“I wish Sister Joan had confided in me. I wish she’d told me she wanted to call you.” Mother Natalie drew in a long breath and let it out again. “I wish when she sneaked you onto the grounds, you’d insisted on coming to me.”
“And what could you have done?”
“I don’t know. Kept you both out of the tower.”
“The attacker could have hidden until Sister Joan returned, or could have come here looking for her and hurt even more people. I’m not saying what would or wouldn’t have happened, Mother. The point is that we don’t know. We have to accept what did happen.”
“I understand that,” Mother Natalie said, without a trace of sharpness.
“Is it possible Sister Joan was involved in anything illegal?”
Her head snapped up. “Illegal? Why would you ask such a thing?”
“As I mentioned, she was visibly nervous. If she wasn’t involved in anything illegal herself, maybe she had information that would implicate someone.”
“Another sister?”
Emma didn’t answer. She could see that the lobster boat was much too close to the rocks for comfort. Experienced lobstermen were accustomed to all sorts of conditions, but a crime scene—the murder of a nun in a beloved convent—was an unusual distraction. Was he just not paying attention to his surroundings?
“What illegal activities could any of us be involved in?” Mother Natalie asked.
“You receive valuable works of art here.” Emma kept her gaze focused on the lobster boat as she spoke. “You know the possibilities as well as I do. Forgery, theft, fencing, fraud—”
“We’ve been at this work for a long time. We have an unblemished reputation for integrity as well as for the quality of the work we do.” Mother Natalie didn’t raise her voice as she stood and moved back to Emma’s side. “If I’d had so much as an inkling of illegal activity or that Sister Joan was afraid or even nervous, I’d have spoken to her immediately.”
“I know you would have,” Emma said quietly. Four years ago, she’d blindsided Mother Natalie, walking into this same room to announce that she was packed and would be leaving the convent that afternoon.
“Is this why you came back here this morning—to ask questions?”
“I want to know why Sister Joan called me. Why she died. Who killed her.”
“You don’t think yesterday was a random act of violence unrelated to her reasons for inviting you here.” The Mother Superior crossed her arms over her chest, her jaw set hard, then slumped suddenly, as if surrendering to what she knew to be true but didn’t want to admit was so. “Neither do I. I doubt anyone else here does, either.”
“Under the circumstances, it’s a logical conclusion, but we can’t get ahead of the facts.”
“I understand. That’s what the police said, too.” Mother Natalie’s stance seemed to soften. “Yesterday was your first time back here. You’re our friend, Emma. I hope you know you’re always welcome.”
“I do, thank you.”
“I’d like to think you’d have stopped in here after your meeting with Sister Joan, but that was never your plan, was it?”
“I was here at Sister Joan’s request. I had no plans beyond meeting her and finding out what I could do for her.”
Mother Natalie stared out the window. “You used to spend a lot of time down on the rocks, by the water. I should have realized you were questioning your call.”
Emma smiled, even as she kept an eye on the Julianne. “Or just enjoying the view.”
“It is a beautiful spot. You’re more centered than you were four years ago.”
“Maybe so.”
“Harder, too, I think.”
“I want to know what happened yesterday. That’s all.”
Emma frowned as the lobster boat banged against exposed rocks, a hazard even an inexperienced boatman would know to avoid. Was he just being nosy—or creating a diversion?
Who owned the Julianne?
Mother Natalie took a sharp breath. “What’s he doing?”
The boat had hung up on the rocks, at a halt. The Julianne wouldn’t be going anywhere until the tide was in.
Emma placed a hand on Mother Natalie’s upper arm. “Keep everyone here. I need to see what’s going on with this lobster boat.”
“All right. The police are returning any moment. I’ll let them know.”
“Good,” Emma said, already at the door.
She charged down the hall, a hand-hooked runner thick under her feet. She passed the chapel, where the sisters were still singing, and headed out a side door into the flower garden.
Five years ago, here in this spot among the coneflowers and evergreens, the bite of the ocean in the air, had she ever even dreamed of becoming an FBI agent?
Never, she thought, her right hand on her Sig Sauer in its holster on her hip as she ran toward the water.
CHAPTER 8
EMMA CROSSED A WIDE LAWN TO THE TUMBLE of large boulders that led straight down to the water. A man waved up at her from the stranded lobster boat. She recognized the broad shoulders, the wavy brown hair and the stubble of beard of the lobsterman she’d seen with Yank on the docks last night.
“Good morning, Sister,” he called up to her.
She still had her hand on her weapon under her leather jacket. “I’m a federal agent. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
“No problem.” He put up both hands at chest height. “Thought you were one of the nuns.”
“FBI.”
“Ah.” He grinned up at her. “Well, don’t shoot.”
Emma had a feeling he knew exactly who she was. “What are you doing here?”
“Having a look for myself. I got hung up on the rocks.” He jumped lightly out of the boat onto a flat boulder covered in seaweed and barnacles. He had on jeans, trail shoes and a plain black sweatshirt that had seen a lot of wear. “Dumb.”
“Your boat’s not going anywhere until the tide comes up.”
“You got that right.”
“Walk up here.” Emma nodded to her right, where the drop down to the tide line wasn’t as steep. “Go that way. Just keep your hands where I can see them.”
“What if I trip?”
He didn’t
