THE MONASTERY MURDERS
A SERIES
BOOK 1
SECRETS IN THE SHALLOWS
KAREN VANCE HAMMOND
& KIMBERLY BROUILLETTE
Cover Art by Kimberly Brouillette
Copyright © 2013-2015 by Karen Vance Hammond &
Kimberly Brouillette. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-62951-485-7
Published by Mysterium Publishing
www.mysteriumpublishing.com
“In each of us, two natures are at war –
the good and the evil.
All our lives the fight goes on between them,
and one of them must conquer.
But in our own hands lies the power to choose.
What we want most to be, we are.”
~ Robert Louis Stevenson
For Rob, Meredith, Chris, Betty,
Jeanette, Zerida & Ken
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Part 1: Lies Beneath the Surface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Part 2: Darkness Comes to Light
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Part 3: Shedding the Shadows
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Part 4: Unearthing the Past
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Part 5: Secret Confessions
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Part 6: Hope Shattered
Chapter 47
Epilogue
About the Authors
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Mysterium Publishing: Thank you for your faith in me and for giving The Monastery Murders Series a home.
To my coauthor and editor, Kimberly Brouillette: Not only are you my friend, but you are the backbone of this project. Your collaboration on this novel, editing talents and abilities surpass anything I have ever seen. You have taught me the joy of writing. Working with you has been a blessing.
Author Chris Matheny: Thank you so much for your advice on many topics, as well as poetic contributions to The Monastery Murders Series. Your extensive knowledge was invaluable. We couldn’t have done such a great job without you.
ShadowBox Graphix: I love the amazing and dynamic cover design for The Monastery Murders: Secrets in the Shallows. It is fantastic!
There is no way I could have written this novel without the encouragement of my husband. Thank you, my darling. I love you.
My daughter, Meredith: The one who has supported me from day one.
Ken Wigal: Thank for undying support and time you spent on this project as well as Spanish translations.
Peace River Ghost Trackers (SyFy™ Channel): Thank you for your friendship, as well as reviewing the manuscript.
Shawn Sibley with Look Law Firm: Your legal contribution to The Monastery Murders Series is greatly appreciated.
Terri Adams Jones: Thank you so much or your direction and advice with law enforcement and FBI procedures.
Marcia Treadway: You came in at the last hour and helped so much with your fresh eyes. Thank you very much for your feedback.
Jeanette Rosson Ramsey: Thank you so much for spending countless hours listening to me read to you. I appreciate you so much.
Thom and Lisa Graham, and Karen Bomensatt of the State of New Jersey: The idea for the Monastery Murders came to life when you took me to the monastery and cathedral.
To my friends in the State of Maine, in which The Monastery Murders Series is depicted — I was once a Mainer and I will always be a Mainer!
Last, but not least, I want to thank Zerida Pepp, the author of Trackers, Cabs and Sleepers. I cannot count the hours you spent with me as I read the draft in the wee hours of the morning. I love you, my friend!”
Karen Vance Hammond
I am very thankful for the opportunity to work with Karen Vance Hammond. Over the past year and a half, Karen and I have successfully collaborated to produce our own masterpiece. It has been a great experience that I have enjoyed very much. Not only have I been able to delve deep into a great story and helped create a suspenseful mystery that I am proud of; but I have also met a great friend and writing partner.
Thank you, Karen, for asking me to be a part of this project. I look forward to what is in store for our future endeavors.
I also want to thank my aunt, Lynn Rorie, for going back through and editing the entire book. Your help is much appreciated.
Through all of my many long hours over almost two years, I have had the support and help from my best friend and soulmate, Chris Matheny. Thank you, Chris, for all of your support, great advice and inspiring suggestions. You have definitely contributed very much towards the success of Secrets in the Shallows; not to mention were very patient through the entire process. I love you very much.
Kimberly Brouillette
PROLOGUE
Dense fog blanketed the canopy of autumn trees arrayed in a myriad of yellows, oranges and reds. In the distance, ghostly wails from a foghorn resounded throughout the valley. Its melancholy sound sliced through the silent evening air as its vibrations crept up the lighthouse spiral staircase. In the lantern room at the top, the Fresnel stood sentinel, rotating endlessly, casting its beam of light out onto the water. Anchored in the bay below, lobster boats gently rocked back and forth in the surf while the ominous storm clouds encroach upon them.
A large black crow landed on the shoulder of a marble statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary standing watch over the monastery lawn. Dangling from the sacred maternal hands, a long strand of rosary beads swung back and forth in the coming storm’s steady breeze. Loud cawing emanated from the crow’s black beak, as the bird spread and flapped its wings vigorously. The feathered hunter took only a moment to study its surroundings before flying away to find a safe haven from the storm.
Rumblings of thunder filled the air as streaks of lightning clashed with the ocean in the distance. Light winds began to swell and howl while rattling the beautifully arched monastery windows. Raindrops steadily tapped the colored panes of glass, echoing throughout the corridors as the storm began its descent upon the campus.
Suddenly, the monastery door was thrust open by a nun frantically fleeing the building. Dressed in a dark burgundy habit, she ran down the front steps flailing her arms and screaming over her shoulder, “NO! Stay away from me!”
Only seconds behind, a taller nun in a black habit clutched a short-handled battle ax with gloved hands while chasing the escaping sister. The dark figure slipped on the wet grass but regained her footing and continued to
pursue her fleeing prey as the rain came down in torrents.
The frantic woman disappeared into the woods as her screams for help evaporated in the wind. Her burgundy habit flared out behind her as she tried to escape. Evergreen branches slapped her face and scratched her arms as she tried to elude her pursuer. The nun’s only goal was to find a safe place to hide.
As the terrorized woman ran through the woods, a low-lying branch caught her wimple, exposing her long, beautiful blonde hair, and drenching it in rainwater. Glancing back through the blinding sheets of rain, she was lost in a sea of branches and tree trunks. Suddenly, she slammed into her attacker. Tears burst from her blue eyes as a look of absolute terror and recognition came upon her.
“Why are you doing this?! What have I have done to deserve this?”
The dark nun mocked, “What have you done to deserve this?! You really don’t know?” Peering into her eyes with disgust, the ghastly nun grabbed her arm so hard that the blonde nun could feel the nails claw into her skin.
Desperate to get away, the smaller nun tried to wrench her arm free, but could not escape from the dark nun’s grasp. “Please, let me go! You know I love you like my own family.”
Immediately, the assailant vehemently ordered, “On your knees, Sister.”
Panicking, the frightened woman emphatically pleaded, “NO! Don’t do this!” Then, falling to her knees with her palms pressed together in front of her, she begged, “Don’t hurt me! Please!”
Without hesitation, a gloved hand brutally slapped the nun’s cheek. “Why not? I have suffered silently for years due to your mistakes. You will never comprehend how much pain you have caused me.”
Mud covered the side of her face as the nun fell. Her long blond hair splayed onto the wet ground. Frantically attempting to rise, the final thing the frightened nun saw was a sharpened battle ax blade swinging toward her.
A grimace of shocked surprise was frozen on her face as her severed head landed on the ground. Her wide-opened eyes blinked twice as her lips voiced a silent protest. Her lifeless body slumped in the mud beside her head. Deep red blood spilled from her open neck, mixing with the falling rain into dark puddles like tears.
Deliberately, the murderer trudged through the mud to where the nun’s headpiece hung loosely on the branch of a gnarled old tree. Lifting it up in the rain, the killer inspected the wimple for any tears before hiding it in her own habit. Still holding the bloodied ax, the murderer turned to study the victim one last time, and then slipped away silently, fading into the shadows.
* * * *
Somewhere in the dark of night, restless eyes twitched erratically beneath their slumbering lids. An eerie moan escaped between the chapped lips of its confinement. In the dreamer’s mind, a rising wail of anguish rose and joined a booming clap of thunder. Violently, the figure bolted from bed as a white flash of lightning drove the shadows from the room and momentarily blinded the once-sleeping eyes.
PART 1:
LIES BENEATH THE SURFACE
CHAPTER 1
Angry waves pounded Maine’s rocky coastline with a vengeance as the first blizzard of autumn rolled in from the Atlantic. A howling gale ushered in dropping temperatures with the onslaught of nature’s fury. Out on the horizon, snow blew sideways from the billowing clouds as the storm headed directly towards the shore. Flashing rhythmically across the rough ocean water, a lighthouse beacon guided mariners to the harbor for safety.
Stalwart and steadfast, a statue of the Holy Mother braved the coming storm as she fervently guarded the St. Francis Monastery and Catholic School. In the garden, she stood and protected her charges from all who would seek to do them harm. Staring down at her hands, she offered eternal prayers while endlessly counting her rosary beads. Facing her from the other side of the garden, the Children of Fátima stood firmly on their stone foundation with drifts of snow continuing to cover them in the eerie night.
Within the forbidding darkness of the trees that surrounded the monastery, an even darker shadow lurked. The intimidating figure watched the back of the monastery, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Finally, a glimpse of the stalker’s prey came in to view as Timothy Fields peered out of the back window, mesmerized by the dark clouds in the distance as the winds whistled outside. The eighteen-year-old boy’s tousled, dark brown hair was as unmistakable as his freckled cheeks.
Exhausted from waxing the rectory floors, Timmy wiped the sweat from his flushed face. The punishment was the result of breaking the dress code and not being smoothly shaven. Timmy was embarrassed to admit that he didn’t realize he needed to shave his boyish face. It just hadn’t occurred to him. However, Mother Superior made sure that he would think about it from now on.
As Timmy recognized the all-too-familiar sign of the coming winter, he thought to himself, I’d better go home before that storm gets here. A loud, shrill voice cut through his reverie. “Timmy, are you done yet?”
The boy’s heart leapt into his throat as he spun around and nearly jumped out of his shoes. Timmy found himself standing nose to nose with Mother Superior Mary Ellen.
“Well, are you done or not, Timmy? It’s getting a little late for you to walk home, and the storm is coming in fast.”
With his hands on his chest, he took a few deep breaths. “Yes, Mother. I’m done. You frightened me. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
“Maybe next time you’ll learn to abide by the rules in the house of God and in this school. Cleanliness is a way people show self-respect. You will do good to remember that in the future.”
“Yes, Mother.”
She briefly touched the side of his peach-fuzzed cheek. “It seems like you’re all grown up now. It sometimes happens before you even know it’s upon you.”
The corners of his mouth lifted as Timmy tried to smile.
Clutching her hands together, she sighed. “Remember, there are rules you must abide by everywhere. I expect you to honor the rules we have here. Be an example to the younger ones. Okay?”
“I’ll do better, Mother.”
Barely acknowledging his response, she continued, “If you plan on going to college after graduation, then you will make it so much harder on yourself by not keeping this in mind.”
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, Mother.” Chewing on a small bit of his lip, he stood there quietly, eagerly awaiting her approval.
The old nun stared at Timmy intently. “I inspected the floors you cleaned, and they looked pretty good.” Resting a hand lightly upon his shoulder, she gave him a faint smile. “You can go now, and please be careful. Do you want me to call your parents, and have them pick you up or let them know you’re on your way?”
Inserting an arm in his red jacket, he responded, “No, that’s okay. It’s not gonna’ take me long. Besides, the snow isn’t here yet. I’ll be home before it starts coming down harder.”
“Okay. Have a good Christmas break, Timmy. Bless you, my boy.”
“You too, Mother.” He smiled softly at her as she pivoted and quickly walked through the doorway. Soon she had vanished from sight. Within seconds, he heard the front door close behind her.
Heading to the coat rack, Timmy grabbed his winter coat and put it on. As he reached to pick up his hat, he heard the front door open and then slam immediately.
Immediately, a gruff voice shattered the building’s peace and serenity. “Where are you, boy?” Heavy footsteps in the other room approached Timmy as the familiar voice sought him out.
Making a beeline to the custodian’s closet, Timmy barricaded himself inside. The odor of pine cleaner and bleach burned his nose and eyes as he opened the door a crack and peeked out. Then closed it again. He could feel his heart pounding as he locked the door from the inside. He squatted down in the corner behind the mop pail and wet floor signs.
Timmy silently cursed his luck as the increasingly agitated voice came closer and closer. Of all the people from whom I would need to hide as I try to head home.
The person he most dre
aded in all the world was angry and looking for him. The barrel chest of the stalker heaved while calling out for him. “Come out, Timmy! I know you’re in here.”
Sweat beaded up on Timmy’s forehead as doors opened and slammed shut.
Wearing a sinister grin on a corpulent face, dark eyes darted in every direction. “Come on out, Timmy! I’ve got a surprise for you.” The childish quip echoed down the hall.
Timmy’s body quivered as the heavy footsteps vibrated the floor, causing one of the mops to fall down.
Dressed in the familiar dark habit, the stalker smirked and headed directly to the closet. A gloved hand attempted to turn the doorknob. Finding it locked, the threatening figure grunted, foregoing all pretense of kindliness.
“Open this door, Timmy! I know you’re in there.”
Timmy buried his face between his knees as the assailant pounded on the door. With one swift kick, the door flew open and exposed Timmy’s hiding place.
“I knew I’d find you here, Timmy. Did you tell anyone about what you saw, boy?”
“I didn’t see anything. There were only shadows!” Timmy insisted.
The nun barked back at him harshly. “I don’t care if you saw anything or not. You won’t get a chance to tell anyone about what happened that night.”
With his bright blue eyes wide with fear, Timmy pleaded, “No! Leave me alone! I didn’t see anything. I swear it!”
With determination, the large nun grabbed him so violently that Timmy’s arms were nearly wrenched from their sockets. The boy yelled in pain as the nun dragged him across the floor.
“OUCH! No! Let me go!” Tears flowed down his reddened cheeks as he tried unsuccessfully to get up.
The nun scoffed at the helpless young man while kicking the front door open. “You’re coming with me. It doesn’t matter how much you yell. No one can hear you!”
Timmy’s protests echoed off of the monastery’s old stone, as he was dragged backwards down the stairs. The heels of his black uniform shoes hit every step with a loud thud. Timmy’s lanky legs relentlessly kicked and flailed as he fought feverishly to get away. He tried to stand up and run, but the furious nun grabbed him by his short, dark brown hair.
Secrets in the Shallows (Book 1: The Monastery Murders) Page 1