The Smoking Nun: Book 4 Nun of Your Business Mysteries

by Dakota Cassidy

  “We only have the prior time you’ve done this to go on, and back then it turned out to be a clue. One we didn’t understand, but a clue regardless. I think that’s the angle we should take, Trixie Lavender.”

  I ran a hand through my hair, sighing a ragged breath. “Okay, that aside, why is he showing up after all this time?”

  Jeff suddenly dropped to his haunches and cocked his head. “You know, you guys are always wicked bangin’ on this demon in Trixie, but did ya ever consider he might be one of the good ones? Like Coop? She’s not a bad demon. Neither am I.”

  Huh. I hadn’t thought about that side of the coin. Not even once. But… “If this thing in me’s so good, why did it moon the sisters at the convent, and why does it rage the way it does? It turns me into a monster, Jeff.”

  “You say monster, I say misguided,” he joked. “Maybe we’re goin’ about this all wrong.”

  I held up a hand as my phone buzzed with the sound of a text. “Maybe we are, but I have my doubts. Still, let’s table that discussion and figure out who murdered Sister O. Artur and his shenanigans can wait.”

  Glancing down at my phone on the nightstand, I cocked my head. It was from someone anonymous.

  I have information about Sister Ophelia’s murder to share with you. Meet me at Our Lady at two p.m. today. I’ll be in the confessional. Leave your phone on the altar and come alone. If you alert the police, I’ll know.

  Chapter 9

  “Okay, so here’s what I’ve got so far. You guys with me?” I asked Coop, Livingston, and Jeff as I pointed to my notes.

  “Roight there wit ya, Miss Marple,” Livingston teased, his glassy eyes widening as he pecked at some raspberry pastries Knuckles had dropped off before leaving to open Inkerbelle’s.

  I narrowed my gaze at him and shook a finger. “Don’t you start, too, Funny Man.” Rubbing my hands together, I spread out my notes on our dining room table and fought a yawn.

  I guess I’d really slept last night, because the aftereffects felt a bit like a hangover, even after a shower. I had a meeting with an unknown person at two and the curiosity was killing me. To keep my mind busy, I decided to jot down some notes and do as Coop suggested while she scanned some Facebook pages.

  Most of which brought us nothing of value. But sometimes, talking it out aloud helped. Pointing to the lined paper, I looked over what I’d scribbled.

  “So, here’s our timeline. Sister O was strangled to death, right? She’d gone out to smoke a cigarette. She was obviously stressed about something. Or at least she said that’s typically when she smokes—in times of stress.”

  “Yes, and shortly before she went out to smoke, she told Father Rico she needed to speak with him,” Coop chimed in as she leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table.

  “But before that, she had a run-in with Daniel Coletti, where he threatened to kill her about a failing grade.”

  Coop cracked her knuckles and settled into her chair. “But he has a solid alibi, according to Tansy. He’s off the table. That brings us back to Father Rico.”

  “Right. But we don’t know what Sister O wanted to talk to him about because Father Rico was preparing to kick off the speed-dating event and he cut her short.”

  Coop held up a finger to interrupt. “Speaking of the speed-dating event, may I ask a question that’s been puzzling me since that night?”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I nodded. “Of course, Coop.”

  “I’d forgotten all about this until you mentioned the speed dating. What exactly does ‘can I follow you? Because my mother told me to follow my dreams’ mean?”

  Both Livingston and I looked at Coop with blank stares. “Whatever are ya goin’ on about, Coopie? What kind of nonsense gobbledygook is that?”

  She pursed her lips. “Someone said those words to me at the speed-dating event. Someone else said, ‘Kissing burns five calories a minute. How about a workout?’”

  Both Livingston and I laughed out loud, and Jeff, at Coop’s feet, snorted.

  “That’s called a pickup line, Coop. Someone was trying to pick you up,” I informed her, patting her hand with a grin.

  She sat up straight, her beautiful face contorting. “Pick me up? No one tried to pick me up, Trixie Lavender, and I wouldn’t have let them had they tried. Besides, I’m probably too heavy for most of the men I met to pick up.”

  Now we laughed even harder as I shook my head. “No, Coop. Not literally pick your body up—”

  “Oh, I dunno, lass. In Coopie’s case, I think that’s exactly what that means!” And then Livingston laughed harder.

  Coop eyed us with one of her infamous dead stares coupled with some icy daggers on the side. “I don’t know if you can tell from my face, but I am not amused. I’m asking a genuine question about you humans and you’re mocking me.”

  Which only made us laugh harder.

  When I finally caught my breath, I had to wipe the tears from my eyes. “No, Coop. I promise I’m not mocking you. Your innocence is a breath of fresh air, but sometimes it catches me off guard. Now, when I say they were trying to pick you up, I mean they were using their words in the hopes you’d find them clever enough to want to date them. Lines like, ‘Are you lost? Because Heaven is a long way from here’ implies you’re an angel and you fell from Heaven. It’s mostly a compliment, if not a really cheesy one.”

  Coop looked affronted, maybe even offended. “That’s ridiculous. Angels don’t fall from Heaven. They do something bad and get kicked out.”

  I bobbed my head, my eyes returning to my notes. I didn’t want to know how she knew that specific detail

  “Yep. Definitely a discussion for another time.”

  “You always say that,” she replied, rolling her eyes the way she’d seen Brenda do in reruns of 90210. That was her latest binging passion, and she loved Brenda.

  “And you always impart a new detail about your supernaturalness, and the backstory’s always something I’m not sure I’m quite prepared to hear. But we can go into greater depth about the speed dating later if you need to. In the meantime, let’s move on, okay?” Clearing my throat, I swallowed another giggle. “So where were we?”

  “Speed datin’, Coop style,” Jeff said on a laugh, rolling to his back.

  “Right. Okay, so after Sister Ophelia told Father Rico she needed to speak with him, she went out to smoke. But we’re forgetting the conversation Sister Ann overheard in the closet at the school. That happened a couple of days before her death and before the event. From the sounds of it, someone was confessing an affair to Sister O because she caught her in the act and it was quite possibly another nun. But apparently, Sister O made it clear to this person she should fess up. So that’s certainly motive for murder, right?”

  “But ’twould a nun resort to murder, Trixie?” Livingston squawked. “I’m havin’ trouble reconcilin’ that and attributin’ it to a vessel of the Lord.”

  “Anyone is capable of murder, Livingston,” Coop assured us. “Believe me when I tell you, there have been many men of the cloth in Hell.”

  “You just love to shatter a good illusion, don’t ya, lass?”

  Coop shrugged her slender shoulders and fiddled with the strings on her hoodie. “I only speak the truth.”

  “Okay,” I intervened. “Vessels of the Lord in Hell aside, we have one suspect. Whoever talked to Sister Ophelia in the coat closet at the school.”

  “Yes, but if we’ve come to the conclusion that vessels of the Lord are capable of murder, how can we know for sure Sister Ann was telling you and Higgs the truth? Maybe no one ever confessed anything to Sister Ophelia, and she’s simply trying to keep us off her scent because she’s the one who murdered the sister?”

  I groaned and put my head in my hands, rubbing my temples with my thumbs. “That would throw a hitch in our giddyup, for sure. I think we have to stick with the facts for now and not look for plot twists just yet. Let’s wait on the Sister Ann angle until we can find something that points us in her di
rection.”

  “Then that brings us to last night and the body in the storage closet,” Coop reminded, her face even more grim than normal.

  Nodding, I grabbed my phone, vibrating with an incoming text from Tansy. As I read, I sighed. Ugh.

  “Trixie? What’s happening?”

  “I just got a text from Tansy and the preliminary reports from the coroner are not a match between the two bodies in terms of the method of death. Meaning yes, Sister Ophelia was strangled, but they’re not sure with what yet. Tansy says she has some feelers out about what was used, but she didn’t say where or why, and I’m not going to ask because she won’t tell me until she’s good and ready anyway. Plus, I’m not that desperate yet. However, headless guy is definitely a guy, and he wasn’t strangled at all. His head was definitely removed by something sharp.”

  Livingston shivered. “How dreadful for the poor chap.”

  So dreadful I couldn’t dwell on it or I’d lose my breakfast. Instead, I decided to ask her for permission to search Sister Ophelia’s room. I really needed to see if she had a TV that looked like what I’d sketched. But my phone remained silent.

  That meant I needed to keep moving until I heard from her. “Coop, anything interesting on Facebook or Twitter? Maybe Instagram?”

  Instagram was a long shot. I mean, how many nuns do you know who take pictures of their bologna and cheese sandwiches (which is a typical lunch, by the way), or their day trips spent frolicking at the beach in their string bikinis? Pretty much none, I’d suppose. But stranger things have been known to happen, right?

  Coop shook her head. “Nothing of great note. Sister Ophelia didn’t have any social media to speak of. In fact, none of the nuns involved have pages on Facebook or Twitter, but the church has a page. There were plenty of condolences for her, and they dedicated a lovely post to her, too. I combed the comments, but I didn’t find anything of note. Definitely nothing out of the ordinary.”

  I tapped my pen on the paper then circled Father Rico’s name. “Which brings me to Father Rico. Tansy told me he had a pretty harrowing experience before he became a priest.”

  Coop frowned, her eyebrows mashing together. “You don’t think Father Rico’s a suspect, do you, Trixie? I’d be devastated. I so enjoy his sermons.” She paused and heaved a long sigh. “Gosh, I really don’t want it to be Father Rico.”

  I sent her a sympathetic smile. “I know, Coop. I’m not ruling anyone out if we go on our vessels-of-the-Lord theory, but I don’t really think he’s a suspect. However, when I tell you what happened to him, I have to wonder if someone from his past could be involved. It’s a pretty slim chance, but I’m not taking anything off the table.”

  I explained Father Rico’s gas station experience when he was taken hostage while I gathered up our now cold coffee cups and set them in the sink. Coop helped me clean up from breakfast, listening intently.

  When I was done, she turned the dishwasher on and folded the kitchen towel. “Poor Father Rico. I wonder if he’s told anyone about it? If he’s ever shared it with maybe Higgs? They are friends, after all.”

  Grabbing my purse, I stuffed my phone into it and dug around for the keys to our beat-up Caddy. “I plan to ask him just that when I talk to deacons Cameron and Delacorte today. I’m also going to see if I can’t take a peek in Sister O’s room. I know the police have gone through it, but I’d like to see it for myself. After that, I’m going to check out the alleyway and maybe talk to some of the parishioners I know who attended the event.”

  “Well, one thing’s for sure, you’re not going into that confessional alone,” Coop said, a warning in her tone. “I’m going with you.”

  Coop was right. I shouldn’t go alone. Whoever this was, they’d picked a time when the church was virtually empty. Father Rico left for lunch at one-thirty every day like clockwork, and afternoon mass didn’t begin until three. All the nuns were off doing their due diligence either at the school or through community work. Likely, the only person about would be Leland, the janitor.

  Whoever this was with the important information about Sister O, it was someone who knew the church schedule.

  “While I’ll definitely feel safer with you there, we’re going to have to find a way to hide you, because I can’t afford to miss this opportunity. I don’t want whoever it is to be spooked. What if this person really has something important to share that could help with the investigation?”

  Coop gave me a pointed look. “Why wouldn’t they share it in person instead of hiding behind a confessional?”

  “Maybe they’re afraid?”

  But of what? Or who? Did Sister Ophelia have some storied past we weren’t aware of? A zillion questions flew through my mind, leaving me more confused than ever.

  “Of what, Trixie? Of the killer? If they know who the killer is, they’d just turn him in, wouldn’t they? That likely means they have information about something suspicious but nothing definitive. Why wouldn’t they want that information out in the open? I don’t trust this person. I have a bad feeling right here.” She pointed to the pit of her flat stomach. “So I’m coming and that’s that, and I’ll hear no argument from you. I’ll figure out where to hide before they get there, but you’re not going alone. Now let’s go to the shop and see if Goose and Knuckles need anything.”

  A well of admiration sprung up from my gut for Coop. Every day, she made a new stride of some kind or another, and it never failed to make the mother hen in me crow my pride.

  Turning to Livingston, I asked, “Are you up to seeing your fan club today, Mr. Charisma? Or would you prefer to stay in and rest on your laurels?”

  Livingston had created quite a stir with not only our customers, but our neighboring business owners. People loved him. In fact, aside from the gorgeous tattoo artist who never smiled, Livingston was one of Inkerbelle’s biggest draws, and he ate it up like he guzzled down a plate of spaghetti—even if it did leave his owl tummy in gassy distress.

  He flapped a wing at us. The gray and tan of his freshly washed feathers glistening in the weak sunlight pouring in from the bay of kitchen windows.

  “I’m takin’ the day off, lass. My adoring fans shall have to wait until I’m up to cavortin’.”

  I dropped a kiss on his head and chuckled before I put Jeff’s leash around his neck and we headed out, my stomach in a knot about my upcoming meeting.

  Still, I sent out a prayer to the universe that this information from this anonymous source would lead to something substantial. Because otherwise, we were on a fast train to nowhere.

  I entered the church at two sharp with my heart in my throat and my stomach on full tilt. I had no idea what I was in for, or what I was about to hear, but I was as tense as an arrow poised on a bow.

  Coop had snuck in through the window of Father Rico’s office to avoid being seen. I hated not telling him what we were about to do, but I hated even more the idea of losing this person with alleged information to fear, and possibly making them flee. Coop hid up in the balcony area by way of the stairs from the back of the church, her movements stealthy and sure and eerily quiet.

  Taking a deep breath, I made my way down the aisle and, out of pure instinct, formed the sign of the cross as I neared the altar. Then I held up my phone to the empty space to show I was doing as asked and set it down on the altar’s steps.

  Lighted candles lined the stairs to the pulpit and the heavy cross hanging above it loomed over me, making my heart clamor in my chest.

  I already felt deceptive enough for not telling Father Rico or Higgs or anyone else what I was doing. I didn’t need the added pressure and guilt of the Big Guy.

  The weak sunlight at the beginning of the day had waned, and as I looked out through the beauty of the arched stained-glass windows, I noticed it had gone gloomy and had begun to rain, mirroring my internal feelings.

  I slipped inside the heavy wood confessional off to the far left of the altar, wondering if the person who’d sent the text was already inside waiting for me
as I settled in.

  When I heard the screen for the confessional slide open, my head popped up and I squinted into the small, dark space, but I could only see an outline of a head, and it appeared to be covered by a hood.

  “Is this the part where you say, ‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned’?” I joked out of nervousness.

  “What they say is true. I heard you were funny,” a voice whispered, a quiet voice that had an added almost hiss on the letter “S”.

  Wiping my hands on my thighs, I fought to remain calm—to sound like I was calm. This person knew me, and that was a little frightening.

  “Did you then? So you know me?”

  “I know of you, Trixie,” the voice rasped, his words sliding into my ears, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

  “Okay, well, since you know my name, how shall I address you?”

  He cleared his throat. At least the voice sounded like a male. “You don’t have to address me at all. You just have to listen.”

  Now he was sounding a bit more commanding. So I decided to take an easygoing approach.

  “Can I ask you a couple of questions first?”

  His reply was stiff and probably said through clenched teeth. “Ask, and I’ll decide if I answer.”

  Strangely, he didn’t sound at all antagonistic, but he definitely sounded agitated. Yet I wasn’t sure if his agitation had to do with fear or aggravation.

  “Why didn’t you text me this information if you didn’t want to reveal your identity? Why all the cloak-and-dagger stuff? In fact, why a real-time meeting at all?”

  His laughter wisped into the void of the confessional. “I’m terrible at technology. If I were to try to text you what I know, we’d be here until next year.”

  I cocked my head in confusion. “Why not just call me then?”

  “Because I don’t want my phone call traced to my location or, worse, to me. So I bought a throwaway phone and got your phone number from the church rectory.”