“We don’t know what happened,” she said in a crisp tone that allowed no argument. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must attend to the sisters.” As she bustled off, skirts rustling and rosary beads clicking, her outfit was meticulous but for the hem of her habit, which showed more than a trace of dirt.

Odd.

Otherwise she was impeccably put together—now, in the middle of the night.

Did the old mother superior sleep in her habit? Montoya made a mental note to speak with her later, when she’d had some time to cool off.

“Sister, wait up!” Bentz said, lunging to catch up with her. “I need to see Sister Camille’s room.”

“There’s nothing there.”

“We don’t know that.”

She paused, then nodded stiffly. “Come along, then.” She was already leading him up the stairs to the living quarters of the convent.

Yeah, Montoya thought, he’d speak to Sister Charity again. Alone. For now, he had bigger fish to fry. To Officer Erwin he said, “I think I’m going to have a talk with Father O’Toole and see what he has to say.”

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 8

Cruz’s brother?

Here?

A police detective?

Sister Lucia felt the cold stone in the pit of her stomach growing heavier. She’d thought this night couldn’t get any worse when she’d stumbled upon Camille’s body, but she’d been wrong.

Detective Montoya made it so.

He looked a lot like Cruz—same sharp cheekbones; near-black, suspicious eyes; thick, straight hair; and white teeth that flashed against coppery skin. Too handsome. That’s what her father had said about Cruz. The same was true of his older brother.

At the reverend mother’s bidding, Lucia hurried to her room where she slid into her dry habit and pinned her hair onto her head. She pushed thoughts of Cruz Montoya aside as she went to rouse the other sisters, tapping on their doors, asking them to dress and meet the mother superior in the main dining hall. Several asked why, and she responded with “I don’t know any details, just that the reverend mother wants to see all of us.”

A lie—but just the first of many, she thought darkly. The evil voice that had awakened her was blackening her soul.

Sister Angela woke easily, popping her head out the door, almost as if she’d been waiting. Apple-cheeked, she pressed on a pair of thin glasses and blinked against the dim hall lights. “What is it?”

“I don’t know, just hurry,” Lucia said, lying through her teeth. Again.

“But—”

“Please, the reverend mother is waiting.”

Nodding, Angela slipped inside her room as Lucia hurried down the dark hallway to rap on the next door. Sister Dorothy didn’t respond. Lucia tried again, louder this time, but there was no answer.