The Smoking Nun Page 11

  “Sister Trixie Lavender,” Higgs drawled, smiling down at me, his handsome face tanned and rugged, even in the gloom of the day. “What shenanigans are you knee-deep in today?”

  I hooked my arm through his and giggled. “Funny you should ask…”

  Chapter 11

  We’d decided to put going to Sister Ophelia’s on hold after running into deacons Delacorte and Cameron on our way to her place.

  Not that I suspected either of them. No. On the contrary. They were the last people on my list. But you never knew what someone might say that appeared meaningless to them, yet, turned out to be quite valuable to an investigation.

  So we offered to buy them a cup of coffee at Betty’s if they’d have a chat with us.

  That happened just after Higgs gave me all sorts of flack for meeting a strange informant-like person in the church confessional. The deacons had no idea the stern talking to they’d saved me from.

  As Delores served us in her funky, retro coffee shop, a place I’d come to love almost as much as I loved Inkerbelle’s, I assessed the two men before me.

  As we assembled in our chairs, Higgs and I on one side of the table and the deacon’s on the other, I smiled at them and their hesitant gazes.

  Sometimes I still couldn’t get over how handsome Deacon Delacorte was. His skin was the thing every female’s dreams were made of. His olive complexion glowed with good health, his cheeks benefitted from a fresh patch of color on either side, and his eyelashes, so dark and thick, made me decide I needed to invest in better mascara. That he’d escaped marriage was either pure genius or by design.

  On the other hand, Deacon Cameron looked positively harried. His eyes were red from what I figured was lack of sleep and steeped in concern as he looked at me. His pudgy hands curled around the brightly colored mug of black coffee.

  “So how can we help you, Trixie? I think we told the police everything we knew already. Did we miss something?” Deacon Cameron asked.

  I shook my head and sipped my own low-fat latté. “I don’t know if you did or not. I just want to get a feel for what your relationship with Sister Ophelia was like. I know she liked you both. She said so just before she…died. But I have to wonder if you saw or heard anything you might not consider important, but in the scheme of things is vital to finding her killer.”

  Deacon Delacorte heaved a long sigh, his gorgeous eyes sad. He’d opted for a fresh cold glass of milk, endearing him even more to me.

  “I can’t tell you how much of an impression Sister Ophelia left on me. I had only a little interaction with her because, as you know, I’m new to Our Lady, but I enjoyed every moment because she was funny and warm and, most of all, welcoming. Though, as I said at the church the night this happened, and to the police when I gave my statement, we only talked about some scripture for the youth group’s meeting, and we planned to meet later in the week once I’d researched some passages for her. Other than that, I didn’t spend much time with her. To my deep regret,” he said with a shadow of a smile.

  “So you never saw her interact with anyone you didn’t recognize or anyone suspicious?” Higgs asked, cupping his chin in his hand.

  Deacon Delacorte firmly shook his head. “I didn’t. Also, I’ve been busy settling into my new apartment and learning my duties at the church. It’s been quite hectic.”

  “What made you go outside that night, Deacon Delacorte?”

  “Please, call me Davis,” he suggested, and then he sighed, lifting his broad shoulders. “I just needed a bit of fresh air.”

  Deacon Cameron nudged him with his elbow. “C’mon now. Tell them the truth, Davis. It’ll get around anyway.”

  Both Higgs and I gave each other that look that said maybe we had something here, but Davis diffused that quickly.

  He gave us a guilty glance, folding his lean hands in front of him. “Carla Ratagucci made me feel a little uncomfortable. Not a big deal in the grand scheme of things. I only wanted to escape for a moment.”

  “Hah! No big deal? Carla’s a minx, always looking for her mate. She was a little inappropriate with Davis, is what he’s trying to say. She made the moves on him the way she does every man within a hundred yards of her. He went outside to get away from her. That’s the truth, and he shouldn’t be shy about it.”

  But Davis’s eyes were pleading—chocolate and melty and pleading. “Please understand, Miss Lavender. I don’t want gossip to take center stage here. I don’t want Miss Ratagucci harmed by any of this. You, as an ex-nun, must know what the church can be like when it comes to something of this nature. Please respect her privacy and keep this to yourself. She’s had enough to deal with after finding that…after finding that body last night. She doesn’t need more stress. I made it clear I wasn’t interested and I escaped outside. That’s all there was to it. I promise.”

  “Call me Trixie, please, and I promise the incident won’t leave my circle of trust. But I am going to talk to Carla and confirm that. I don’t have a choice. I hope you understand.”

  He sighed forlornly and looked into his mug of milk. “Of course. I understand, Trixie. You’re just checking all the boxes.”

  I reached out and patted his hand for making such a gallant gesture in light of Carla’s misbehavior. Not that it came as a surprise. He was right up Carla’s alley. Single. Handsome. Breathing.

  “She should know better, Trixie,” Deacon Cameron protested. “Davis has been ordained for a very long time. He can’t marry at this late stage in his career.”

  Well, there was that, too. “So you obviously didn’t see anything other than Sister Ophelia’s body on the ground, correct?”

  “Honestly, I was so stunned by finding her, I couldn’t believe it. My first instinct wasn’t to look for anything suspicious. My first instinct was to look for her pulse. I thought she’d had a heart attack. But that wasn’t the case.” He let his chin fall to his chest then, and Deacon Cameron patted his arm in comfort. “I wish I had more to offer. I don’t know how long she was out there, and I really don’t know who would do something like this, but I can’t get the image of her out of my head…”

  Yeah. I knew the feeling. I decided to turn to Deacon Cameron, who’d known Sister Ophelia much better and far longer.

  “Deacon Cameron? I guess the questions for you are the same. Did Sister Ophelia confide in you at all about anything she was upset about?”

  Deacon Cameron blew out a breath, his acne-scarred cheeks inflating and releasing. “No. Never. We always had so many lovely conversations about our faith and lives, but she never confided any fear of anyone or anything. She was quite the joker, too, as I’m sure you know. We laughed often,” he said, his tone suddenly somber and quiet. “I miss her laughter. I miss it a great deal.”

  I reached out and patted the back of his hand. “Me, too, Deacon Cameron. Me, too.” On a sigh, I decided to wrap this up. “And lastly, do either of you have any idea who that was in the closet or how they could have gotten there?”

  The image of that body flashed in my mind’s eye, much as I’m sure it did the deacons’, because they both turned pale and squirmed in their seats. Yet they both shook their heads in negative fashion, making me almost sigh out loud.

  This was the Sahara Desert of questioning. It was dry. There wasn’t anything here. Not that I could tell, anyway. Both Higgs and I knew it as we passed each other glances that said as much.

  Taking the last sip of my coffee, I pulled a few dollars out of my purse, but Deacon Delacorte held up his hand as he, too, rose. “I’ve got this, Trixie,” he offered generously as he pulled out an odd-looking piece of paper from his pocket, but he stopped short and gave me a sheepish grin. “Sorry. That’s Chinese money. Must have left it in my pocket when I got back and forgotten about it. But no worries. Allow me, please.”

  “Thanks, Deacon Delacorte. Appreciate it.”

  I smiled at the deacons and stuck out my hand to Davis first—because, he looked so sad.

  “Gentleman, thank you for e
ntertaining my flights of fancy. You never know what could strike one person as totally inconsequential, only to find it’s a very important detail. I just had to be sure nothing was missed. Thanks for indulging me. I hope to see you both at Sunday mass.”

  They both took my hand, but when I took Deacon Cameron’s, he winced…and I noticed a small, round, bright red mark on the side of his broad hand.

  He pulled his hand from mine and winced. “Lighting those candles in the rectory gets me every time,” he complained with a brief smile before he followed Davis out of the dining area and headed to the door.

  As Higgs and I made our exit, too, and we stepped out into the cool rain, I tucked my purse under my arm and asked, “Tell me something, Higgs.”

  He put his hand at my lower back, a gesture I’d come to welcome. “What would you like me to tell you, Sister Trixie?”

  I stopped just as we made our way over the rough terrain of the sidewalk, crossing my arms over my chest. “Did you see the mark on Deacon Cameron’s hand?”

  “I didn’t see it closely, no.”

  “Couldn’t that mark on his hand have been a burn mark from a cigarette? It’s the right size and shape.”

  “What are you implying?”

  “I’m implying that maybe we just let our killer get away. If he strangled Sister Ophelia while she still had a cigarette in her hand, when she reached up to pull his hands away from her neck, maybe she burned him?”

  I demonstrated by wrapping my hands around my neck and pointing to the spot on my hand where Deacon Cameron’s burn would land.

  Higgs planted his hands on his hips and gave me a puzzled look. “Well, first, she’d have had to keep a pretty good grip on it. If he were strangling her, I imagine in her shock, she would have dropped it. Or maybe she used it as a weapon of sorts? To make the killer let her go. Either way, I guess it’s entirely possible. But what’s his motive, Trixie? According to him, and everyone around him, they had a good relationship. What’s in it for him? What does he gain by murdering her? And why the brutality to it? Strangulation is an angry act. Deacon Cameron doesn’t seem at all angry to me. He seems sad she’s gone.”

  “Well, some people hide it better than others, don’t they? We all hide our feelings from the world from time to time. Maybe Sister Ophelia made him angry.”

  “When you strangle someone to death, that’s pretty angry, Trixie. Yes, the mark on his hand is suspicious because of Sister Ophelia’s smoking, but I have trouble believing Deacon Cameron had anything to do with it. Either deacons, in fact.”

  “Maybe the cigarette was still in her mouth and when he went to strangle her, she nicked him with it?”

  “Maybe,” he replied, but he didn’t sound at all convinced.

  I flapped a hand at him and smiled as we began to walk again. “Fine. I’m just spit-balling here, but you’re probably right. I mean, Deacon Cameron’s a pussycat and Deacon Delacorte’s too dreamy to strangle anyone.”

  Higgs’s raven eyebrow rose in surprised fashion. “Dreamy?”

  I grinned up at him. “Super-dreamy. Everyone says so.”

  “Oh, do they?” he drawled. “Define ‘everyone.’”

  “Careful, ex-Undercover Officer Higglesworth, your jealousy is showing.”

  “I’m not jealous. I’m just surprised. He’s a man of the cloth. Carla, I understand. She’s a bit forward about any man who interests her, but everyone thinks Deacon Delacorte’s dreamy? Everyone?”

  “He is indeed a man of the cloth, but a deacon can be attractive, Higgs. Carla’s out of line, no doubt. But she treats most men that way.”

  Higgs made a mock swipe of his forehead. “Then I worry for Carla’s immortal soul. You know, I was raised Catholic, but I don’t remember any of the rules for deacons.”

  I popped my lips. “Some married men can become permanent deacons, but they need the consent of their wives and they have to marry before ordination. Deacon Dreamy is a transitional deacon, meaning he can’t marry after his ordination and definitely can’t marry after he’s been ordained.”

  “As if it wasn’t already confusing enough. I guess my lack of knowledge about the Catholic Church is showing.”

  Folding my hands behind my back, I asked, “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you, how do you know Father Rico, anyway? I was surprised you knew a priest.”

  “I feel like you’re insulting me, Trixie Lavender. Why is it so hard to believe I know a priest?”

  Rolling my eyes, I giggled. “I don’t mean it like that and you know it. I mean, I didn’t know you were religious, per se.”

  “I guess I’m not really. Not in the technical sense anyway. I don’t light candles or confess my sins or anything. I definitely don’t have time to attend services, but I was raised Catholic and went to church with my family all the time. However, I do believe in being a good person, and if, in the end, Heaven exists and it’s where I end up because I really tried to be a good person, great. If not, I just hope I end up in a place with burgers and steak.”

  I tipped my head back and laughed. “You know what they say about wish in one hand… You’d better be careful what you say out loud, or you’re going to land in Soup or Salad for all eternity.”

  “Perish the thought,” he joked with a grin. “Anyway, Father Rico. Um, we met at a racquetball court shortly after I moved here. His partner stood him up and so did mine, so we played against each other, hit it off, and we’ve been friendly ever since. He’s a great resource for the shelter.”

  “Good to know. Did he ever tell you what the inspiration was for him to become a man of the cloth?”

  Higgs put his hand at my elbow, guiding me around a crowd of people outside a small luncheonette. “He didn’t. How do you know what inspired him?”

  I winked. “Tansy.” As I told him what I’d learned about Father Rico’s past, we continued walking until we were well into a pleasant-enough neighborhood lined with houses of similar height and shape.

  We came to a stop in front of the modest building Sister Ophelia had lived in with some nuns from another order. I’d learned most of the nuns housed here were from St. Andrews, another Catholic church in Cobbler Cove, not Our Lady. So fortunately, no one would likely know me, which would work in my favor if my plans to get inside panned out.

  The building was two stories in a deep red brick, with a nice walkway to the stairs lined with budding tulips and daffodils. The front porch was small but obviously put to good use, considering the rocking chairs and the little table between them with some kind of plant or another.

  I hitched my thumb over my shoulder. “So, are you game to go fish around inside Sister Ophelia’s?”

  “How are you going to get inside, Trixie? Don’t the nuns know you?”

  “Nope. It’s my understanding; most of the nuns here are from St. Andrews. They were kind enough to allow Sister Ophelia to move here recently because it’s closer to Our Lady and the walking from her last residence was starting to bother her arthritic knees.” I looked up at him and smiled. “So I ask again, are you up for a fishing expedition?”

  Higgs gave me a skeptical glance, his eyes narrowing, his eyebrow rising. “Did Tansy give us permission to go fishing?”

  “Nope again. She didn’t answer me back when I asked, but the police have already done a search, and we are sort of already here…”

  Higgs gave me that look he’s so good at giving me when he disapproves of my tactics but wants in on the hunt.

  I squinted up at him, standing against the backdrop of the gray clouds and sprouting trees, and asked, “Does that look mean I’m going it alone?”

  He sighed, his broad chest inflating. “How exactly do you plan to get in there, Trixie? Wouldn’t it just be easier to wait for Tansy’s permission?”

  I think we both knew Tansy wasn’t likely to give me permission to do a search of Sister Ophelia’s room. Sure, she gave me access to the people involved in a crime, but that was only after she’d had a right and proper go at them.
>
  I got the leftovers, and that was fine—mostly. Sifting through someone’s things was likely a whole different ball of wax—it was new territory I hadn’t tested with her yet.

  Plus, I really needed to see if what I’d sketched might have something to do with Sister Ophelia. Maybe she had a television that looked like the one I’d drawn—or rather the one Artur had drawn—which would, in all honesty, likely freak me out a little.

  How was my demon seeing a personal item if it did turn out the TV was in Sister Ophelia’s room, after all? I’d never been to Sister O’s. I didn’t even know where she’d lived until I’d asked another nun. Was Artur the Demon leaving my body and somehow running wild and free?

  It’s not as though I even knew he was there when he wasn’t actively turning me into a raging bull. Maybe he had more power than even I knew and that made me shiver.

  “Trixie?” Higgs said, cutting my scary thoughts off. “How do you plan to get into Sister O’s room?”

  I smiled at him. In fact, I summoned the best smile I knew how to smile. I summoned the fun, flirty smile Coop tried to replicate à la Joan Collins on Dynasty.

  “How do I plan to get in there?” I drawled, widening my eyes before letting them smolder. “You’re so silly. These were once my people, Oh, Ye of Little Faith. I’ll do what I do best. Play the part of a grieving niece who happens to be an ex-nun.”

  Chapter 12

  I knocked on the colorful door to the housing unit, praying whoever was in there would allow me inside.

  When the periwinkle-blue door opened, a smiling, fresh face looked back at me. She had a sprinkling of freckles over the bridge of her nose, an innocent twinkle in her lovely dark brown eyes, and a beaming smile on her lips. She wore her full nun garb and a rosary at her hips that she busily threaded through her fingers.