John Jordan05 - Blood Sacrifice Read Free Page A

without looking up. “She’s not a nun. She was a novice for a while, but she’s never taken any vows.”
    I nodded and looked away, trying to seem only mildly interested.
    Between our shoes and the sandy soil, fallen pine needles and the exposed roots of the giant trees made the ground slippery and treacherous for someone of Sister’s age and weight, and we walked slowly, my hand lingering near her arm in case she slid or stumbled.
    “She might as well have taken them, though. She lives as cloistered as I do. Such a lovely girl. Shame she’s so lonely.” Stopping suddenly and turning to me, she added, “You’re not the type of man who would take advantage of a lonely young woman like that, are you?”
    I shook my head.
    “Too bad,” she said.
    I looked at her. “What?”
    “Tell me,” she said, as she started to walk again, “do you think young Tommy drowned accidentally or killed himself?”
    Why had she waited so long to ask about him?
    “I’m not sure,” I said. “But I’ll be happy to look into it for you. With drownings it’s difficult to determine, but I can at least narrow it down to a likely scenario.”
    “Aren’t you here because of how badly you’ve been affected by the homicide investigations you’ve conducted?”
    “In part, yeah, but—”
    “What do you think getting involved in one now would do to the therapeutic process? Why do you think I was hesitant to even ask you about it?”
    The cry of a loon across the lake drew my attention in time to see Tammy Taylor and Brad Harrison emerging from the tree-covered trail at the water’s edge. The narrow path cutting through the thick woods twisted around the lake and was used for meditative strolls or less lofty pursuits, as in the case of Tammy and Brad.
    One of a handful of troubled teens undergoing both spiritual and psychological counseling, Tammy looked sixteen, though I was told she was at least three years older. Harrison was thirty-something and the abbey’s handyman—and not the only person at St. Ann’s that Tammy wandered into the woods with on a regular basis.
    “What’s the abbey’s policy on sexual relations?” I asked.
    “It’s generally frowned upon,” she said.
    Though the libidinous couple was walking several paces apart, they were still straightening their clothes and arranging their hair—something that brought a disapproving glare from Sister Christine King, a small, boyish young nun near the chapel, and Keith Richie, the much-tattooed cook enjoying a smoke beside the dumpster at the back of the kitchen.
    “I think I can handle it,” I said as we started walking again.
    “Sexual relations?”
    “Looking into Tommy Boy’s death. This isn’t exactly prison. It’s not someone I knew. It’d give me something to—”
    “Take your mind off what you really need to be dealing with?” she asked.
    “But don’t you want to know what happened to him?”
    “Are you the only one who can tell us?”
    “No. Of course not.”
    Streaming down through the trees, the midday sun dappled the uneven ground, but couldn’t completely remove the chill from the air.
    “But you think the chances of finding the truth are better if you’re involved?”
    “I do. Is that arrogance or confidence?”
    “Something to think about,” she said.
    “So much to think about.”
    “Father Thomas worked with Tommy for a long time,” she said. “He’s going to be devastated. I don’t think you should work the investigation, but you
could
help me tell him what’s happened.”

Chapter Four
     
    “Do you believe in the devil?” Father Thomas asked.
    While waiting for him, I had begun perusing the vast library in his study, and was flipping through one of the many texts on demon possession, exorcism, and Satan when he walked in.
    The question caught me off guard and I hesitated before responding, trying to come up with something to say. “Looks like
you’re
the expert on that.”
    “Evasive, but not untrue,” he