Sylver and Gold

by Michelle Larkin

  Traitor.

  London smiled and gave him a scratch under the chin. “Where are we off to now?”

  “Making a pit stop in Waltham.”

  “What for?”

  Reid shrugged. “Just something I want to check out.”

  “Related to the investigation?”

  She met London’s eyes briefly in the rearview mirror, neither confirming nor denying.

  “I knew it,” London said, grinning broadly. “What’s the plan?”

  “Bingo.”

  London frowned. “Come again?”

  “The vic was old. Old people play bingo.”

  “Oh.” London looked like someone had let the wind out of her sails. “I’m risking hypothermia to interrogate senior citizens?”

  “The risk wasn’t worth the payout, I assure you.”

  “There must be dozens of spots around town that host bingo. Why are we driving all the way to Waltham?”

  “Shit. Do you always ask so many damn questions?”

  “I do when the best detective in Homicide—the one I’m supposed to be learning from—keeps everything close to the vest.”

  “Nice one. I see what you did there. Flattery to get me to open up and share.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Solid effort.” She met London’s gaze briefly in the rearview mirror before returning her focus to the road. “But no.”

  Not in the least bit ruffled, London persisted, “At least let me in on how you chose this particular location.”

  “Easy. They have the biggest jackpot.” But she had no idea how big their bingo jackpot was, or even if there was one. Her knowledge of the game was limited to someone shouting Bingo! upon winning. Money had to be involved, right? Why else would anyone play? She should’ve asked Beatrice more questions when she’d had the chance. From now on, she’d be more adept at covering her tracks with this helicopter rookie.

  Reid pulled into the parking lot behind Saint Mary’s and cracked the windows. She climbed out and called Mug to follow her out her door. Ignoring London, she slammed the door and started toward the church entrance.

  London called out through the cracked car window, “Hey, you forgot someone back here.”

  She halted in her tracks, returned to the car, and leaned over to talk into the crack. “I didn’t forget. How could I possibly forget the rookie who insists on making more work for me by asking a million questions? Way I see it, you need to start thinking about ways to pull your own weight around here. Least you can do is figure out how to let yourself out of the car.”

  Reid straightened and walked briskly to the church entrance with Mug at her side. She smiled, pleased with her own aptitude for thinking outside the box. The passenger’s side lock was childproof and could only be opened from the outside. The seat on the driver’s side didn’t push forward—it had been stuck in the same position for years.

  That should buy her at least a little time alone.

  She stepped through the doorway and gazed around the near-empty church. A solitary nun was praying at a pew near the front. She took a deep breath and let the quiet wash over her, a luxury she’d be sure never to take for granted again.

  The stillness was short-lived. She and Mug spun around as the door swung open behind them.

  London strolled over with a grin, evidently proud of herself.

  Reid sighed. “You again?”

  “Me again.”

  “How the hell did you get out so fast?”

  London looked down and lifted her foot. “These sneakers give me superpowers, allowing me to escape from even the most challenging childproof locks.”

  “If you broke a window to get out, so help me—”

  “I broke a window to get out,” London blurted.

  Reid felt her blood pressure skyrocket. “Seriously?”

  London took a step back and nodded. “I’ll pay for it,” she added quickly.

  “You bet your goddamn ass you’ll pay—”

  “Pardon me?” the nun asked as she marched toward them, rosary in hand. Her habit framed a plump wrinkled face with intelligent blue eyes. “You’re not using the Lord’s name in vain here, are you?” She crossed her arms and cast a stern, tightlipped glance at Reid.

  “No, Sister.” It occurred to Reid that telling a lie here, of all places, was probably a bad idea. “I mean…yes, Sister. But it’s a good thing my old boss isn’t here. He used the Lord’s name in vain way more than I do.” Nuns had always made her uncharacteristically nervous and prone to babbling. “He’s dead now,” she added, giving herself a mental dope slap.

  “Maybe that’s why,” the nun said coldly.

  The three of them stood together awkwardly.

  The nun winked. “That was a joke. A very bad one, I’m afraid. Forgive me.” She put her hands together and bowed her head. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  Reid would have laughed if she wasn’t busy feeling so damn intimidated. “Detective Sylver,” she said, extending a clammy hand. “This is…this is…” she stammered, suddenly at a loss as to how to refer to the rookie beside her.

  “Detective Gold,” London finished, offering a well-manicured hand to the nun. “You’ll have to forgive my partner. I’ve been standing on her last nerve since we met.”

  The nun reached back. “Sister Margaret Mary,” she replied with a genuine smile. “How long have the two of you been partners?”

  London flicked her wrist and checked her Apple watch. “Six hours and twenty-two minutes,” she said in a chipper tone.

  Reid shook her head and sighed. “Longest six hours of my life.”

  Sister Margaret glared at Reid in the same faultfinding, hypercritical way that all nuns seemed to have mastered. She’d been rubbing nuns the wrong way as far back as she could remember. It all started back in kindergarten at the Catholic school she’d attended. Her first teacher, Sister Nancy, had made it her life’s mission to convert Reid from a tomboy into a proper young lady. Needless to say, it hadn’t gone well. Seeing Sister Nancy’s face after she stole a pair of buzz cutters and shaved her head in second grade still ranked in the top ten of her favorite memories.

  Reid ran her fingers through the hair that she kept short, like her fingernails. She’d never grown her hair long again after that.

  Sister Margaret’s expression softened as she studied London. “That’s a beautiful cross.”

  Smiling, London reached up to rub the cross between her fingers. “My parents gave this to me for my first communion.”

  “Do you still attend mass?”

  London shook her head.

  “And your parents?” Sister Margaret asked. “Do they attend?”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure.” London let her hand fall away from the cross as she returned the nun’s gaze with a palpable sadness. “They haven’t spoken to me in ten years.”

  Reid’s curiosity was piqued. Why in the world would two parents cease contact with this perfect rookie?

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Sister Margaret stepped closer to London and took both her hands. “We’re all children of God, learning, growing, forgiving—”

  “If you’ll excuse us for a moment, Sister.” Reid grabbed London by the elbow, led her away, and whispered, “When you’re done with family therapy, can you ask her if she recognizes our vic?” She retrieved Beatrice’s photo from her phone and held it out to London.

  “Why don’t you ask her?” London whispered back.

  “Because she’s giving me the evil eye.”

  “You’re afraid of a nun because she scolded you?”

  “I’m not afraid. Let’s get that straight.”

  “Then go ask her yourself.” London handed the phone back.

  “Come on, this is your chance to shine. Besides, you’ve built a rapport with her. She likes you.”

  “Only if you admit it.”

  “Admit what?”

  “You’re afraid of the nun.”

  “Fine.” Reid sighed. “Maybe I f
ind her a little intimidating.”

  “And you won’t beat me up when we get to the car and you see the broken window.”

  “Don’t push it.”

  London extended her hand. “Fine. Give it here.”

  Reid handed over the phone and stayed put as London returned to the nun. Pulling Beatrice’s name and address out of thin air obviously wasn’t an option with her new sidekick in tow. All they needed was an identity so she could drive to Beatrice’s house and get this investigation officially underway.

  With Mug at her side, she watched London and Sister Margaret from across the room. Sister Margaret made the sign of the cross when London held up the phone with Beatrice’s photo. They talked for several minutes and then shared a warm embrace. Sister Margaret stepped to the front of the church, lit a candle, and promptly knelt in prayer.

  Reid frowned. No nun had ever hugged her.

  London returned and held the phone out but said nothing.

  She followed London to the back of the church. She could be mistaken, but the rookie seemed suddenly angry. “Well?” she asked as they stepped outside. “Did she recognize our vic or what?”

  London nodded.

  Reid could all but see the steam coming out of her ears. “And?”

  London set her hands on her hips. “What game are you playing?”

  “Huh?” The busted window on her prized Camaro Z28 granted her exclusive rights on the pissed-off cop face that London was now wearing.

  London started pacing. “What I don’t understand is why you dragged me all the way out here if you already knew the victim’s name.”

  Oh. That. “I didn’t know our vic’s name. Still don’t. So?” Reid tossed her hands up in frustration. “What the hell is it?”

  London stopped pacing. “Beatrice,” she said sarcastically.

  Reid kept her poker face. “Does Beatrice have a last name?”

  “You’re just going to stand there and pretend you didn’t know?”

  “Know what?” Reid asked, still playing dumb.

  “That the vic’s name was Beatrice!” London shouted.

  “How the hell would I know that?”

  “I heard you, Sylver. I heard you say that name clear as a bell when I brought you your coffee this morning. Which I spat in, by the way.”

  “You did?”

  “No. But I wish I had.”

  That was the last time Reid would send the rookie on a coffee run. “I assure you, that name did not come out of my mouth this morning.”

  “So you’re saying I imagined it?”

  “I don’t know.” Reid frowned as she studied the ground and pretended to give the question serious thought. “Are you psychic?”

  “What?”

  “Psychic.”

  “Of course not. I don’t believe in that stuff.”

  “What other explanation is there?”

  “The only plausible explanation is that you’re playing some kind of prank on the newbie.”

  “Rookie,” Reid corrected. “And no. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not the type.”

  London laughed dryly, apparently unconvinced. “Whatever you say.”

  They were standing in front of the car now. To Reid’s surprise, all of the windows were intact. “Thought you said you broke a window to get out.”

  “I was joking.”

  Now it was her turn to get all angry and indignant. “Well, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?”

  “You deserved it after you locked me in the car like a prisoner.”

  “At least I left the windows cracked.”

  London opened the passenger’s door, climbed in the back seat, and returned the seat to its upright position for Mug.

  Reid slipped behind the steering wheel once again. “You going to give me the vic’s last name or what?”

  “Like you don’t know.”

  “I don’t.”

  London gazed out the window. They sat in silence.

  “Are you seriously forcing me to face the scary nun again?”

  “It’ll be good for you. Sister Margaret will set you on the righteous path of honesty.”

  Damn. London was calling her bluff. “Fine. I’ll be right back. Don’t break any windows while I’m gone.”

  Chapter Five

  London watched Reid jog back to the church. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t—for the life of her—figure out what game Reid was playing. Had it all just been some kind of test? If she hadn’t seen the ME zip up the body bag, she’d be wondering if there was really even a body at all. The more likely explanation was that Reid had staged everything for her benefit. But that obviously wasn’t the case, either. The body was real.

  Why would Reid not only deny knowing the victim’s name but drag her all the way out here pretending she didn’t know? This trip had been a giant waste of time.

  She shook her head and sighed, frustrated with Reid’s reticence to share information. To get what she needed, she’d have to be more creative and think outside the box from now on.

  * * *

  Reid stepped quietly inside the church. Sister Margaret was still kneeling, deep in prayer. Fairly certain it was a cardinal sin to disturb a praying nun, she leaned against the wall and waited. She didn’t really need to talk to the nun—Beatrice had already shared her last name when they’d talked earlier that morning. All she had to do was stay put for the few moments it would take to acquire such information.

  Straightening to leave, she turned and bumped into the holy water font near the church entrance. The copper bowl toppled, spilling its precious contents all over the front of her jeans and sneakers. It landed on the marble floor with a thunderous clang.

  She cringed. So much for sneaking out.

  Sister Margaret was at her side in seconds, scowling. “Spilling holy water on oneself is an act of sacrilege.”

  Reid felt her eyes grow wide.

  “Another bad joke, I’m afraid.” Sister Margaret winked. “To what do I owe the honor of two visits in one day?”

  “Just one more question, Sister. What was Beatrice’s last name?”

  “I already told your partner.”

  “I realize that. But she…”

  “Forgot?”

  “Not exactly.” Reid hesitated. “She just…won’t tell me.”

  “And why is that?”

  “She thinks I already know.”

  “Do you?”

  Reid’s knee-jerk reaction was to lie. But she stopped herself, wondering if she’d be forever cursed if she lied. In church. To a nun.

  “It’s a simple yes or no question, Detective Sylver. Do you already know Beatrice’s last name?”

  Reid hung her head. “Yes, Sister.”

  “Then why are you here asking me a question you already know the answer to?”

  “Because I can’t tell the other detective how I found out.”

  The nun frowned. “Exactly how did you find out?”

  “I was kind of hoping you wouldn’t ask about that.”

  “Well, I did.” She crossed her arms and tapped her black shoe impatiently on the church’s marble floor. “I’m waiting for your answer, Detective Sylver.”

  Reid hesitated, bracing herself. “The victim told me.”

  “Beatrice?”

  She nodded.

  “But your partner said she’s dead.”

  She sighed. “Thus, my dilemma.”

  Sister Margaret’s expression remained unchanged. “You can communicate with spirits.”

  Reid said nothing and simply waited for the onslaught of scorn and judgment. She’d been down this road before in her youth. Which was why she stayed as far away from the Catholic church as humanly possible. “Go ahead,” she prompted.

  “Go ahead and what?” Sister Margaret asked, looking genuinely baffled.

  “Judge me. Harshly. The way only a nun can. Then tell me I’m doing the devil’s work and implore me to schedule an exorcism with the reverend father.” />
  “I beg your pardon? I’ll do no such thing.”

  “Another joke, right?”

  “God gave you a gift. You’re using that gift to help thy fellow man.”

  Reid pretended to unplug her ears. “Come again, Sister?”

  “You heard me. Our job as mere mortals isn’t to pass judgment. It’s to help our fellow man realize and execute the plan that God has set forth for us. You’re already doing that. God would be proud.”

  Few situations in her forty years on earth had rendered her speechless. This definitely ranked as one of the most surreal moments of her life.

  “Come back to the Church.” Sister Margaret reached over and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re welcome here anytime, Detective Sylver.”

  Reid shook her head and took a step back. “The Catholic church won’t welcome me.” She felt her guard slipping back in place. “I’m gay.”

  “Well, in that case”—Sister Margaret crossed her arms and frowned—“I’m afraid I must rescind the invitation.”

  Reid nodded, surprised to discover she was actually a little disappointed as she turned to leave. “Thanks for your time.”

  Sister Margaret called out from behind her, “Have you completely lost your funny bone, Detective?”

  Reid glanced back and watched as the nun’s stern expression broke into a beautiful smile. “You have a very dark sense of humor, Sister.”

  “So I’ve been told. I expect to see you at Sunday mass. Nine sharp. And bring your partner. I get the feeling she was driven from the church for the very same reason.”

  “You think she can talk to dead people, too?” Reid asked, confused.

  “No. The other reason,” Sister Margaret said, shaking her head. “And you call yourself a detective?”

  It took her a moment to realize what Sister Margaret was saying. London was a lesbian? How the hell could a nun’s gaydar be better than hers?

  * * *

  Back inside the car, Reid met London’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Hope you don’t have any plans for Sunday.”

  “What’s on Sunday?” London asked suspiciously. “Another prank?”

  “Sister Margaret invited us to mass.”

  London leaned forward, her eyes wide with surprise. “She invited you?”