“Are you the investigators from the Society?”
Oliver pursed his lips at the way she nimbly skipped “paranormal,” as if they were a lady’s tea society.
“Yes, sister. I’m Inspector Newman. This is Inspector Galvan, and our associate Mr. Barlow. We would like to express our most sincere condolences. May we come in?”
She stepped aside to let them pass and locked the gate before adding, “We’ve put Sister Mary Agnes—” Her lip trembled, but she stuffed the emotion down. “Sister Mary Agnes’sbodyis in an empty cell. If you gentlemen need anything while you’re here and I’m not available, please ask any of the other sisters for Sister Mary Margaret. They’ll come find me.”
Sister Mary Margaret led them silently across the snowy lawn toward the church that anchored the corner of the monastery. As they passed through the great oaken doors and into the high vaults of the whitewashed church in silence, Oliver felt the knot in his chest loosen. Despite the circumstances, the monastery was peaceful and well-tended. The courtyard in the center had a garden that would be filled with plants come spring, and the stonework framing had an order to it that made practical sense, unlike the jumbled, multilayered halls of the Paranormal Society.
After learning of Gregor Mendel and his studies of pea plants, Oliver had thought monastic life might have appealed to him if he had been born in Europe where that life could lead to opportunities. Scholarship, structure, and quiet were all he ever wanted, but even if he could fake faith as many monks and nuns throughout history had to have a better life, he couldn’t hide his powers, not forever anyway.
As they made their way out of the common areas and into the spartan hall of cells, Oliver could hear the faint sounds of someone weeping and whispered prayers behind closed doors. At the very end of the hall, Sister Mary Margaret stopped and released a tight breath as she struggled to find the correct key on her ring.
“Sister, I was hoping I could speak to whomever saw Sister Mary Agnes last,” Newman said gently.
“That would be Sister Mary Elizabeth. We thought you might want to interview her.” Stopping at the room where Oliver had heard weeping, the older nun knocked. After a moment’s pause, a dark-browed woman no older than thirty-five poked her head out. “The men from the Society would like to speak to you. Take Inspector Newman to the common room and send the others there to give him their statements.”
Sister Mary Elizabeth’s sniffed loudly as she looked between them before leading Newman away with her head down. The older nun sighed and ran a tired hand across her brow. “I apologize. This has been a very trying day for all of us. Sister Mary Agnes was well loved, especially by the younger girls.”
The cell they had moved Sister Mary Agnes into was even smaller and colder than Oliver had expected. Between Galvan, Oliver, Sister Mary Margaret, and the sheet-covered body, there was scarcely room to move once she closed the door. Oliver’s hand clenched around the handle of his gladstone at the thought of being crowded against the wall.
“I apologize for the tight quarters. It didn’t feel right laying her out in the common room or keeping her in a storeroom. Despite all this, she’s still one of our sisters.”
“We understand. While Mr. Barlow takes a look, may I ask you a few questions?”
Taking his cue, Oliver slowly pulled back the sheet covering Sister Mary Agnes. He had expected to find an older woman in peaceful repose. Instead, he found a woman a few years older than himself with mousy brown hair and a soft face that had been twisted into something akin to a grimace. She lay on her side with her limbs loosely outstretched. Oliver frowned. It didn’t look natural. He had seen plenty of people who died in their sleep or where they landed, but they didn’t look like her. Oliver carefully touched her arm only to find the limb stiff and ice cold.
“Ma’am— Sister, when did you discover her body?” Oliver asked suddenly, not realizing she and Galvan had been speaking.
“This morning. When she didn’t show up for morning prayers, we came to check on her and found her room empty. We searched the monastery and grounds, and one of our postulants discovered her outside by the graveyard.”
“Did you move her limbs after?”
The sister closed her eyes and took a long breath before replying, “We tried, but she was stiff as a board by then.”
“Later, can you take us to where you found her?” Galvan asked.
She nodded but looked away when Oliver went back to work. Sister Mary Agnes was stiff and cold, but she hadn’t gone far into livor mortis yet. She looked nearly pristine, albeit a little frostbitten, but when Oliver pushed down the mattress and pillow, he could see the start of blood pooling on the exposed flesh of her face and neck. She must have died outside or been carried out soon after, and based on the position, her body must have been rearranged after death. The way she was lying didn’t make sense if she had collapsed or had a fit. It looked stiff, posed. Oliver frowned. The woman in the bed wasn’t small enough to be picked up by any of the sisters he had seen. Not alone anyway, but he couldn’t imagine they would leave her outside on her side. It obviously bothered Sister Mary Margaret to see her like this, and while it was all conjecture, he couldn’t imagine any of the nuns would arrange her like this.
“Can you tell when she died?” Sister Mary Margaret asked.
“Some time during the night, closer to midnight than dawn, I would think. Because she was outside, checking her temperature is pointless. It was so cold last night, she’s nearly frozen.” He gently touched her abdomen above her habit. “The clothed parts of her are a little less frozen for obvious reasons and she’s been inside for a while, but I would say she was outside in the cold for at least several hours to offset livor and rigor mortis. When do you all get up?”
“Five in the morning.”
“And you found her around six?”
“Closer to six-thirty, and we moved her inside by seven. Father Gareth didn’t want to send for you, but I insisted. I sent one of the postulants, Martha Anne, to get a telegram to the Society.”
“And why did you send for us, sister?” Galvan asked. “She doesn’t appear to have had a violent death. You could have called the police.”
Sister Mary Margaret looked between Galvan and Oliver for a long moment as if weighing her answer. “You may not understand this if you’re anything like Father Gareth, but sometimes you have a feeling. He suggested Sister Mary Agnes went outside and died of exposure, but that doesn’t make any sense. There was no reason for her to be outside in the middle of the night, and I’ve heard what the cold does to people. They run around or strip to their unmentionables, too muddled to realize it’s cold. She didn’t do any of those things.”
“They don’t always,” Oliver added quietly.
“I know, but there was no reason for her to be outside at that hour, and fully dressed. And before you ask, no, she had no beau or man she fancied. I already interrogated the others, and they never saw her meet anyone or give any supplier more than common courtesy. She wrote letters occasionally, but that was it. The police would have said she met a man, and she got what was coming to her.”
Taking a notepad from his pocket, Galvan jotted down a few lines. “You think she may have been lured or bewitched?”
