by Morgana Best
I almost sat on the ground in shock. “Harrison’s wife?” Harrison had never mentioned a wife.
“Yes.” Rosalind sighed. “You could think of me as an ex-wife really, but we never got a divorce. Being married to that man was the longest three weeks of my life. You can’t get that time back, you know.” She brandished a key. “The police said they’ve finished with the scene of the crime.”
I watched her as she unlocked the pawnshop door.
“We were wild and crazy back then,” Rosalind explained, as she peeked inside. “I couldn’t deal with the late nights. The messes and drink stains on the carpet. And that was before we even started thinking of kids! Then there was his thing about cats. I am so hyperallergenetic to cats.”
“You’re what?”
“Hyperallergenetic, you know, extra allergic. I get all red and scratchy.” Rosalind expression was one of worry. “He doesn’t still have cats, does he?”
“No. I have a cat, though.”
“I’m glad Harrison didn’t have a cat. A cat wouldn’t get along with me, and then there are my allergies.”
“So you and Harrison stayed friends all these years?”
Rosalind nodded. “We stayed friends, but we only contorted each other by phone and email.”
I was confused. “You contorted each other?” It didn’t sound legal to me.
“Yes, but only by phone and email, as I said.” Rosalind nodded knowingly.
It was a good thing I had a dinner date with my two closest friends, Ursula and Isabel, that night. I was going to need some serious girlfriend therapy after this.
Chapter Four
“So this woman is hyperallergenetic to cats? Is that even a word?” Ursula asked, sipping the blood she had brought.
Tonight was Isabel’s turn to host dinner, so the four of us were sitting in her red living room. It was straight out of a Goth magazine, black and red. The Halloween decorations looked quite at home.
Isabel handed me a goblet. I looked at the green liquid. “A Halloween potion?”
Isabel clicked her tongue. “No, it’s pine needle tea. Ursula, you should be drinking it too. Do you have any idea how much weight blood packs on?”
Ursula took a big gulp of blood by way of response.
I bit my lip. Despite the fact they were both vampires, they were always at odds.
“Tell them the bad news,” Pudding said. “She didn’t want to tell you on her hand rectangle. Isabel, do you have any cat food? I’m not a vegetarian, by the way. And I didn’t think vampires were either,” he muttered angrily to himself.
Isabel placed a bowl of tuna in front of him before turning to me. “Bad news?”
I sighed. Pudding and his big mouth! “I wanted to break it to you gently. There’s an AVC agent in town.”
Ursula gasped. Isabel turned white.
Ursula was the first to recover. “Is he here because of you? Does he suspect you’re a witch? Does he suspect Isabel and I are vampires?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea. He says he’s investigating a gang of bank robbers he believes are connected with Harrison. He wants to check out the convent because I saw a nun running from the scene. He asked me to go with him because I sort of know Sister Bertrand.”
“Do AVC agents ever investigate mundanes?” Isabel said.
Ursula nodded. “Yes, I’m sure they do. My question still stands—is he suspicious of you?”
“I have no idea. I said I’d go with him because I figured it would make me seem less suspicious.”
Ursula slammed her skull-shaped goblet on the table. “We will have to solve Harrison’s murder, and fast. We can’t have that agent hanging around here any longer than necessary. And remember, Adeline, AVC agents are immune to witches’ powers.”
Chapter Five
It was almost midday when I heard the buzzer as someone entered the store.
“I’m parked outside,” Jackson said by way of greeting.
“Okay,” I said. I grabbed my jacket, waved goodbye to Pudding, and poured my coffee from my cauldron into my travel mug.
I directed Jackson out of town in the direction of the convent, along a narrow country road. “You never see any traffic out on this road,” I told him. “Sister Bertrand lives in the middle of nowhere.”
Jackson nodded. “I googled her order, the Sisters of Temperance.”
I directed Jackson to turn off onto the private lane leading to the convent. Over a hundred elm trees, a magnificent sight, flanked the lane. At this time of year, their leaves were vivid gold, russet red, and every shade in between.
The convent was a group of old stone buildings covered in ivy, which now in autumn adorned the front of the building in spectacular shades of red. A long brick wall, twice my height, extended both sides from the heavy wooden door at the front.
The scale and grandeur of the main convent building marked a stark contrast with the surrounding farmlands and rural setting. The grass in the adjoining farmland was already dying off, brown and crispy, thanks to the first frosts of the year and the continual drought.
“This place sure is private,” Jackson said. He reached up to ring the large brass bell hanging next to the door.
I winced as an alarm screeched within the walls.
I gasped when the door opened. Instead of Sister Bertrand was a much younger nun. This nun was wearing a traditional habit. Strangely, the overpowering smell of mothballs wafted from her habit.
Jackson came straight to the point. “I’m Jackson Scott and this is Adeline. I’m looking for Sister Bertrand.”
“May I ask why?” she said. “I’m Sister Maria of St. Leonard. Sister Bertrand of Genesius has gone to take the waters at Lourdes.”
I was puzzled. “What does that mean?”
It was Jackson who answered. “That means she’s gone to Lourdes to seek a cure.”
The nun nodded. “Yes, for her rheumatism. She’s on a pilgrimage. Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?” She stepped aside so we could enter.
I was excited to see inside a convent. My only prior experience with convents had been watching Nuns on the Run and Sister Act as well as reruns of The Flying Nun.
It was just as I had imagined. The huge oak door opened onto a large entrance, and Sister Maria showed us through the first door on the left into a reception room.
After we were seated in bulky wood-framed chairs deeply upholstered in grey vinyl, she left the room. As she passed me, I once again had to hold my breath against the pervading odour of mothballs.
“Is that the nun you saw?” Jackson whispered.
I shook my head. “No, the nun I saw had broad shoulders and was much taller. Where did Sister Maria go?”
Jackson shrugged. “No idea. She normally would have called for a nun to bring us tea and cakes that the other nuns have made.”
“We’ll soon know if there are other nuns.” I looked around the room. While it was sparsely furnished, the architecture was impressive. The ceiling was high and the windows were beautiful. Still, the room itself was dull, with the only colours being grey, beige, and brown. Even the floor tiles were beige-yellow.
Sister Maria finally returned with a tray which she set down on the round coffee table between us. She poured us each a cup of tea from a particularly fine looking antique teapot, and then offered us a Tim Tam.
Jackson shot me a look, but I had no idea why. “Sister Maria,” he said, turning to the nun, “are you the Mother Superior here?”
She nodded. “We don’t use that term these days.”
“Reverend Mother?”
“If you wish.”
Jackson pressed on. “I suppose you’ve heard that the local pawnbroker was found shot the other day. Adeline saw a nun running from the scene.”
Sister Maria looked surprised. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” she said. She made the sign of the Cross, took up her rosary beads, and kissed the crucifix.
I knew she was genuinely shocked, but a tremor ran through me. Being an
empath was another of my witchy abilities, but it only worked when someone experienced strong emotion.
“Are there any other nuns here?” Jackson asked.
Sister Maria nodded. “Oh yes. There are several novices on retreat.”
Jackson frowned. “May we speak with them?”
“I’m sorry,” Sister Maria said, “but they’re doing their Forty Hours Prayer Devotion.”
“I thought your order was discalced,” Jackson said to Sister Maria, nodding to her sturdy shoes.
Sister Maria waved her hand dismissively. “Oh no, that was in the old days, before Vatican Two. It was only Sister Bertrand who liked to keep up the old tradition.”
“What does discalced mean?” I asked.
“It means going barefoot or wearing sandals,” Sister Maria said. “It’s an old custom, introduced by St. Francis of Assisi for men and St. Clare of Assisi for women. Our order used to be discalced.”
“Thank you,” I said. There was more to being Catholic than I had ever imagined.
Jackson pushed on. “Sister Maria, why do you wear a traditional habit?”
Sister Maria smiled and offered him the plate of Tim Tams once more. “The Order of the Sisters of Temperance is a contemplative and cloistered order; we are not out serving the community. The novices wear traditional habit so they can relate to the hardships of the early sisters of our order. I only wear traditional habit when I’m on retreat with novices.”
Jackson and I nodded. “May I use your bathroom?” I asked.
“Of course,” Sister Maria said, standing up. “Follow me.” We walked into a long corridor and she pointed to the end. “It’s down that hall, at the very end.” She yelled, her words echoing eerily from the empty corridors.
The bathroom was dark and austere and had not been renovated in modern times. The basin was small and green, and the only window was tiny and placed high on the wall.
As I was leaving the bathroom, I startled a nun coming out of a small room to my left.
The nun turned away when she saw me and hurried in the other direction, but not before I caught a glimpse of overly hairy legs. Her habit was shorter than I had expected too, falling to mid calf length.
Did nuns shave their legs? I had no idea. Maybe they didn’t. Still, even her bare feet were hairy.
I knocked and entered the reception room. Jackson at once stood up. “Thank you for having us, Sister Maria,” he said. “I’m sorry to have taken up your time.”
“Not at all,” she said. “I will pass on your wishes to Sister Bertrand when I next write to her.”
“That didn’t get us anywhere,” Jackson said as soon as we were outside. “If Sister Maria knew anything, she wasn’t going to tell us. Did you find anything in the bathroom?”
“Not a thing,” I said, “but I did see a nun coming out of a room, and she had very hairy legs.”
Jackson shot me a penetrating look. “How did you see her legs?”
“Her habit didn’t go all the way to the ground. Plus her feet were bare, so maybe she’s following the discalced tradition like Sister Bertrand.”
We climbed into the car, but Jackson didn’t drive off. “Interesting,” he said.
“What is?”
“All of it. I mean, nuns usually do all their own baking, and the Sisters of Temperance especially are supposed to eat only simple food, yet Sister Maria offered us store-bought Tim Tams. Also, there used to be only one nun here at the convent, then you saw one running from a murder scene, and now the one nun everyone knows has gone, and there are new ones, with hairy legs.”
It did sound absurd. As we pulled away from the convent and drove back to town, I couldn’t stop thinking about the nuns. I felt as if I was missing something. I was no closer to solving Harrison’s murder, and every minute Jackson stayed in town placed me at greater risk.
Chapter Six
“Sorry about this, Pudding,” I said apologetically.
He swished his tail. “Why am I exiled in here with your outer-skin washing machine like a common cat?”
“This place has only one bathroom, and the girls might need it.”
“And that is my problem?”
“I can’t trust you to keep away from Rosalind. I know your sense of humour.”
Tonight was ostensibly a welcome party for Rosalind, but was a fact-finding mission. Apart from Sister Maria, Rosalind was my only lead.
Rosalind was the first to arrive. She shoved a block of cheese and a gold and black glitter gift bag at me. “I’ve brought you cheese. Am I too early? I know how important punctuation is.”
“Punctuality?” I prompted.
“It means to be on time,” Rosalind explained. “You have a nice place. Harrison’s place is such a bachelor pad. You’d think he’d never been married.”
I didn’t think three weeks was long enough to change anyone’s life, but I wasn’t going to point that out. “Thank you for the gift,” I said. “That was very thoughtful.”
“Oh don’t worry about it. It’s just a little something Harrison had. Is your cat locked up?”
“I’ve put him in the laundry room for now.” I looked at the gold gift bag curiously. “Can I open it?”
“Of course, silly. It’s for you.” Rosalind waved her hand at me.
I guessed the gift bag held perfume. I had seen some high-end perfumes in the glass display cabinets. How sweet of Rosalind, I thought, reaching my hand into the bag.
This was not perfume.
I crushed the bag around the pistol lying in the bottom of the bag, nestled innocently in a mess of tinsel and lime green tissue paper.
I gingerly held the bag away from me as far as I could. “Rosalind, there’s a gun in here.”
“Of course. Now you won’t have to go out and buy one,” Rosalind said. “It probably has paperwork too, but I’ll look for it later, if I remember.”
“Why would I need a gun, Rosalind?” I set down the bag carefully.
“Someone just died next door. You have to protect yourself.” Her brow furrowed. “Though, come to think of it, those handguns in the safe didn’t do Harrison much good, did they? Maybe I should have gone with a taser.”
“A taser?”
“Oh yes. You just touch it to the bad guy and push a button. Abracadabra! They’re flopping on the ground.” She demonstrated with a stiff armed twitch. “It’s really easy to use. And they make them look like anything nowadays. I have one that looks just like my mobile phone.”
She rummaged through her bag before pulling out two black phones. She looked from one to the other. “A little too much like a real phone sometimes.”
Was this woman fit to be running a business by herself? I wondered. Come to think of it, was she even fit to live unsupervised? At least I could cross her off my suspect list, which was sad, as she and the nun were the only ones on it. I could not see her shooting her husband while dressed as a nun. “I can’t accept this, Rosalind. I really do appreciate the thought, though.”
“Oh, it’s okay. I’ll just bring you something else tomorrow. There are all sorts of practical things in there.” She stuffed the gift bag into her oversized handbag. I was afraid to ask her if the gun was loaded. Very afraid.
I jumped as I heard another knock at the door. I opened it to see Ursula and Isabel standing there, already looking annoyed with each other.
“Sorry if we’re late,” Ursula said apologetically.
“Not at all. I’m glad you guys are here.” I waved them in. “Ladies, this is Rosalind.”
After I had introduced everyone, I ran to check on dinner. I took a minute to gather my wits, and then I took the steaming pans to the table. Rosalind and Ursula were both as impressed as I had hoped they would be. Before Isabel could complain about the lasagna, I brandished the eggplant parmesan. “I know, all vegetables. Eggplant and tomatoes. A little non-dairy parmesan cheese won’t kill your diet, right?”
“It’s not a vegetarian diet, it’s a whole food diet,” Isabel expl
ained as if the difference were obvious. “The body can’t process the preservatives. They cause the body to…”
Ursula stabbed a fork on Isabel’s plate to steal her eggplant and popped it in her mouth.
“You’ll won’t be so happy when your kidneys shut down from inflammation and chemical overdose,” Isabel said.
“It can do that?” Rosalind paused mid-bite.
Ursula waved her hand dismissively. “Isabel is a health nut.”
I sighed. “How about we get to know Rosalind?”
“That’s right. Where are you from anyway?” Ursula asked.
“Here, there and around. I’m quite a voyeur,” Rosalind said, causing Isabel to snort on her health drink. Ursula’s jaw dropped open. Rosalind looked at them, puzzled. “What did I say?”
“You meant voyager, right?” I asked, hoping I was right.
“That’s what I said, voyeur.” Rosalind crooked one brow. “You people must not get out much.”
“Where did you meet Harrison?” Isabel asked, after she recovered from her coughing fit.
“My cousin, Fred, set us up,” Rosalind explained. “He and Harrison did a lot of business together.”
“So it was a blind date?” Ursula asked.
Rosalind nodded. “We met in Brisbane. I thought Harrison was very charming for someone who ran a laundromat.”
“A laundromat?” I asked in confusion, trying to think of what word Rosalind could possibly mean this time.
Rosalind clicked her tongue in disapproval. “A place where you take your laundry. You do have them here, don’t you?”
“We do, but Harrison never laundered anything,” I said, confused. Harrison had never done laundry in all the time I had known him. He paid the cleaning lady to collect his laundry every week.
Rosalind nodded. “Of course he did. Fred told me that Harrison laundered things for him many times. I thought it was nice the man was secure enough to do other men’s laundry. I do wish he had let me visit his laundromat, though. He was so shy about it, even after we got married.”
Before I could press her for more details, Pudding let out an unearthly wail from the laundry room.