Devious - Lisa Jackson [148]
Once satisfied that he had everyone’s attention, his voice softened. “We will go about our duties, and I expect all of you to attend the auction at St. Elsinore’s tomorrow night. Father Thomas is dedicating the event to the memory of Sister Camille and Sister Asteria. It’s a beautiful gesture, and we at St. Marguerite’s will support it.” His gaze brooked no argument. “Now . . . together,” he said, offering a smile that was intended to warm the coldest, most godforsaken heart. He lifted his hands as if in supplication to heaven. “Let us pray . . .” Then he clasped his hands together in front of him and bowed his head. “Heavenly Father . . .”
Lucia, too, bent her head but slid a look at Sister Edwina, who met her gaze for just an instant. And in that moment, Lucia realized that all the calming words in the world were of little help.
Edwina, like the other nuns, was scared to death.
CHAPTER 43
“I think this message”—Valerie pointed a finger at the notes she’d scribbled on the flyer for the auction at St. Elsinore’s, the one that said C U N 7734 C V—“means ‘See you in hell, Charity Varisco.’ ” She leaned back in her desk chair so that Slade, who had been making a sandwich in her kitchen, could take another look at the note. It wasn’t the original, of course, nor even the copy, but what she’d written from memory and thought about for the past three days.
“Maybe.” He was noncommittal as he carried over a plate with a tuna sandwich complete with pickles and set it in front of her. “Here, this is for you.”
“Thanks.” She cast a smile up at him as he leaned over her, so close she smelled his aftershave, a clean, brisk scent that brought back unwanted memories of making love to him in the morning, their naked bodies entwined in the sun-dried sheets, the Texas morning sliding in through the open window. The songs of the warblers getting interrupted by the chatter of jays and underscored by the low bawl of a lonely calf.
Her throat thickened as she realized how much she missed the ranch. How much she’d missed Slade.
If he noticed her reaction, he hid it, his eyes studying her scribbled note.
She cleared her throat. “I, uh, think part of it’s in her little code, and then she just put the mother superior’s initials down because at the time she wrote it, she was really ticked at Sister Charity.”
“Then what does the other one mean?”
“I’m not as sure.” She’d written it down as well. TO BF 2 M&M. “But I’ve been working on it,” she admitted. And that was the truth. In the past few days, whenever she wasn’t busy working at the inn, or trying to figure out a reason why Camille had been killed, or looking over her shoulder, she’d been thinking about the puzzle, and remembering the items she’d found in the boxes in the attic, she’d mentally gone through the things that were her sister’s life. “I can’t get off the ‘best friend’ thing, and though ‘M and M’ could mean anyone, I think she was thinking about our parents—I mean our birth parents. Mike and Mary Brown.”
“Whom we’ve never found.”
“Maybe they didn’t exist. Maybe that’s what it’s all about.”
“So then who is ‘T O’?” he asked.
“I’m pretty sure it’s Thelma O’Malley,” she said.
“Not Tom, as in the priest at St. Elsinore’s.”
“Uh-uh. I can’t think of anyone else, and Thelma was the widow who brought us to the orphanage and claimed our parents had died . . . but I can’t find her. I’ve looked for Thelma O’Malley, Mrs. Stanley O’Malley, S. O’Malley, and T. O’Malley. I’ve even called people with the same last name, but so far I’ve struck out.”
“Have you told the police?”
She shook her head. “No, because I’m not really