Devota shifted then and, letting the knife slip a little, yanked open one of the coffin doors, the one that had never really been sealed.

To Charity’s absolute horror, a corpse, rotting and desiccated, tumbled out of the coffin.

“Son of a—!” Val gasped, and jumped back.

Charity let out a bloodcurdling scream. Her knees gave way as she stared at the dead body of a woman who was little more than bones, pieces of dried flesh, and scraps of hair. The woman’s skin had shriveled, her eye sockets were empty and black, and she was wearing the remains of a stained and threadbare wedding gown, its faded ribbons and tattered lace fluttering in the dim, eerie light.

“Recognize her?” Devota demanded.

Oh, yes. Of course she did. With sickening clarity, Charity knew she was looking at the body of Sister Lea De Luca, the nun who was supposed to have left for San Francisco years ago, the one who had sent her cards.

Devota gloated, “It’s amazing how easy it is to find someone to send mail from another city. And all the while you”—she wrenched Charity’s arm and she nearly cried out—“thought you knew what happened to her. You thought that you’d dealt with ‘the problem.’ ”

“You’re insane,” Val whispered, the gun no longer steady. “You killed this woman.”

“Punished her,” Devota corrected. “Sent her soul to hell. Just like the others. It was so easy. I just told her that Father Frank was waiting. For her. Down here. And she fell for it. Put on her pretty little dress.”

“Because you drugged her!” Val accused.

“I helped her.”

“By luring her down here and killing her?”

“She was a slut. A whore! She didn’t deserve him.”

Devota was so enraged she was starting to tremble.

“Frank O’Toole?” Val’s lips curled in revulsion.

“And,” Devota ranted, “she didn’t deserve to wear the holy habit, not with all her impure thoughts, her dreams of whoring with him! Lea deserved what happened.”

“You can’t play God,” Charity whispered.

“Didn’t you? Every day, Mother? Pretending to do his work, to do what was best, to lead us all on the righteous path? And all the while you were holding your precious secrets. I just wonder how many times you let that old man take you to his bed, how many times you slept with him, how many times you touched him, kissed him, did what he begged. Is that what this is all about?” She took her knife and sliced it downward, ripping through the fabric of Charity’s habit. Charity felt the cold steel tip of the blade slice into her skin, running down one side of her spine, like a fish about to be filleted.

“Stop!” Val ordered.

But the knife slit the habit in two.

Tears filled Charity’s eyes.

She stared at the rotted corpse.