Death at the Cafe by Alison Golden

there? Wouldn’t it have been much easier to do it beforehand, or at least wait until we had left? Then the thief could have easily taken what he – or she – wanted from the apartment, and nobody would be any the wiser. Did they not know we were there? Could that have been merely an extraordinary coincidence?”
    Annabelle nodded, then looked at her tea concentrating deeply. When she looked back at Mary’s face, she wore deep frown lines on her brow.
    “I believe that wasn’t a coincidence,” she said, deliberately. “I don’t see how they couldn’t have known we were there. We were clearly visible through the windows.”
    “Then why not wait until we had left?”
    “Mary,” Annabelle said, using the tone of her voice to prepare her friend for a statement she wished she didn’t believe as much as she did, “I believe somebody is trying to frame us. More accurately, I believe they’re trying to frame you.”
    Mary’s hand was barely quick enough to her mouth to smother the loud, shrieking gasp she emitted. Tea drinkers from the surrounding tables whipped their heads around to see the source of the high-pitched noise. Annabelle turned and smiled toward them.
    “It’s alright,” she assured, “she’s just never tasted chocolate caramel bars before.”
    She turned her head back to Mary, who had now managed to calm herself enough that she was able to pull her hand away and speak.
    “Frame me? Why would anybody seek to frame me of all people?”
    “That’s one of the questions that’s been troubling me since I woke up,” Annabelle replied.”
    “And who would do such a thing, anyway?”
    “That’s the other question,” Annabelle said, confirming her lack of further answers by taking a sizable bite out of her own sweet treat.
    They sat silently, sipping their tea and considering the irritatingly perplexing questions that hung in the air between them. Every once in a while Mary would frown at her own thoughts, until finally sighing sorrowfully at her inability to conclude them. Annabelle could feel the deep worry and intense strain that her friend was under as keenly as if it were her own.
    “Oh Annabelle,” Mary said, eventually, “where will this all end? I don’t see how I’ll ever get out of this pickle. At best, I’ll return to Africa late, disgraced, and without any of the funding that I tried so hard to get. At worst… I daren’t think about it, but if I am being framed, then I won’t just be punished, I’ll bring huge amounts of shame to the work my fellow nuns are doing all over Africa, perhaps the entire Catholic Church!”
    “I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you believe.”
    “I cannot share your optimism, Annabelle. Can you imagine what the papers would say if they found out? A nun? Accused of murder – and possibly stealing? It would probably make the front pages! The indignity!”
    Annabelle sipped her tea. She wished that she could calm her friend’s worries, but to deny them would be a lie. Mary was right. If the newspapers did find out, the ensuing mess would be dreadful for everybody involved.
    “What should we do now?” Mary said, eventually.
    Annabelle nodded as she placed her tea cup down gently, as if she too had been considering the very same question.
    “There’s one person who can help us.”
    “Who?” Mary quickly said, eager to follow any avenue that could lead her away from her sticky situation.
    “Bishop Murphy. Apparently he has already heard about this spot of bother we find ourselves in. He left me multiple messages yesterday and is keen to speak with me. I would imagine he’d like to speak with you too.”
    “Yes. He called after me too, but I had hoped to delay meeting with him until… well, until I had rather more positive news.”
    “Let’s hope that Bishop Murphy can provide us with that positive news himself,” Annabelle said, pulling her cell phone from her pockets.
    “I should mention something before you call,” Mary said, placing a