beans in his mouth to kill his self-pity and sat before his tank. It cast the room in a soft blue light. His tiny tropical fish gliding among the coral, the sunken ship, the diver, and bubbles soothed him as he chewed on his thoughts.
Had he been too hard on Grace? What was up with her, anyway? She seemed to want to call a truce. He wanted her to know that he was still pissed off at her. Still wounded.
And how long was he going to sulk?
She still drove him wild. He’d never met anyone like her and he couldn’t believe she’d ended it with him. He couldn’t get her out of his system. Maybe he should try to talk to her? God knows, he was going to need all the help he could get on this homicide.
After finishing his beans, he tossed the can, brushed his teeth, went to his bedroom, undressed, then fell into bed.
Tango.
And his line on payback for something Sister Anne did. What the hell was that? Could be something to it? He had to follow up on it, maybe even take it to Grace. Proceed with caution. Maybe that was the way to approach things with this story.
And with Grace.
He couldn’t sleep. He was thirsty from the beans and went to his fridge. It was empty but for a halfeaten can of ravioli and an unopened beer. The bottle stood there as a personal test to prove that he was stronger than the temptation.
He settled for a glass of water from the tap.
See, he was not like his old man.
His father.
Cripes, he’d forgotten about his old man, getting the bar to call him when all he was doing was sitting there. Alone, staring into his glass. And that nasty cut on his hand. “ Jay, you have to help me, son, I don’t know what to do here. ” Something had been eating his father, something that was going to push him off the wagon, something that compelled him to call for help.
Guilt pricked at Jason’s conscience and he glanced at the time. Why had he been called away just when his father needed him? He’d have to try him later. Man, he prayed it wasn’t too late, that his old man had been able to hang on.
Jason rubbed his hands over his face, took in a long breath, then slowly let it out before picking up the printouts of the old stories he’d retrieved on the nuns with the Compassionate Heart of Mercy. He found Sister Anne’s face in a group shot that accompanied one of the stories.
He stared at it.
She was smiling, but her eyes seemed to hold a measure of sadness.
Chapter Nine
J ason woke from a deep sleep and didn’t know why.
Then his phone rang again. He cursed and grabbed it.
“You up, Wade?”
“No, what time is it?”
Eldon Reep’s voice kick-started Jason’s brain and he braced for trouble.
“Did we have the murdered nun’s name last night, Wade?”
“It was never confirmed when I filed for our web edition—besides they usually wait to notify family.”
“Her name is Sister Florence Roy, according to everybody but the Mirror. ”
“Florence Roy?”
“That’s right, twenty-nine years old. Arrived at the order from Quebec. Our competition’s got her damn picture online already. We’ve got squat. We look stupid. I don’t like looking stupid, Wade.”
“Listen, that name can’t be right. Who confirmed it?”
“Did you even go to the scene?”
“Yes, I went to the scene. Who confirmed her name last night?”
“Neighbors, friends. Apparently, people all over this city.”
“What about the Seattle PD or the ME? They complete an autopsy?”
“Get your ass in here, now.”
“I’m on nights, I’ve hardly slept.”
“Get in here now.”
Tension knotted Jason’s stomach as he showered. After shaving, he tried reaching Grace Garner for confirmation of the name. No luck. Dressing, he fired up his laptop, scanning Web sites of Seattle news outlets, where he met the face of Sister Florence Roy and a wave of self-doubt.
How could he have been so far off the mark?
While driving to the Mirror , Jason ate two apples for breakfast. As he listened to Led Zeppelin’s “Fool
Had he been too hard on Grace? What was up with her, anyway? She seemed to want to call a truce. He wanted her to know that he was still pissed off at her. Still wounded.
And how long was he going to sulk?
She still drove him wild. He’d never met anyone like her and he couldn’t believe she’d ended it with him. He couldn’t get her out of his system. Maybe he should try to talk to her? God knows, he was going to need all the help he could get on this homicide.
After finishing his beans, he tossed the can, brushed his teeth, went to his bedroom, undressed, then fell into bed.
Tango.
And his line on payback for something Sister Anne did. What the hell was that? Could be something to it? He had to follow up on it, maybe even take it to Grace. Proceed with caution. Maybe that was the way to approach things with this story.
And with Grace.
He couldn’t sleep. He was thirsty from the beans and went to his fridge. It was empty but for a halfeaten can of ravioli and an unopened beer. The bottle stood there as a personal test to prove that he was stronger than the temptation.
He settled for a glass of water from the tap.
See, he was not like his old man.
His father.
Cripes, he’d forgotten about his old man, getting the bar to call him when all he was doing was sitting there. Alone, staring into his glass. And that nasty cut on his hand. “ Jay, you have to help me, son, I don’t know what to do here. ” Something had been eating his father, something that was going to push him off the wagon, something that compelled him to call for help.
Guilt pricked at Jason’s conscience and he glanced at the time. Why had he been called away just when his father needed him? He’d have to try him later. Man, he prayed it wasn’t too late, that his old man had been able to hang on.
Jason rubbed his hands over his face, took in a long breath, then slowly let it out before picking up the printouts of the old stories he’d retrieved on the nuns with the Compassionate Heart of Mercy. He found Sister Anne’s face in a group shot that accompanied one of the stories.
He stared at it.
She was smiling, but her eyes seemed to hold a measure of sadness.
Chapter Nine
J ason woke from a deep sleep and didn’t know why.
Then his phone rang again. He cursed and grabbed it.
“You up, Wade?”
“No, what time is it?”
Eldon Reep’s voice kick-started Jason’s brain and he braced for trouble.
“Did we have the murdered nun’s name last night, Wade?”
“It was never confirmed when I filed for our web edition—besides they usually wait to notify family.”
“Her name is Sister Florence Roy, according to everybody but the Mirror. ”
“Florence Roy?”
“That’s right, twenty-nine years old. Arrived at the order from Quebec. Our competition’s got her damn picture online already. We’ve got squat. We look stupid. I don’t like looking stupid, Wade.”
“Listen, that name can’t be right. Who confirmed it?”
“Did you even go to the scene?”
“Yes, I went to the scene. Who confirmed her name last night?”
“Neighbors, friends. Apparently, people all over this city.”
“What about the Seattle PD or the ME? They complete an autopsy?”
“Get your ass in here, now.”
“I’m on nights, I’ve hardly slept.”
“Get in here now.”
Tension knotted Jason’s stomach as he showered. After shaving, he tried reaching Grace Garner for confirmation of the name. No luck. Dressing, he fired up his laptop, scanning Web sites of Seattle news outlets, where he met the face of Sister Florence Roy and a wave of self-doubt.
How could he have been so far off the mark?
While driving to the Mirror , Jason ate two apples for breakfast. As he listened to Led Zeppelin’s “Fool
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