She heard someone panting and made out a woman crouched on a boulder in the swirling fog, at least a three-foot-wide, five-foot-deep gap between her and the roses. She wore only a dove-gray tunic and skirt, without a jacket, sweater or rain gear, and a white headband held back her light brown, chin-length hair. Her face was pale, her lips blue as she shivered, undoubtedly from fear as well as the wet, windy conditions.

Emma squeezed onto the path, thorns, dripping leaves and rose hips brushing against her jeans.

“Don’t come closer.” The woman—a young novice of the Sisters of the Joyful Heart sounded frightened more than confrontational. “Please. Stay where you are.”

“My name’s Emma Sharpe. I’m a federal agent.” Emma reached into her jacket for her credentials and held them up. “I need to see your hands.”

“I can’t…I can’t move.”

Emma returned her credentials to her jacket. “Just put your hands out in front of you where I can see them.”

The woman complied, gingerly holding her palms in front of her. She was shaking visibly. “I don’t even know how I got out here.”

“What’s your name, Sister?”

“I’m Sister Cecilia. Cecilia Catherine Rousseau. I was in the meditation garden. I saw Sister Joan. I don’t think she saw me. I hadn’t expected to be there. I’d been working on the biography I’m writing of Mother Linden, our foundress. I decided to see if Sister Joan needed any help. Then I—I saw someone else….”

“Where?” Emma asked.

“On the rocks, headed toward the cove. I panicked,” Sister Cecilia added, sheepish. “Next thing, I was here.”

“This person you saw. Man, woman?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t tell. It wasn’t Sister Joan, or any of the other sisters.”

“You’re sure?”

Sister Cecilia nodded. “I knew I didn’t want whoever it was to see me. It could have been someone from one of the boats taking shelter in the cove.” She sniffled, still shivering but steadier, her emotions more under control.

Emma felt another strong, cool gust of wind off the water. “Do you know where Sister Joan is now?”

“No.” Sister Cecilia’s eyes lifted to Emma. “Something terrible has happened, hasn’t it?”

“I hope not. First things first, okay? I want you to jump over to me.”

Sister Cecilia tightened her hands into fists and sobbed. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. You just have a touch of vertigo. You jumped over there. You can jump back.”

“If I fall—”

“You won’t fall. I won’t let you.”

“The boulder I’m on is wet. It’s slippery. I almost fell.”

“You didn’t know it was slippery. Now you do. You’ll make allowances.” Emma kept her tone level, patient. “Sister Cecilia, if there’s an intruder, the other members of your community could be in danger. I need to help them.”