The Priest (The Original Sinners #9) - Tiffany Reisz Page 0,99
this morning?”
“How’d you guess?”
“Either S?ren has a thing for redheads or redheads have a thing for S?ren, I swear. You should have seen it when he and Kingsley played on the same team in church league soccer. Women would slide off the bleachers.”
“I don’t need that image in my head.”
“Sorry. Blame the paint fumes for that. Trying to get the nursery done. Wanna come help?” she asked, her voice bright and obnoxious as a fluorescent light.
“Yeah, no. Just calling to tell you your Viking says we can keep working together.”
“So the fellowship of the cock rings isn’t breaking up?”
“You are not right, woman. Not right at all. And don’t even try to blame the paint fumes for that.”
She couldn’t, so she didn’t.
“What’s our next move then, partner?” she asked.
“The police finally released the house where Father Ike died. My next move is checking that house, seeing if they missed anything.”
“Like what? Suicide note?”
“Most people don’t leave a note,” he said. “And cops looked for one. Closest we got was that voicemail he left for Sister Margaret.”
“What did it say exactly?” Nora asked. He’d never told her.
“Give me a sec. I’ll get my notebook.”
Nora heard Cyrus put his phone down. When he picked it up again, she heard the rustle of pages flipping.
“According to Detective Katherine Naylor,” Cyrus said, “Father Ike said, ‘I’m sorry for what I’m about to do but I’d be sorrier if I didn’t do it. I can’t do this anymore. Forgive me. Pray for me, Margaret.’ And that was it.”
“Pretty vague. I guess ‘I’m sorry for what I’m about to do’ means he’s sorry for committing suicide. But why would he be sorrier if he didn’t commit suicide?”
“No God damn idea.”
“Did you listen to it yourself?” she asked.
“The voicemail? No, didn’t want to.”
“Maybe we should,” Nora said. “Maybe he said something else. You got that from the detective, not Sister Margaret.”
“You’re gonna make me listen to that message, aren’t you?”
“I’ll do it if you don’t want to.”
“Fine. I’ll call Sister Margaret, see if we can hear the message. Although I’m already thinking that’s a dead-end. Detective Naylor would have told me if there was anything in that voicemail worth listening to.”
“You never know,” Nora said. “So if not a note, what are you looking for in the house?”
“Maybe that key?” he said.
“Good thinking. I should come, too, and help you look for it.”
“You want to go to the scene of a bloody suicide?”
“It’s not still bloody, is it?”
“No. It’s cleaned up now.”
“Then, yes, I want to go with you.”
“All right. Meet me there at six,” he said. “Yellow house on the corner of Annunciation and Rose.”
“I’ll be there. See you later. If I don’t pass out from paint fumes first.”
Nora hung up, took in a few more lungfuls of fresh air, then returned to the nursery where Christopher Plummer was waiting for her.
Naked.
“Captain Von Trapp,” she said. “We really should stop meeting this way.”
Maybe when she was done with the nursery, she’d repaint her bedroom. Or the whole house…
Chapter Thirty-Six
Cyrus paced the sidewalk while he waited for Nora to turn up. It was almost six, the sun still up, and he wanted to search the outside of the house for Father Ike’s missing car keys. He had a feeling if they found the car keys, they’d also find the missing padlock key. Nora seemed to like her theory that Father Ike had a lady somewhere who was wearing that key around her neck on a chain, but Cyrus doubted it. Things weren’t that mysterious and sexy in real life. Violent deaths were ugly and brutal and stupid, and beautiful corpses were only on TV.
Although the sun was up, Cyrus used his flashlight to scan the little front yard. He didn’t find anything in the weedy grass. Before he could check the backyard, Nora pulled up in her Mustang and parked in front of the house on the street. Thank God, she was dressed normal. Jeans, white tank, sneakers. Duffle bag, which probably had that cock-ring chastity thing in it.
“Over here,” he said and waved her to the front door.
“You heard back from Sister Margaret yet about the message?” Nora asked.
“Not yet.”
Using the key Katherine had given him, Cyrus opened the front door and let them both in the house.
They paused at the entryway as if afraid to go in further. The house didn’t look like the scene of a crime. The clean-up was over. No red left on the old oak floors. It just looked like a