Devious by Lisa Jackson Page B

For now, he had bigger fish to fry. To Officer Erwin he said, “I think I’m going to have a talk with Father O’Toole and see what he has to say.”

CHAPTER 8
    C ruz’s brother?
    Here?
    A police detective?
    Sister Lucia felt the cold stone in the pit of her stomach growing heavier. She’d thought this night couldn’t get any worse when she’d stumbled upon Camille’s body, but she’d been wrong.
    Detective Montoya made it so.
    He looked a lot like Cruz—same sharp cheekbones; near-black, suspicious eyes; thick, straight hair; and white teeth that flashed against coppery skin. Too handsome. That’s what her father had said about Cruz. The same was true of his older brother.
    At the reverend mother’s bidding, Lucia hurried to her room where she slid into her dry habit and pinned her hair onto her head. She pushed thoughts of Cruz Montoya aside as she went to rouse the other sisters, tapping on their doors, asking them to dress and meet the mother superior in the main dining hall. Several asked why, and she responded with “I don’t know any details, just that the reverend mother wants to see all of us.”
    A lie—but just the first of many, she thought darkly. The evil voice that had awakened her was blackening her soul.
    Sister Angela woke easily, popping her head out the door, almost as if she’d been waiting. Apple-cheeked, she pressed on a pair of thin glasses and blinked against the dim hall lights. “What is it?”
    â€œI don’t know, just hurry,” Lucia said, lying through her teeth. Again.
    â€œBut—”
    â€œPlease, the reverend mother is waiting.”
    Nodding, Angela slipped inside her room as Lucia hurried down the dark hallway to rap on the next door. Sister Dorothy didn’t respond. Lucia tried again, louder this time, but there was no answer.
    The sinister feeling that had overcome Lucia earlier now coiled around her heart. What if Camille wasn’t the only one? What if whoever had killed her had also come up here and taken the life of another? Swallowing back her fear, searching deeply for her faith, Lucia fingered her rosary and called softly, “Sister Dorothy?”
    From the corner of her eye, Lucia saw another door creak slowly open at the end of the hall. Sister Maura, her perpetual scowl in place, appeared. “What’re you doing?” she asked, pushing on a pair of thick glasses.
    â€œThe reverend mother has asked us to meet downstairs.”
    â€œWhy?” Deep creases furrowed Maura’s brow. She was a solemn woman, one Lucia didn’t know very well.
    â€œShe didn’t say. Please, just hurry.”
    Another door opened. Sister Edwina glared at the small group. “What’s going on?” she demanded, flipping a thick blond braid over her shoulder. Taller than Lucia by five inches, Edwina was an athletic woman with a broad, Nordic face and high cheekbones. Her deep-set blue eyes were always stormy as she constantly needled a bad mood. “Why are you knocking at Dorothy’s door?”
    Lucia explained, “The reverend mother wants us all in the dining hall.”
    â€œWhy? It’s the middle of the night!”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œWhat does she want?”
    So many questions . . . “I’m sure the reverend mother wants to tell everyone herself.”
    â€œAnd why are you up?” Sister Edwina demanded, glancing across the hallway to Lucia’s small room. “Why did Mother come to you?” she asked indignantly, as if she sensed a personal slight.
    Lucia had no time for perceived personal affronts. She had her own worries to attend to. First there was poor Sister Camille, and then, of all the bad luck, Cruz Montoya’s brother was involved with the investigation. Her nerves were as tight as bowstrings. “Please, just dress quickly.”
    â€œYou know what’s going on, don’t you?” Edwina charged. She was