What had other people done or said to Oliver to make Gwen corner him in the hall with instructions? Or was it because he was different from Oliver Barlow’s other friends? Felipe was going to let Miss Jones walk away, but there was something he needed to know before the end. “Miss Jones, why did you convince Oliver to ask me to dinner?”
A small, fragile smile crossed her lips. “Because I could see you two were attracted to each other. That part was obvious, especially when you came back with specimens for him. And with Oliver, well, he doesn’t hide his feelings. But mostly because I thought you would be good for each other. You’re outgoing but not obnoxious or foolhardy. Oliver could use someone to bring him out of his bubble but not push too hard. And I figured even though you’re away on cases a lot, Oliver would be content with having you when you came back to the city. He would never try to keep you here.” Gwen’s expression darkened as she took a step toward the stairs. “I’m sorry this had to happen, Galvan. I never thought... I had hoped both of you would be happy if given the chance.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m glad I have the time now to get to know him better. Maybe it wasn’t the right time in the past for us to get together, but I regret not making my feelings known sooner.”
“If you weren’t stuck to him, I’m not sure he would have ever believed it.” Gwen laughed.
Felipe swallowed against the guilt building in the back of his throat. “I know I said I would never intentionally hurt Oliver, but I worry about what will happen after I’m gone. I doubt I’m the love of his life— I just hate knowing I’m leaving you to pick up the pieces.”
“Who knows. Maybe you and Oliver will figure something out. Stranger things have happened in this place. Be good to him, Galvan.”
***
Oliver stared out thewindow of the steamer, watching the city give way to the more pastoral hills of the West Bronx. It wasn’t pastoral in the way parts of Pennsylvania were, where the only thing for miles were cattle or trees. Here, the city seemed to give out and lose its hold, row houses and tenements trickling away in a grey trail. The air here was markedly cleaner, and between small farms, they passed through residential districts where the houses lorded over the roads. They weren’t the sprawling mansions mushrooming around the city, but they were large and crisp enough to tell him there was money to be had. He shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, monasteries and churches needed donations, though for what in this sort of area, he couldn’t be sure.
Part of him wanted to talk to Felipe about it, but the man had been quiet since they left. Not in a way that set Oliver’s hackles up. It felt tentative, like he didn’t want to spook Oliver or make things worse. When he did speak, he kept his voice to a low rumble, asking him if he needed anything or to point out an errant sheep or horse. Oliver appreciated it. It didn’t feel forced or tense, like he was a stick of dynamite about to explode. The breakdown left his brain hollow and his head wracked with the echoes of a fading headache. Throughout the ride, he had nursed a flask full of coffee to take the edge off, which helped tremendously. As they pulled down a dirt road flanked with shops and houses, Oliver spotted the church. It loomed like a sepulcher at the end of the street with tall bell towers and a rose window mimicking a Gothic cathedral, though the church itself was built of local stone. On the front steps, parishioners flooded out the doors, lingering on the lawn beside the graves of their neighbors while the priest in black and white held court in the center.
“Let’s park on the side street and wait until it settles down. I’d rather not linger and draw attention to ourselves,” Felipe said at the corner before turning down the next road.
Parking beneath a large tree still bare from winter, he finally turned to face Oliver. His gaze shuffled over his face and down to his outfit as if checking for injuries he would never see. Before they left, Oliver had made certain to pomade his hair and carefully straighten his usual suit. If his mental armor left something to be desired, his physical armor would have to make up for it, and apart from the strain lingering around his eyes, he looked the part of a Paranormal Society medical examiner.
“You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to. I think we proved today that the tether can reach far enough that you can stay outside while I go in.”
“I know, but I want to come with, even if I only take notes,” Oliver replied, his voice sounding muted to his ears. “It’s better to have two people there. Then, there’s less chance of missing something.”
“And less chance of being tossed off the property. I don’t want to pressure you into coming if you aren’t ready.”
“I know Gwen told you I might not be able to express myself, but I’m telling you now, I’m okay to go in. If I’m not, I’ll signal.”
“All right. I’ll take the lead asking questions, but if you think of anything, speak up or pass me a note, if you’d prefer. There’s a notepad in—”
Pulling a notepad from his coat’s inner pocket, Oliver flashed it with a tired smile. “I brought my own.”
Felipe released a laugh and smiled at Oliver in a way that warmed his chest. Maybe it was the flask of coffee in his breast pocket, but Felipe seemed happy to have him at his side.
When the majority of the congregation had dispersed, Oliver and Felipe made for the church. As they reached the base of the steps, Father Gareth disappeared inside with a flash of his white robe. The few lingering parishioners gave them the eye when they pushed inside the tall oaken doors. Entering the building, Oliver grimaced at the overwhelming bite of incense. His eyes watered and his nose itched horribly. He didn’t see the usual haze in the air, but the smell was everywhere. Pinching his nose against the pain blooming behind his eyes, he watched Felipe bless himself with the holy water by the door and genuflect. Oliver knew he should follow suit, but he was already an affront to god and dealing with the smell his punishment.
Though the church and the monastery were less than half a mile away, they couldn’t have been more different. Where Corpus Christi had been spartan and the decorations minimal even in the chapel, the Church of St. Thomas was lavish. The dome over the altar and the triforiums over the aisles were lined with frescos of saints while the tile floor and maple pews were polished to a lustrous shine. Light shown in through the many stained glass windows, and though it was far smaller than St. Patrick’s, Oliver could imagine how a parishioner might feel awe in such an imposing place or at least that their money had been well spent. Their footsteps echoed through the vaulted nave as crossed the length of the church to the nondescript door near the altar. Felipe gave Oliver a look over his shoulder to confirm he still wanted to do this before knocking on the sacristy door.
After a moment’s pause, the door creaked open to reveal a middle aged, white man with a well-manicured greying beard and hard blue eyes. He looked the way Oliver envisioned a priest: stern and closer to a schoolmaster than the man who hung on the cross. He stood slightly taller than both of them and frowned at each man in turn as if trying to recall if he knew them.
“Father Gareth?” Felipe asked, taking a step closer.
“Yes. How may I help you, gentlemen?” His voice was deeper and more manicured than Oliver expected.
“I’m Inspector Galvan and this is my associate, Inspector Barlow. We’re here from the New York Paranormal Society to follow-up about the death of Sister Mary Agnes. We would like to speak to you for a few moments.”
A shadow flitted across the priest’s face, but he stepped back to allow them inside the sacristy. The room was more of a glorified closet than a proper interrogation room, but in the center was a padded bench along with several chairs against the wall. Father Gareth gestured to them as he returned to hanging his vestments. Galvan sat with his ankles crossed and his posture languid. Oliver wasn’t sure how he managed when the seat was so hard, he had to squirm to take the pressure off his tailbone.
“I must admit I’m surprised to see you gentlemen here. I thought this was all settled,” Father Gareth said as he unbuttoned his robe to reveal the black cassock beneath.
“Settled? How so, Father?”
“I saw the body. It didn’t look like a violent death. I assumed the poor sister had a lapse in judgment and died of exposure in the snow. When no charges were brought or evidence of intruders found, I assumed it had been ruled an accident.”
It had only been two days since her body had been discovered. No case wrapped up that fast unless the killer was immediately caught. Even accidents required more time. Oliver made note of that. Father Gareth eyed Oliver as he hung up the robe and shut the wardrobe.
Felipe cleared his throat. “Was Sister Mary Agnes known for her lapses in judgment? The other sisters seemed to respect her, especially the younger ones. And Sister Mary Margaret didn’t think she would go out at night alone.”
