by Joanne Fluke
Steve dug into the Reuben. It was delicious. What was Michele eating tonight? If she remembered to eat at all, she’d probably make do with a hot dog from the snack booth at WinterGame. Steve wished she were sitting beside him to share this meal. He missed her so much he might even give her half of his pecan tart.
It was four-thirty already, and Michele had been up and down the mall. She had only a half hour to shop before the stores closed for the night. She didn’t want to settle for a flannel nightgown or a pair of fuzzy pajamas, but it was that or nothing. Nothing would certainly be sexier, but she’d planned to buy a negligee, and she hated to give up.
The stores were unusually crowded, but it was a good afternoon for shopping. The clerks were smiling and cheerful, and the shoppers chatted pleasantly while they waited in line at the cash registers. It felt almost like the day before Christmas. Since Steve’s interview had been aired, there was a holiday mood in the city.
Michele stopped for a moment to catch her breath in Herberger’s hat section. She tried on a stretchy red knit and looked in the three-way mirror on the wall. It wasn’t bad, but perhaps she should go for the lady executive image. She could picture herself hopping from commuter car to train station in a gray tailored suit topped off with a rakish felt hat. Michele picked up a fedora and clamped it on her head. No, it looked silly. The Russian fur cap was nice if she tucked up her hair, but it cried out for an ermine cloak, and all she had was her knee-length parka.
She was wasting time. Michele zipped up her parka and wiggled her fingers into her gloves. As she came out of Herberger’s front door she saw the sign across the street. GRANITE CITY BRIDAL—EVERYTHING FOR THE BRIDE’S TROUSSEAU. It was bound to have something that wasn’t flannel or fuzzy.
Ten minutes later Michele had found the perfect negligee. The tag called it the honeymoon special, a gown of sheer apricot silk with a lace peignoir. There were matching silk slippers with four-inch heels, and Michele decided to splurge. She’d have to practice walking in the slippers before Steve came home or she’d break her leg answering the door.
The saleslady smiled as she wrote up the ticket. Michele could understand why. The honeymoon special negligee set was sixty-five dollars, and the slippers were another twenty. Michele hoped the saleswoman worked on commission. She’d been very helpful.
“Congratulations, Miss Layton. I think this set will be lovely with your coloring. Are you marrying a local man?”
For a moment Michele was flabbergasted. Then she remembered she was shopping in Granite City Bridal. It was natural to assume she was getting married.
Michele smiled to cover her embarrassment. She couldn’t very well admit she was buying these things for a wild night with the acting chief of police. In a lot of ways St. Cloud was still a small town. What could she say?
“Oh, I’m not getting married. These are for a friend. My former college roommate in Texas.”
“What a lovely wedding present! Would you like it gift-wrapped? There’s no extra charge.”
“That would be very nice, but I don’t think I have the time.”
“I promise it won’t take more than five minutes, and there’s complimentary coffee while you wait. We have three beautiful selections of wedding paper. Number one is bridal white with silver wedding bells, number two is mauve with tiny gold flowers in a double ring pattern, and number three is pale blue tissue with an antique lace overlay.”
Michele sighed. She felt a little guilty accepting the gift-wrapping, but she could certainly use a cup of coffee.
“Thank you. I’d like the second paper, I guess. My friend’s always been partial to mauve.”
It was nine o’clock in the evening, and the patients at Holy Rest had been medicated and tucked into bed for the night. Sister Kate sat in the kitchen, watching the coffee brew. She’d been thinking about Bishop Donahue all day, and she was uneasy. Perhaps it had to do with his censored file. The bishop must have done something truly dreadful for the Vatican to take such an action. She wondered if Archbishop Ciminski had been allowed to read the censored sections. Could that be the reason he had suspected Bishop Donahue?
The double-strength coffee was ready at last. Sister Kate poured it into a thermos and frowned. She couldn’t help remembering Mother Superior’s dream. The poor dear had been so positive that she’d seen Bishop Donahue and Cissy outside on the sidewalk the night of Mayor Hollenkamp’s murder.
Sister Kate’s hands trembled as she put the cap on the thermos and carried it down the hall to her quarters. It was probably foolish to harbor suspicions, especially since those two killers had been apprehended in Los Angeles, but she couldn’t seem to relax. Sister Kate knew she’d never be completely sure unless she stayed awake all night to stand watch.
The hockey game was a good one, and the crowd was in a festive mood. Michele put another fifty hot dogs in the warmer and filled a dozen paper cups with beer. The halftime rush would start in just a minute, and she felt guilty leaving Judith and Louise to handle the customers alone.
A cab pulled up close to the snack bar and honked its horn. Michele waved and grabbed her gift-wrapped box.
“I’m going now, Judith. Be sure to tell Steve that I’m at his apartment, waiting for him.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll tell him. What did you finally decide on for hors d’oeuvres?”
“Apricot lace.” Michele grinned. “I thought food would take away from the effect of my new outfit.”
It was less than a mile to Steve’s apartment, but Michele had called for a cab. It was perfectly safe to walk now that the killers had been captured, but she didn’t want to waste a minute of her time. She had lots of things to do before Steve came home.
Michele slid into the backseat and held the box on her lap. It was so pretty she almost hated to open it.
“The Oaks, please. And hurry.”
The driver stepped on the gas, and the cab moved out onto Twelfth Avenue. In seconds they were turning the corner at Tenth Street, and Michele held on tightly. The driver had taken her literally. She hoped she’d survive this ride.
In less than three minutes they were parked outside Steve’s door. Michele hadn’t known she could hold her breath for so long.
“Thank you. Will you wait for me to get inside, please? And keep the change.”
The driver looked down at the bill Michele handed him and turned around to stare at her.
“Excuse me, miss, but you gave me a ten. Your fare’s only a buck thirty-five.”
“I know.” Michele smiled at him. “That’s for getting me here so fast. I’m celebrating tonight.”
Michele was just getting out of the cab when the driver stopped her.
“Hold on, miss. I’ll carry that package and walk you right up to the door. I’m celebrating too. This is the biggest tip I’ve had in three years.”
It was nine-thirty, and Steve was ready to quit for the night. He’d checked out another five places, and it was getting too late to knock on doors. He drove down Fifth Avenue and cut up to East Lake Boulevard. There was a parking place on the street right across from the hockey rink.
Steve backed into the space and got out of the car. A huge crowd of people surrounded the rink. Everyone in town had turned out for the game tonight, and the thought of working his way through that milling mass of humanity made Steve cringe. People were bound to stop him to ask questions, and he didn’t want to talk to anybody tonight. He just wanted to pick up Michele and take her home.
Someone had shoveled a path through the five-foot snowbank that the snowplow had left, and Steve cut through to the sidewalk. He’d walk up to the corner and enjoy the air. Then he’d be ready to tackle that noisy crowd.
Steve walked past a white house with green shutters and thought about his apartment. Maybe he ought to talk to Michele about moving into a house. Pete would like a backyard, and he was sick of the college kids upstairs with their earsplitting stereo.
The houses were really beautiful along this street. Steve won
dered if they were terribly expensive. He’d always wanted a house like that yellow brick ahead of him. It looked as substantial as a fort.
Steve stopped and stared for a moment. The windows were barred with decorative grillwork. There was a wrought iron fence around the perimeter and a security gate. That was peculiar. Very few houses in St. Cloud had security systems.
Now he was curious. Steve walked up to the gate and tried the knob. It was locked. There was no buzzer to press and no way for anyone to get in without a key. A bronze plaque was fixed to one of the rungs, and Steve stepped closer to read it. Holy Rest. That sounded like some sort of Catholic retreat. Why wasn’t the name on Joe’s list? And what kind of Catholic facility would have the need for barred windows and a security system?
Steve frowned and went back to his car. He’d better go back to the archbishop and ask some questions. It looked as if the people who owned this place were terribly afraid that someone would get in. Or out.
CHAPTER 22
Sister Kate awoke with a start. It was ten o’clock, and she’d fallen asleep in her chair. She’d had the elevator dream again. Or was it a dream? Now Sister Kate remembered what had bothered her earlier. The elevator key. If Cissy had the elevator key, she could let Bishop Donahue out.
She jumped up from her chair and peered out the window. Two figures in black were hurrying up the sidewalk. As they passed under the streetlight Sister Kate recognized Bishop Donahue’s calotte.
They were out. Sister Kate’s hands trembled as she grabbed her coat and keys. There was no time to call the guard. She had to catch them and bring them back. They were her responsibility.
The wind whipped past Sister Kate’s face as she unlocked the gate and ran down the sidewalk. They were almost two blocks ahead of her now, heading toward the college. There was no way she could overtake them. It was all Sister Kate could do to keep them in sight.
They turned the corner on Sixth Avenue and headed south. Sister Kate buttoned her coat and shoved her hands into her pockets. It was cold, and she hadn’t thought to grab her scarf or gloves. She’d have a terrible earache tomorrow, but that wasn’t important now. Two of her patients had escaped, and it was all her fault.
Bishop Donahue and Cissy turned into the entrance for the Oaks apartment complex. Sister Kate ran as fast as she could. The open areas between the two-story buildings were planted with pine trees and shrubbery. She’d lost them.
Sister Kate rushed to the nearest courtyard and stopped to listen. She prayed for them to make a noise, but the only sound she heard was her own frantic heartbeat.
“Be careful, Pete. You had your bath last night.”
Michele scooped up the little dog and put him back down on the bathroom floor. It was already ten-thirty. Steve should be here by eleven.
Her new negligee was positively indecent. Michele laughed as she slipped into the sheer silk gown and smoothed it down over her hips. The matching peignoir wasn’t designed for modesty either. It actually highlighted the sheerness of the gown underneath.
“What do you think, Pete? Will Steve like it?”
Pete cocked his head and surveyed her silently. Then he ran to the kitchen and began to paw at the refrigerator.
“Okay, Pete. I’m not sure what that means, but I’ll take it as a compliment.”
Michele got down the box of Milk-Bones and gave Pete a green one. Steve had said green was Pete’s favorite. Then she put on her high-heeled slippers and practiced walking across the living room. It was difficult because the stiletto heels sank into the deep pile carpet. She thought she’d just gotten the hang of it when she remembered she hadn’t used her new perfume. The saleslady had promised it would turn men into pure animals.
Pete was fascinated by the spray bottle. Michele ended up spraying him quite by accident, and Pete retreated to the living room while she brushed her hair.
A moment later Pete barked and jumped at the door. Brunhilda must be out on her patio. Pete still hadn’t gotten over his fascination with the huge female St. Bernard. He started to growl, and Michele went out to see what had disturbed him. She was halfway across the living room, tottering a bit on her high heels, when the doorbell rang.
Steve had lectured her on safety, and Michele looked through the peephole to see who was outside. A nun. There was no reason to be paranoid, now that the killers had been caught, but Michele hesitated, her hand on the lock. She couldn’t open the door of Steve’s bachelor apartment, dressed in a see-through negligee. It was simply too embarrassing. If the nun really needed to see Steve, she could catch him at the office tomorrow.
The bell rang again, and Michele stepped back from the door. Pete was growling low in his throat, and she scooped him up in her arms.
“Shh,” she whispered. “Just be quiet and she’ll go away.”
The doorbell rang once more, and then all was silent. Michele breathed a sigh of relief. She peeked out and saw the nun walk to Steve’s empty parking space. It was clearly marked. Apartment 121. Naturally the nun would assume that there was no one home and leave.
Michele watched as the nun hurried across the courtyard. Another person in a black cape joined her, and they stood talking for a moment. If this was an apartment-to-apartment solicitation for charity, they had picked the wrong night for it. Almost everyone in the complex was attending the hockey play-offs at WinterGame tonight.
“Here, Pete.” Michele set the little dog down on the couch and handed him another Milk-Bone. “I’d better finish brushing my hair. Steve should be here any minute.”
In less than five minutes Michele was ready. She stepped back and studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her mother would faint dead away if she saw this outfit, and Michele knew that meant she looked just perfect. She was about to add a little more eye shadow when there was a loud crash in the living room.
Michele stumbled lightly as she turned. She reached down, snatched off her slippers, and raced into the living room as fast as she could.
“Pete! What in the—”
The window by the front door was shattered. Michele gasped as she saw a hand reaching through, feeling for the doorknob. Someone was breaking into Steve’s apartment.
There was no time to panic. Michele raised the slipper she was carrying and brought it down as hard as she could. The stiletto heel made a formidable weapon. It smashed down, once, twice, and a man in a black cape staggered back from the window, holding his bloody hand against his chest.
Michele’s knees turned weak as she stared into the man’s eyes and saw the madness blazing there. Then he whirled and stumbled away toward the pine tree in the courtyard. A bishop! Carrying a huge silver crucifix!
The gun! She had to get the gun! Michele ran to the bedroom and grabbed the revolver. Her hands were shaking so hard she could barely hold it. Steve’s bishop! The killer hadn’t been caught in Los Angeles. He was here.
The phone was dead. He must have cut the line. Michele huddled against the door and tried to think clearly. She couldn’t run. He was still out there. She was trapped.
Michele fought down her panic. She might be trapped, but she had the gun, and she knew how to use it. But where was Steve?
“Holy Rest?” Archbishop Ciminski’s voice shook slightly. “I—I’m not authorized to discuss that with you, Steve.”
“Wrong.” Steve’s smile was tight. “If you don’t tell me about Holy Rest, I’ll be forced to drag you down to the station and lock you up for withholding evidence. That would look rotten for both of us.”
Archbishop Ciminski stared hard at Steve. Then he nodded.
“I believe you’d actually do it. All right, Steve. Holy Rest is a maximum-security mental asylum for high-ranking members of the Catholic clergy. There’s a bishop in residence, but I checked on it myself this afternoon. There’s no way he could have gotten out.”
“We’ll check it again. Together. Let’s go.”
Sister Kate ran the moment she heard the breaking glass. She came around the building i
n time to see Bishop Donahue stagger away from the apartment window, holding his hand. He had the crucifix from Holy Rest. It all was true.
She saw Cissy waiting by the big pine tree. She held the low branches apart, and Bishop Donahue ducked into the shelter.
Sister Kate reached the tree and hesitated.
“Cissy? Come out, dear. It’s Sister Kate.”
The pine branches creaked and swayed in the wind, but there was no answer.
“It’s all right, Cissy. I’ll take you home. Come out now, like a good girl.”
The branches on one side of the tree started to move. Sister Kate pictured a struggle under the heavy boughs. Was Bishop Donahue holding Cissy prisoner?
“Let her go, Bishop Donahue. No one’s angry with you. Just come along with me, and we’ll all go back to Holy Rest.”
There was a sudden movement on the other side of the tree, and Bishop Donahue hurtled out at her, the crucifix raised high above his head. Sister Kate turned to run, but she stumbled in the deep snow. A stabbing pain made her cry out as her ankle gave way. She sat down hard in the snow and watched with horror as Bishop Donahue swung the heavy crucifix, narrowly missing her head.
Cissy ran out from the shelter of the tree.
“No! Not Sister Kate!”
Bishop Donahue turned to look at her, and Cissy lunged at his arm. She managed to grab hold of the crucifix and fought to tear it away from him.
Sister Kate watched in frozen horror as Cissy struggled to hang on. The crucifix rose higher and higher, lifting Cissy almost off her feet. Then it smashed down with deadly accuracy on Cissy’s skull.
“Dear God!”
Bishop Donahue whirled and raised the crucifix again. Then it was as if Cissy’s fall had freed Sister Kate, and suddenly she could move again. She stumbled to her feet and limped back toward the tree. Her injured ankle shot needles of pain to her mind, and she saw the bishop through a dim haze of agony as he advanced.