House of the Rising Nun Page 2

  After my talk with a stylist named Lucinda, a woman I’d interviewed for the last crime I’d been mixed up in, I’d taken some of her advice and set about making the most of my average looks. She didn’t call me average; that’s just the truth of the matter.

  “Trixie? Are you listening?”

  Brushing on some lip gloss, I tilted my head, liking the way the pale pink caught the light. “Sorry. Say again?”

  “I said, being a nun isn’t a very glamorous costume.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but nuns aren’t very glamorous, Coop. They lead simple, quiet lives and wear the outfits to match.”

  As we’d pondered over what to wear to the shelter Halloween party, we—or rather, I—laughed and laughed at the idea of doing a role swap—sort of a private joke only we’d get, you know? I suggested Coop dress as a nun, and I’d be the devil.

  I’d laughed even harder when we went costume shopping and I put on a pair of horns and a tail.

  Coop? Not so much. She’d said, “You look nothing like the devil, Trixie Lavender.”

  And I’d asked in a mixture of abject horror and curiosity, “What does the devil look like?”

  She’d said, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

  I’d said (because how is one supposed to know if she’s pulling your leg when she can’t use facial expressions and she truly is more than capable of killing someone?), “Seriously? That’s harsh. It’s not like I’m ever going to have to identify him in a lineup.”

  Then she’d put her hand on my arm, another of several firsts for Coop these days, and laughed her fake laugh. “No. I don’t have to kill you…but I’d rather not tell you. You won’t believe me.”

  So I’d coaxed her. “Aw, c’mon, Coop. What does he look like?”

  “Jason Momoa.”

  I’d stared at her, unblinking, my shock plain on my face. “Really? The guy from Game of Thrones?”

  I’d begun to branch out with my binge watching as of late after watching nearly every mystery show since the beginning of television (which might be a clue as to what my personal life is like), and am currently in the height of Game of Thrones.

  She’d stared right back at me, equally unblinking, and said, “No. I’m just joking.”

  Man, I’ll tell you, if she ever needs to bluff at Texas Hold ’Em, she’s a shoe-in. Then I’d laughed and explained I didn’t necessarily need to look like the devil as much as resemble a symbolic figure for people to understand my costume.

  After that, we’d settled on my devil costume and her nun costume, and believe me when I tell you, I laughed over the irony of our outfits enough for the both of us.

  Spritzing myself with some new perfume I’d purchased, I looked around for my pitchfork in my small bedroom, with its bed so puffy and wonderful, made up with crisp white linens and a duvet cover in white with tiny blue flowers.

  A pitchfork is something else Coop informed me the devil doesn’t have.

  Also good to know, if you’re ever in the position where you need to identify him, that is. You’ll know he’s a cheap knockoff if he has a pitchfork.

  I saw it sitting on the small, cream-colored wingback chair with a matching faux fur throw, and went to grab it to take with me.

  “So, have you heard from Father O’Leary since his last call?” she asked, her tone pensive.

  My breath caught in my throat. Just as we’d been sending the group of bikers who’d been enmeshed in the death of their friend back home to LA, Father O’Leary, the priest I’d retrieved that darn relic for—and, as you know, the man and mentor who’d started all this mess with my demonic possession—had called.

  We’d only chatted about pleasantries for a moment before his voice had changed, and he’d suddenly been in some huge rush to get to the task of listening to daily confessions. But I’m here to tell you—he had something on his mind.

  Something he’d been dead set on telling me—or at least I think that was the intent of the call—until he’d chickened out. Or the sudden change in the tone of his voice sounded as though he’d chickened out.

  But he had, in fact, apologized to me for his involvement in the Great Mooning Incident of 2017. And to me, that meant he’d remembered something. But what he’d remembered remains a mystery. I tried calling him back and I’d left dozens of messages, but to no avail.

  Before that call, the last we’d spoken was when my fellow nuns had my feet to the fire over my involvement in taking the relic—and he’d claimed quite vehemently, by the way, that he hadn’t asked me to retrieve it for him at all. Which, as you also know, is what got me booted out of Saint Aloysius By The Sea.

  So I shook my head and frowned. “Nope. He hasn’t called back, and he hasn’t returned any of my calls, either. Which says to me, if he had something important to share other than his apology, he chickened out, or maybe someone came into the room—someone who wouldn’t like hearing he remembers what happened that night.”

  “Do you want me to visit him with my sword and make him squeal like a pig?” Coop asked, her dead gaze almost frighteningly intense, until I put my hand on her arm.

  I shook a finger at her in warning. “No, Coop. No, I do not want you to pay Father O’Leary a visit with King Arthur and make him oink. Understand?”

  Livingston and I had jokingly named Coop’s beloved sword after the legendary Excalibur tale. Coop didn’t really understand our joke, but in her effort to be included, she’d gone along for the ride.

  “It was only a suggestion. I would never slice his head off unless you gave me the thumbs-up, Trixie.”

  Grabbing my purse and throwing it around my neck, I frowned again. “To be clear, I’ll never give you the thumbs-up to kill Father O’Leary, or probably anyone.” Then I smiled and changed the subject. “Now let’s get Livingston and get ready to partay!”

  Coop gave me a sharp nod. “Will there be dancing at this gathering, Trixie?”

  That stopped me at the threshold of my bedroom. “I don’t know. But if I know Higgs, there’ll be music. Why?”

  Higgs loved music as much as I did, a nice mix of ’70s and ’80s, which reminded us of our parents, along with some classical thrown in for good measure. We’d seen a couple of free concerts together over the summer and created some very fond memories.

  She sighed, her gorgeous face peeking out from her habit with clear uncertainty. “I don’t know how to dance, Trixie.”

  “Aw, lass. Surely they taught ya the Electric Slide in Hell?” Livingston hooted from his cage, his dog-ear headband flopping to the side of his round head. As an ode to Jeff, we also thought it would be funny to dress Livingston up as a dog.

  Jeff did think it was funny. In fact, when we gave him a preview of the costume on our favorite mouthy owl, he’d rolled around on the living room floor, he’d laughed so hard.

  Livingston, on the other hand? Not so much. He’d threatened to swoop down in the dark o’ night and eat Jeff by plucking his intestines through his belly button. We, of course, chastised Livingston for saying something so unseemly, and then we laughed later on behind closed doors at how hysterical he looked.

  “What is the Electric Slide, Trixie?”

  Grabbing my keys and purse from the soft-white table in our entryway, I pointed to the door as she gathered Livingston and set him on her shoulder. “It’s a dance everyone does together in a line. I can show you. I think I remember how to do it, but don’t worry about it, Coop. Let’s just go and relax and have fun. No pressure to be anything but yourself. Okay?”

  She looked skeptical, but she always looked either mad or skeptical. “All right, but I draw the line at a waltz. Both Alexis and Crystal can waltz, and I’ll never be that graceful. I can’t even smile. How can I possibly waltz?”

  That made me laugh as we stepped out into the rainy, cold night. “I don’t think there’ll be any waltzing. Can you see King Solomon trying to waltz? Though, I do know there’s going to be a dunking-for-apples contest. I bet you’ll be aces at
it.”

  Coop paused on our front steps decorated with a line of jack-o’-lanterns, somehow still lit despite the howling wind. “Should I bring my sword to ensure I get an apple?”

  Livingston and I both yelped, “No!”

  Then she threw her head back and laughed her practiced laugh—which I have to admit, she’s getting much better at.

  “I was only making a funny. You two are so gullible,” she joked in her deadpan tone.

  As the wind whipped my freshly blow-dried hair, and the rain stung my face with cold pelts of water, I pointed to the car. “Incorrigible!” I shouted into the wind, shaking a finger at her. “You are incorrigible, demon!”

  And then I laughed again right there in the cold rain…because I never forgot every opportunity to laugh was a reminder we were all alive and well.

  But most importantly—we were together.

  Chapter 2

  “Wow!” I exclaimed as we entered the rec room at the shelter, threading our way through the throngs of people to the long table filled with tons of goodies for the homeless, thanks to our generous community.

  As we’d driven along the streets to get here, I was thrilled to see so many shops participating in Halloween. The stores were lined with lights and decorations to celebrate, and on Halloween, many of them left bowls of candy outside on the off chance some children dropped by.

  While Coop situated Livingston on a bar hung especially for him by Higgs, music drifted to my ears, and as predicted, “Witchy Woman” by the Eagles played. And there were actually some people dancing in the middle of the room. I recognized Delores from Betty’s Coffee Shop, dancing with Fester Little from the sewing machine repair store, but I couldn’t pinpoint very many due to their costumes.

  However, I was thrilled to see so many people attending. From shop owners to some of the police officers I’d met in the recent weeks, and even one of Cobbler Cove’s dentists, Dr. Fabrizio, who’d donated goodie bags filled with toothpaste and toothbrushes. Items the homeless could always use. He wasn’t wearing a costume, but he’d shown up and that was all that mattered.

  I hoped his partner, Dr. Mickey, as the guys at the shelter called him, was here, too. He was an incredibly generous man. He gave freely to the shelter with his time, often spending long hours here, giving no-strings-attached dental care to those in need two times a week.

  Both Coop and I loved him because he was always laughing and smiling, but more importantly, he was as gentle as anyone could be when it came to coaxing one of the Peach Street folks into his dentist’s chair.

  I saw Coop wave at a very tall zombie, prompting me to ask, “Who’s that?”

  “Dr. Mickey. He told me he was coming dressed as a zombie. I like Dr. Mickey so-so much. He said he’d clean my teeth because it’s important I take good care of them. I’ve never had my teeth cleaned, but I can’t wait.”

  I laughed as I lifted my hand and waved to him, too. He tipped his glass of punch at me and smiled warmly. “Coop, you’re the only person I know who actually wants to go to the dentist.”

  “But don’t all humans go to the dentist?” she asked.

  “They do, but most of us don’t go willingly, and we sure aren’t excited about it. But I can see why Dr. Mickey would inspire you. He’s a lovely man.”

  Seeing everyone having such a good time, drinking punch and munching on sugary popcorn balls and chips, made me so happy for Higgs.

  He’d worked hard to try to keep the reputation of the shelter and its donations as transparent as he could after his best friend was caught laundering money right under his nose. He’d pounded the pavement for donations, and it looked as though it had paid off.

  “What a turnout, huh?”

  Coop nodded, her eyes bright as she spied the big plastic bowls of candy and plastic cups filled with apple cider and lemonade. “I helped Higgs fill those bowls.”

  I winked at her and grinned. “You’re a good egg, Coop DeVille. I can’t tell you how proud I am that you’re so involved here at the shelter. Or maybe invested is a better word. When your heart’s in the right place, it becomes evident in the work you do.”

  She yanked the sides of her mouth up in the smile she’d been working so hard to perfect. “I helped with the decorations, too.”

  And what a fine job she’d done. Inkerbelle’s, Knuckles, and Goose had donated to the decorating fund. Then Higgs and I had gone to the Dollar Store together, hunting down bargains and laughing like two kids while we tried on masks, and held up plastic skeletons and tissue-paper pumpkins for approval.

  But Coop had really outdone herself with the goodies we’d chosen. She’d strung black and orange lights interspersed with some purple throughout the large space, from one end of the ceiling to the other, making the room glow with a spooky element. Paper pumpkins hung from the ceiling side by side with skeletons and orange and black streamers.

  She’d situated scary masks on the walls and hung them on coat racks. Dried ice filled a cauldron, and streams of smoke blew upward until they dissipated as Cal Hallows—Higgs’s new social worker, dressed as the manliest witch I’d ever seen—stirred his pretend witch’s brew.

  But the icing on the cake was the lifelike Frankenstein that Coop and Higgs had built from an old mannequin donated by Marcy Krasinski, from the small clothing boutique two streets over called Paisley’s, which I’d been informed was named after her daughter. It was incredible, from the head they’d made out of papier-mâché to the boots of its oversized feet. He stood in the corner, a purple plastic pumpkin around his wrist, brimming with candy.

  I sighed a happy sigh. I loved Halloween, and it was a treat to get the chance to celebrate it for the first time in a long time. “That Frankenstein is really quite something, Coop. You guys did the most amazing job!”

  “Didn’t she? We spent a lot of hours getting that right, didn’t we, Coop?”

  I turned around at the sound of Higgs’s voice—but I wasn’t prepared for what I was about to see. However, the moment I got a really good look at him, I laughed so hard, I had to bend at the waist because my stomach hurt.

  He’d kept his costume a secret, and now I understood why.

  “Who are you?” I gasped the words as I plucked at his ornate bikini top in gold beads, just barely covering his broad chest.

  “Duh,” he said on a chuckle as he swung his long black ponytail over his shoulder and gave me a smoldering glance. “Nicki Minaj. You know, from her ‘Anaconda’ video.” He shimmied his shoulders for effect with a hearty laugh.

  I couldn’t help it, I began to giggle all over again. It takes a secure man to don a bikini top and black booty shorts, let alone wear a fake ponytail, chunky gold bangle bracelets, and sparkly gold eyeshadow to match.

  I didn’t think my respect for him could have grown any more, but it hit a new high tonight.

  When I finally caught my breath, I clapped my hands. “Bravo, ex-undercover police officer. You look amazing!”

  He winked at me, his fake eyelashes sweeping his high cheekbones. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Sister Trixie. You’re the cutest devil I’ve seen all night.”

  My cheeks burned red and hot, the way they always did when Higgs complimented me. “But I’ll never be as pretty as you, Cross Higglesworth,” I teased. “Hey, have you seen Knuckles and Goose?”

  “Are you kidding? The lady lawyers from Stein and Sampson can’t keep their hands off them,” he said, pointing a finger, complete with a press-on nail, to a corner, where two of my favorite men stood—dressed as Inspector Clouseau and Columbo—surrounded by Little Bo Peep, Elvira, and I think Madonna.

  I held my hands to my heart, letting out a gusty sigh. “My dream dates all in one room. Isn’t it romantic, Higgs… er, I mean, Nicki?”

  He grinned, his ruby-red, overdrawn lips rising upward in typical Higgs fashion. “I’ll say. All we need is Sherlock Holmes, and I won’t stand a chance with you.”

  My cheeks burned brighter than ever, so I giggled to cover up
my shyness and looked around for my buddy, who was never very far from Higgs. “Hey, where’s Jeff?”

  Higgs pointed to the snack table—where the local catering company, Thyme to Eat, had donated appetizers—and sighed, putting his hands on his hips. “Where do you think he is? Praying someone drops some bacon-wrapped shrimp or a weenie in a blanket. That’s where.”

  I barked another laugh at his costume. Jeff was dressed as a taco, and an adorable one at that. I’m sure he wasn’t thrilled to be stuffed into a costume, but I was also sure he’d grouse at me later about the indignity of it all.

  I watched him as he sat by the feet of someone dressed as a mummy, his eyes hopeful and round, and smiled fondly. I loved Jeff, even if he resembled a twelve-year-old boy in a dog’s body.

  “You want me to grab him?”

  Higgs grabbed my wrist and gave it a light squeeze, his eyes pleading with mine. “Would you? I have to go check on Griffin. Madge’s been at it again with that crazy story about the Organ Grinder. She’s scaring the pants off Solomon and the rest of the crew.”

  “Still? I thought that was just some Cobbler Cove urban legend. Didn’t you explain that to her once?” I loved Madge, as kooky as she was, but her stories ranged from just a little out there to all-out bonkers.

  Higgs grimaced. “I’m telling you, Trixie, I don’t know how many times I have to tell her, people come and go from the streets all the time. Nobody is kidnapping them and stealing their organs, but she’s convinced Lazlo Reynolds has been taken for his body parts.”

  “Well, she is right in that we haven’t seen Lazlo in a little while, but didn’t Cal say he saw him getting on a bus bound for Seattle?”

  Higgs bounced his head. “Yep, and while it’s not likely he’d be able to come up with the money for a ticket to Seattle—even by bus—it’s not impossible, either. They do panhandle over on Benson all the time. It’s not that big of a stretch to think he could collect enough for a bus ticket, and he did talk about having an ex-wife in Washington. He talked about her all the time to the guys.”