Dangerous Mercy: A Novel by Kathy Herman Page A

Father Vince. “I doubt the windows at the library have ever been cleaner, though that window cleaner isn’t streakless like it claimed to be.” He flopped on the couch, his arms folded across his chest. “I guess you heard there’s been another murder?”
    Father Vince suddenly looked somber. “Yes. I spoke with Monsignor Robidoux after he got back from administering last rites. It’s looking more and more like revenge. Such a waste. The killer isn’t going to feel better after he’s eliminated the people who’ve hurt him. He’s never going to find peace through violence.”
    “How can you know that?” Flynn said.
    “Because I’ve heard confessions for a decade. People don’t find peace by hurting others.”
    Flynn pursed his lips. “Not if they have a conscience. But what if they don’t? What if this killer doesn’t even believe in God?”
    “If he doesn’t believe in God, Flynn, he’ll never find peace, no matter what he does. Either way, committing murder is an exercise in futility.”
    “Father, you’re wasting your time trying to reason with this pinheaded bon rien ,” Murray said. “I’m going to go wash up.”
    Murray went upstairs and washed his face and hands, then left the bathroom and ran into Flynn at the top of the stairs.
    “You really don’t like me, do you?” Flynn said.
    “What was your first clue?”
    Flynn grabbed him by his T-shirt. “I’m fed up with your sarcasm. I said I was sorry for not helping you move the old lady’s furniture. Let it go.”
    “Maybe I don’t want to let it go.”
    “You want your lousy thirty bucks back?” Flynn reached in his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. He took out a twenty and a ten and dropped them on the floor. “We’re even. Now get off my back.”
    “I’ll get off your back when you stop acting like a jerk, which is never.”
    “Keep messing with me, dude, and I’ll shut you up.”
    “Good luck with that. I’m shaking in my boots.” Murray shoved him aside, stepped on the bills, and went down the stairs.
    When he reached the bottom, Noah Washington was walking out of the kitchen and into the dining room, his lunch buffet choices piled on a plate.
    “Father Vince oughta kick that guy outta here,” Noah said, “until he changes his attitude. He washes a few windows and thinks he’s done his share for a while. He sure isn’t tryin’ to work his way back into society.”
    “Let’s not ruin our appetites by talking about him.” Murray grinned and snitched an olive off Noah’s plate. “Save me a place. Let me load a plate, and I’ll be right there.”

     
    Adele strolled arm in arm with Vanessa around the duck pond at Langley Manor, relishing the soothing sound of the babbling brook and the cool shade of the massive live oaks. They walked up on the wood bridge and stopped, leaning on the railing.
    Adele looked out across the pond to the gently rolling green lawn and white antebellum mansion with its stately pillars and wraparound porch.
    “You’ve done an amazing job turning this place into a bed-and-breakfast, hon. It’s thrilling to know it was once a station for the Underground Railroad.”
    “Did Zoe ever tell you why it was named Langley Manor instead of Langley Plantation?”
    Adele shook her head, her gaze fixed on a weeping willow, the eyes of her heart seeing Woodmore. “No, but I’ve wondered about that. I’ve never heard of a manor house in south Louisiana.”
    “According to what was passed down by word of mouth in Noah’s family, Josiah and Abigail gave it that designation so everyone would think they were snobby Brits who clung to their own customs and refused to adapt to the culture here. The locals have told me how much the Cajuns resented them. And so did the other plantation owners. Living isolated would’ve made it easier for them to secretly provide shelter and safe passage for the slaves being ushered up North. No one knew what they were doing out here.”
    Adele smiled. “God