do."

Denise jumped when a hand grabbed her shoulder. She turned to see Paula and caught her breath. Paula pa.s.sed her a copy of the Mirror. Mirror. The nuns had been so busy, none of them had seen the papers this morning. The nuns had been so busy, none of them had seen the papers this morning.

"Look at this," Paula said.

"Goodness." Denise devoured the article and said, "My Lord."

"There's a rumor going around that police arrested Cooper just as the service was ending," Paula said.

"To talk to him, probably. He likely saw something."

"No. People who saw him get arrested are saying the police were acting like Coop was a suspect."

Denise began shaking her head.

"No, no way. Cooper adored her, he would never touch a hair on her head."

"Our people say police are calling him a prime suspect."

"No, not Cooper. Oh no!"

Chapter Thirty.

Jason's stomach churned with the sick feeling every reporter dreads.

He was missing the story.

They'd arrested somebody at Sister Anne's funeral but he didn't know who and he didn't know why. Was it Cooper? Were they questioning him about the stranger he'd seen arguing with Sister Anne, the guy who stole the knife from the shelter?

Jason didn't know.

No one would tell him anything and not knowing was killing him. He glanced at the clock in the Mirror Mirror's cafeteria, resisting the aroma of frying bacon, burgers, and fries. Grabbing only a coffee for his dinner, to go with a plate of adrenaline and fear, he apologized to the early night crews inching their trays toward the cash register.

He jumped the queue and left two crumpled bills without waiting for change.

He had no time.

He had to find out what happened at the funeral. He'd called every source he had, except Detective Grace Garner. He'd burned a bridge there. At this point, his best hope was his old man.

He took a hit of coffee and felt a pang of guilt.

His dad had enough c.r.a.p on his mind. Having to carry a gun again had resurrected the pain of seeing his partner's suicide. Blowing his brains out before his eyes. Blowing his brains out before his eyes. It explained all the turmoil in their lives and why his mother walked out on them all those years ago. It explained all the turmoil in their lives and why his mother walked out on them all those years ago.

Man oh man.

Jason made a mental promise to talk about it all with his dad. But later, after he had his story under control. Until then, he needed his father to pump his old friends inside the Seattle PD for information.

Jason stepped aside, reached for his cell phone and made the call.

"Hey Dad. You get anything?"

"Not much, I'm afraid."

"d.a.m.n."

"You know that earlier they'd developed a list of ex-cons, parolees who are regulars at the shelter."

"Yeah."

"Creeps with violent pasts."

"Yeah, yeah, like the usual suspects."

"All of them have been eliminated, cleared."

"So what happened at the funeral today?"

"I wish I knew. I asked about that."

"Did you push hard?"

"I've got to be careful, Jay, I can't risk my license."

"I know. Sorry."

"Of course I pushed, but none of my guys would breathe a word."

"Which means that whatever happened is huge. I don't like this."

"I'll do my best, son."

"Dad, it's fine, thanks. How're you doing? With everything, I mean?"