The Priest (The Original Sinners #9) - Tiffany Reisz Page 0,100

little guest house—bookshelves filled with mismatched knickknacks and old books that either came from Goodwill or ought to go there, ugly plaid sofa, coffee table from the ’70s, wallpaper from the ’60s, brick fireplace plugged up since the ’50s. Why do it here? Of all the places to kill yourself…

“It’s clean,” Cyrus said, glancing around. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Why do you look so worried then?” Nora asked. She didn’t look too relaxed herself.

“We’re not supposed to be here, technically. So look hard and fast and try not to mess anything up.”

Nora nodded. Cyrus said, “Good luck.”

He left her in the living room while he walked through to the kitchen and out the backdoor. With his flashlight he made a circuit of the yard. Didn’t find anything. Not until he went all the way around the side of the house again and noticed paper sticking out of the mailbox.

He knew he shouldn’t be digging through the mail—federal crime and all that—but it wouldn’t kill him to look. Turned out the box was stuffed solid with several days of mail. Junk mostly. Flyers and notices. But there was something else, a big pink envelope, the kind that went with a big greeting card. Except this envelope had no address or name written on it, no return address or stamp. And it didn’t hold a card. It held something hard, something solid, something that jingled.

Shaking, Cyrus pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and grasped the envelope by the corner before he got his fingerprints all over it. Cyrus stepped into the front door and found Nora had taken all the couch cushions off and was digging through the seats.

“Come here. I got something.”

She stood up fast and Cyrus nodded toward the kitchen where there was good bright light.

At the kitchen counter, Cyrus laid the envelope down.

“Feels like keys,” he explained to Nora as he dug latex gloves out of his pocket. “Sounds like them, too.”

He turned the envelope over. Holding the flap down was a sticker.

“A butterfly,” Nora said.

That’s what it was, all right. A round sticker about the size of a half dollar with an illustration of a monarch butterfly.

Carefully, Cyrus peeled back the flap. A set of car keys fell out on the counter.

“Hot damn,” Cyrus said.

“That looks like a padlock key.” Nora pointed at the littlest key on the ring.

“Get the thing,” he said.

Nora ran into the other room, came back with the duffel bag. Cyrus passed her another set of gloves. She pulled the chastity device out of the bag and set it on a few paper towels that Cyrus had set out.

Cyrus tried the key. The lock popped open.

“Okay, so there goes my theory,” Nora said.

Cyrus didn’t answer, too busy thinking.

“Keys in the mailbox. No stamp. Somebody found the keys? No.”

“If they just found them on the street, they wouldn’t know who they belonged to.”

“Right.” Cyrus nodded. “So somebody had the keys already, found out Ike was dead, and wanted to return them quietly.”

“Somebody who likes butterflies. Who likes butterflies?”

“Father Ike did. He had that poem in his Bible.”

“He was in love with someone who likes butterflies? Maybe? Or sleeping with someone who likes butterflies?”

“We don’t know that. It’s a guess, but we can’t say that for sure.” Cyrus turned the envelope over and looked inside but found nothing other than that one butterfly sticker.

“Doesn’t seem possible it’s just a coincidence though, does it?”

No, it didn’t.

And something else…

“Grand Isle,” Cyrus said. “It has a butterfly dome. Some kind of park, all butterflies. Ike went on vacation there in June. In July, he booked a two-month stay on Grand Isle at a different place, a real secluded place. Lady who met him said Father Ike asked what there was to do around there. She said ‘beach, nature hikes, biking, and the butterfly dome.’”

“So he wanted to go back because he likes butterflies,” Nora said. “Or because he knew someone who did.”

Cyrus needed to think and think hard and think deep.

“I’m going for a walk,” he said.

“You want me to come?”

“No, you stay here. Keep looking. I’m gonna walk from here to where we found the car again.”

“Why? We already found the keys.”

Cyrus turned so that he was facing the street. “You have any trouble getting a parking spot on this street?”

“No. I parked right in front of the house.”

“You see lots of spots?”

“Half the street was empty.”

“Right. Exactly.” Cyrus wagged his finger at her. “Ike didn’t park his car three blocks away because there was no parking here.