Devious - Lisa Jackson [44]
The seconds ticked by, but Val wasn’t about to be intimidated by silence. She met the older woman’s gaze without flinching or looking away.
“All right,” the mother superior finally said on a sigh. “Come in.” Reluctantly, she unlocked the gate and allowed Val inside. “We’ve been plagued by reporters and the police,” she explained as she handed Val back her license. The gate clicked shut behind Val; then Sister Charity led the way along a path that cut through a garden abundant in blooms. “Come along. You can wait in my office. I have no idea where Father O’Toole is or how long he may—Oh!” The older nun stopped short near the center fountain, and Val nearly ran into her.
Charity was staring at an archway that connected to the cloister. Within the recess, a tall man was leaning forward, listening to the smaller woman standing near him.
Val’s stomach dropped as she recognized the imposing, handsome visage of Father Frank O’Toole.
Bastard!
Her insides twisted, and it was all she could do to hold on to her composure as she stared at the fraud dressed in full regalia, a black cassock and stiff clerical collar.
Deep in conversation, he leaned even nearer to the young nun as he spoke, as if he didn’t notice Val or the guy on the far side of the garden, a man leaning down and working with a wrench on a faucet, a coil of hose at his feet.
Nor did the young novice notice anyone but the priest. Mesmerized, the sweet-looking girl gazed up at him with adoring brown eyes. Freckles were splashed across a tiny nose, and her red hair was pulled back into a single, short plait. Smiling shyly, the girl held a single white rose.
Val thought she might be sick.
“Sister Asteria?” Sister Charity whispered loud enough to be heard.
“Oh!” The girl flinched, caught sight of the reverend mother, and then jumped back as if she’d been burned. She dropped the flower, then sucked in her breath through her teeth. White petals fell onto the bricks of the cloister floor, and a pinpoint of red bloomed on Sister Asteria’s fingertip where a thorn had scratched her. “Reverend Mother, I . . . I didn’t hear you.” She started to suck her finger as the larger woman approached, Val right behind her, then thought better of it. Swallowing nervously, Asteria scooped up her wimple and veil, both of which had been left on the ground near a rosebush in the garden.
“If you’ll excuse us,” Sister Charity said. “Father O’Toole has a visitor.”
The little nun blushed a dozen shades of red. “Of course. Yes . . . uh . . . Yes.” She scurried off quickly.
Valerie watched her leave and knew deep in her gut that Sister Asteria was just another vulnerable woman caught in the allure of Father Frank—The Bastard—O’Toole.
Without comment, Sister Charity marched up to the priest, her black skirt sweeping over the fallen white rose, her shoe grinding it into the floor. “This is Valerie Renard, Sister Camille’s sister. She’d like a word with you, Father.”
Frank O’Toole straightened, but the sad expression didn’t fade from his face as he focused on Valerie. Was it her imagination, or for just a second, did she spy a flicker of hatred in his gaze? If so, it vanished in an instant as he composed himself again.
“Valerie. Yes,” he said, nodding. “I’ve been expecting you.”
CHAPTER 16
Sliding off his jacket, Montoya sat down at his desk to answer a few phone messages and his e-mail. He’d read over the handwritten list of employees, volunteers, and residents at St. Marguerite’s parish and was wishing to hell the parish had a computer. Another page listed people who had been at the convent and church the day of Camille Renard’s death, but as with the computer, there were no security cameras at the parish. It was, after all, a church and a very backward one. He made a note to ask about