Nun the Wiser (A Deadly Habit Cozy Mystery Book 2)

by Morgana Best

  Nun the Wiser (A Deadly Habit Cozy Mystery Book 2)

  Copyright © 2015 by Morgana Best.

  All Rights Reserved.

  License Notes.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy from your favorite ebook retailer. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The personal names have been invented by the author, and any likeness to the name of any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book may contain references to specific commercial products, process or service by trade name, trademark, manufacturer, or otherwise, specific brand-name products and/or trade names of products, which are trademarks or registered trademarks and/or trade names, and these are property of their respective owners. Morgana Best or her associates, have no association with any specific commercial products, process, or service by trade name, trademark, manufacturer, or otherwise, specific brand-name products and / or trade names of products.

  By this act

  And words of rhyme

  Trouble no more

  These books of mine

  With these words I now thee render

  Candle burn and bad return

  3 times stronger to its sender.

  (Ancient Celtic)

  Chapter 1.

  I had just turned the lock at the front door of my small upcycled furniture store when I heard the store phone. The sense of foreboding that hit me out of nowhere warned me that it would be trouble; don’t ask me how. I’d paid the phone bill — I’d paid the electricity bill. I could think of no other unpaid bills. How bad could it be?

  With that in mind, I hurried back down the steep, narrow stairs that led from my apartment to my store. I’d been looking forward to watching a movie and eating some leftover spaghetti. It had been a long, hard day and all I wanted to do was relax.

  I grabbed the phone on the fifth ring. “Hello?”

  “Rose?”

  “Mrs. Sutton!” I said with a smile. Mrs. Sutton was an elderly woman who lived on a beautiful piece of land a few miles outside of town. She often sold things to me, small items of furniture from a long life.

  “Hello, Rose,” Mrs. Sutton said. “I thought you’d like to come out and pick through the barn this afternoon.”

  The barn! I was excited. This was much better than stale spaghetti and a movie. The large barn that sat behind Mrs. Sutton’s palatial home was old and gray, the paint peeling off in long strips. Inside was a collection of antiques, and a lot of other assorted furniture. I had been in there before, but Mrs. Sutton had always refused to sell me anything in the barn, although I had made plenty of offers. Mrs. Sutton had to decide for herself to get rid of something — she couldn’t be coerced into it.

  “I’m surprised you’ve decided to sell furniture from your barn,” I said. I was puzzled by the sudden decision, and also by the fact that Mrs. Sutton wanted me out there that evening.

  “I think it’s time,” the elderly lady said in her shaky voice.

  In fact, her voice was more shaky than usual. I wondered if she was sad. Much of the furniture in the barn had belonged to Mrs. Sutton’s late husband. But no, she didn’t sound sad, exactly — she sounded scared.

  “Is anything wrong, Mrs. Sutton?”

  There was a long silence before she answered. “I want to tell you when you get here, all right? I want to sell some things, but I need to talk to you, too.”

  I scratched my head. “Is everything okay?”

  “It’s just, well, those nuns. I saw something. You know, at the AFL match the other week.” She hesitated again. “Just come on by. I’ll tell you when you get here.”

  And then the old woman hung up, and I was left holding a dead phone to my ear. I hung up slowly. Mrs. Sutton had been spooked about the nuns, that much I knew for sure. But about what, precisely?

  Of course, the nuns in question were from the local convent. They were actually men posing as nuns, and were on the run from the police. Yet, try as I might, I had not been able to convince the police of that fact. They were convinced that the nuns were real runs, and that Sister Maria, the Reverend Mother, was an actual nun, too. Sister Maria was the only woman member of the notorious Shadow Gang, and as far as I knew, was their leader.

  The only people who knew the truth beside me, of course, were my friends Adam, a journalist in town to write a book on the Shadow Gang, and my two close girlfriends, Gemma and Janet.

  The leftover spaghetti would have to wait, but my stomach was growling. I hurried upstairs, careful to turn off the lights in the shop below, and grabbed my jacket and purse. I ran down the narrow staircase to my front door, which sat next to the glass one that let people into my shop. I hurried three doors down to a small café, and bought a sandwich to eat on the drive.

  Outside town the speed limit shot up, and I drove along the winding road as it cut through trees. Soon the bushland was left behind and there were wide stretches of paddocks dotted with sheep and cattle.

  After twenty minutes or so I pulled into Mrs. Sutton’s long drive. The land was farmland, although the elderly lady didn’t farm. There were pretty black-faced Dorper sheep in her paddocks, so I assumed that she leased out the land to a local farmer. The large section of land around the house was a beautiful garden, usually full of bright flowers, mostly old English roses flanked by rows and rows of French lavender. While the roses were bare as it was winter, the lavenders were still in bloom.

  The drive was dirt, with a few dips and rises. I pulled my car alongside the old sedan in the drive and climbed out. I paused for a moment to gaze upon the nearest section of garden. Bees buzzed here and there over the sasanqua camellias, and a brave winter butterfly rose and fell with the light breeze. I inhaled the heavenly scent of French lavender.

  The sun was lowering, orange tinged with pink, and I took a deep breath and walked over to the front steps of the porch. I was greeted by a beautiful chocolate Burmese cat. “Hello, Sasha,” I said, and reached down to stroke her, but Sasha hissed and ran around the side of the house.

  The cat was Mrs. Sutton’s pride and joy and she wasn’t allowed out of the house, but I know how sneaky cats can be. Still, I had no hope of catching her — I’d have to leave that for Mrs. Sutton.

  I knocked on the door. No answer. After a polite interval, I knocked again, more loudly this time. Still no answer. Mrs. Sutton was elderly, but not hard of hearing, and had been expecting me. Perhaps it was taking her some time to rise out of her chair, or perhaps she was at the back of the house and hadn’t heard me. I waited a few minutes in case it was option one, and then I knocked loudly again in case it was option two.

  There was still no answer. I tried the door, but it was locked. I moved over on the porch and bent over, peering into the window. It looked into the living room which was pristine and full of antiques, but there was no sign of Mrs. Sutton.

  I moved further on, glancing into the window just before the corner of the house. This one looked into the dining room. I saw a massive cedar chiffonnier across from a round wooden table with a white cloth on it and six balloon back chairs pushed in around it. It looked as though the room hadn’t been used in some time. And still no sign of Mrs. Sutton.

  I went back to the garden, fi
guring that Mrs. Sutton might be working on her beautiful landscape. After that search proved fruitless, I decided to swing around the back of the home.

  When I turned the corner of the house, I saw the back door hanging partly open. “Mrs. Sutton!” I called out, hurrying forward.

  The back door opened up into a large kitchen. I could see Mrs. Sutton had been preparing dinner. Out on the counter was a tray of cut up vegetables to be baked, and a raw chicken with seasoning upon it. The oven had been preheated, a little red light shining in the quickly growing dimness of evening.

  “Mrs. Sutton!” I called again.

  As I stepped inside, I froze in horror.

  Just past the doorway was Mrs. Sutton, lying on her back. She was dead. I knew it without having to check, but I did so anyway, out of instinct, I suppose. I knelt down, put my fingers against her neck, and searched for a pulse I would never find.

  I didn’t know what to do. I stood up quickly, so quickly it made my head swim. Fear coursed through me. There was nothing to suggest that Mrs. Sutton hadn’t simply had a heart attack. There was no wound, no sign of a struggle, but I felt I was not alone.

  I ran back outside, shutting the back door behind me. As I pulled my cell phone from my pocket, I looked around, but there was no sign of anyone, not even the cat. I was on the phone for only a minute before the dispatcher had enough to go on, and the woman told me she would send the police and ambulance straight away.

  I hung up and crept back toward the body. I was in disbelief — was this really happening? I steeled myself to look down at Mrs. Sutton once again.

  Clutched in her bony hand were Rosary beads.

  Chapter 2.

  I was outside, waiting for the police. The air was still and quiet, and there was no sound of distant sirens, only of crickets chirping happily away.

  I pulled my jacket around me as I leaned against the back of my vehicle. Finally a police car came into view. It had seemed like forever, but was probably only fifteen or so minutes since my call. Hard on that vehicle was an ambulance. The lights were flashing on both vehicles, but the sirens were silent. Out here, in the bush, there was no need for sirens.

  The vehicles were coming quickly at any rate, and when they turned onto the dirt driveway some distance from the house, their tires threw up great arcs of dust and dirt. They slowed as they came nearer, practically crawling as the cop behind the wheel pulled up next to me.

  There were two cops in the car, and they both climbed out after the lights stopped flashing and the engine died.

  “Rose Tyler,” Sergeant Barnes said.

  “It’s Taylor,” I said. He always got my name wrong. “Around the back of the house, door’s open,” I said to the two paramedics, who promptly set off at a run.

  Sergeant Barnes was a big man with a barrel chest and a bit of a gut. He looked to be about forty five, his face obscured by a massive black mustache. His presence was intimidating. The other cop, Constable Barnes, was near the same age, but short and skinny with a long nose and a nervous face. His ears stuck out too far, and his eyes were small and beady. They were the only two cops in town, and I had gotten to know them in the recent weeks. I knew they found me something of an annoyance.

  “You reported the body?” Barnes asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You related to the deceased?”

  “No.” Before I had a chance to say anything else, the paramedics reappeared around the corner of the house, and the two cops hurried over to speak to them.

  Barnes returned, and pulled a notepad and pen from his pocket. “What were you doing here?” he asked.

  As I told him, his frown grew deeper and deeper. “And the front door is locked,” I concluded. “The back door was hanging open.”

  “All right,” Barnes said, but he went up the front steps anyway and tried the door. Then he looked into the same two windows I’d looked into earlier, before he and Constable Jones disappeared around the back of the house.

  I waited at my car. Barnes soon returned. “I thought you said the back door was open,” Barnes barked at me.

  “I shut it.”

  Barnes nodded, but his face flushed red. “You shouldn’t have touched anything.”

  “I didn’t think of that. I wasn’t thinking,” I said, a bit snappily. “I had just found my friend dead.”

  Barnes nodded again. “She was your friend?” he asked. “Or grandma?”

  “Friend. Client. I bought some things from her, you know, for my store.”

  “I see,” Barnes said. Then he added, “Yes, your store, next to the pawnbroker’s.” He raised his bushy eyebrows and fixed me with a steely glare.

  That look spoke volumes. I knew he was referring to the fact that I had found Dave, the pawnbroker, dead, and had told the police that I had seen a nun fleeing from the scene. Adam and I had told the police that the nuns were not only men but fugitive bank robbers at that, but they had always just laughed at us and told us not to waste their time.

  “Fell down the stairs I reckon,” Barnes said to Jones.

  “Sure,” Jones said, nodding his head in agreement. “Looks like.”

  I wasn’t so sure. Mrs. Sutton was near the foot of the stairs, but not exactly at the bottom — that was a few feet off to her left.

  “She wouldn’t have ended up there,” I said without thinking.

  Barnes glared at me.

  I glared back. “She has Rosary beads in her hand.”

  “So what?” Jones said. “She might’ve been praying.”

  “But she’s not Catholic,” I said. “She was Protestant. She always went to the Uniting Church in town.”

  “Oh no, you’re not going to blame those nuns again, are you?” Barnes said, narrowing his eyes and puffing up his chest.

  I knew they wouldn’t listen to me, but I pressed on anyway. “Mrs. Sutton called me just as I closed for the day. She wanted me to come out here to look at some stuff to sell, but she sounded scared, I think. Something was wrong, and she mentioned the nuns. I didn’t bring up the subject. She said she had something to tell me about the nuns.”

  Jones sniggered. “She had to sell you an old chair, and she needed to tell you that the nuns are evil bank robbers. Right.”

  I rubbed my temples. Here we go again, I thought.

  “Now listen to me,” Barnes said. “Here’s what I have so far. You harassed those nuns a few weeks ago. Now you’re alone with this woman who is dead. I bet your prints are all through here, and you’re giving me another story about nuns. Why don’t you wait outside while we look around, but make sure you don’t go anywhere, all right?”

  I wanted to scream, but I stuffed my anger down and did as I was told. I went back to my car and texted Adam. I’d called him while waiting for the police, but it had gone to message bank.

  Ten minutes later the two cops came back into view. As they made their way toward the cars, Barnes motioned to me.

  “Go on home, all right? Looks like a fall to me, maybe a broken neck. I’m going to call in forensics, and if we need to talk to you, we’ll do it tomorrow, all right?”

  I nodded and climbed back into my car without a word. The two policemen stood and watched me turn my car around, and I gleefully left them in a cloud of brown swirling dust as I sped down the driveway. I half expected them to follow and give me a speeding ticket, although I wasn’t actually speeding.

  Adam called me back the second I walked through my door.

  “I have something to tell you; just listen,” I said before he had a chance to say anything. I ran through the story, including finding the body, and being sent away by the police. When I had finished, there was a moment of silence.

  “I’m coming over,” Adam said, and he hung up.

  “It’s the nuns again, isn’t it?” he said by way of greeting, no sooner had he poked his head in the door.

  I nodded. “Mrs. Sutton said she had something to tell me about the nuns, and she was holding Rosary beads.”

  “We
should go there, tonight.”

  “Tonight?” I echoed. “What about Barnes and Jones?”

  Adam shook his head. “You heard them. The ambulance carted the poor woman away and that’s it. The cops marked it as an accidental fall, and they’re done. Sure, they said they’d call forensics, but they might’ve missed something.”

  “Isn’t it a bit late to go snooping?”

  Adam sighed. “Do you want to get caught snooping around in broad daylight?”

  I shook my head. “S’pose not.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  And we went. Adam drove his Jeep, while I gave him directions. Soon we were rolling up the long driveway, the night dark. There were no cars there, just long tracks in the dirt where a few had been. There was yellow tape in front of the front door, and I figured there was some in front of the back door as well. On the porch, Adam tried the front door. It was still locked.

  “Back door,” I said. “Let’s stick together.” Being there in daylight was one thing, but I was quite spooked to be there after dark.

  “All right,” Adam said, and thankfully he didn’t make fun of me.

  The back door did indeed have police tape across it as well, and it was locked, too. As Adam swung his flashlight, I grabbed his arm. “Look!” On a thorn of the climbing rose that hung over the arbor right at the back door was a piece of black cloth.

  Adam reached out and touched the fabric, although he was careful to leave it on the thorn. “Habit?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Should we take it?”

  “No, let’s leave it. Perhaps these guys will surprise us and come back and actually check the house out,” he said.

  I thought it doubtful that forensics would come back to do another run through, but I nodded my head, forgetting it was dark.

  “What about that barn?” Adam asked.

  “What about it?”

  “It might have something. You never know.”

  I agreed, albeit reluctantly. “Okay, let’s go.”

  At that point, the moon peeped out from behind the clouds. Adam pulled the large door open slowly and shone his flashlight inside.