Flash Point. Metsy Hingle
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closed her fingers around the beads. And without warning, the world seemed to spin out from beneath her. Suddenly she was no longer sitting in Peter’s law office. Instead, she was in an empty church—no, a chapel—she realized as she looked around at her surroundings.
And then she saw Sister Grace. Kelly’s heart stopped as she realized the rosary had connected her to the nun. And there was Sister Grace, kneeling in the pew, her head bowed and her rosary beads in her hands.
“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst all women, and blessed art—” Sister Grace stopped mid-prayer and started to turn around.
“No! Don’t turn around, Sister,” a woman’s voice said from behind her.
A flicker of anger raced through her blood. “What are you doing here?” the nun demanded.
“This is a church, Sister. I thought everyone was welcome.”
“This is a chapel and the evening services are over,” the nun countered. “What do you want?”
“Maybe I want to pray. Since God has seen fit to throw this nasty little surprise at me and mess up my life, I thought maybe if I prayed real hard, He’d make the problem go away. What do you think, Sister? Will God listen to my prayers?”
“God hears all of our prayers.”
“Ah, but the question is does He answer them?”
“He answers them. But the answer isn’t necessarily the one we want,” Sister Grace replied.
“I guess that means you haven’t changed your mind about giving me her name.”
“I’ve told you, your information is wrong. I can’t help you.”
“That’s what I thought you’d say. And since I can’t risk having you warn her about me, I’m afraid I have no choice but to make sure that you keep quiet.”
And before Sister Grace could move, the woman plunged a needle into her neck.
“Kelly? Kelly, are you all right?”
Kelly dropped the rosary. She felt the world spinning beneath her once more. And then someone was gripping her by the shoulders, calling her name. She blinked, tried to regain her balance. Finally when she was able to focus, she saw Peter standing in front of her, a worried expression on his face.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she told him. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” he informed her. He picked up the rosary, returned it to the pouch and handed it to her. “You want to tell me what happened just now?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, unsure of what she had said, what she had done.
“One minute you were holding that rosary and the next minute you seemed to…to zone out.
“I can’t explain it. And you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” After stuffing the pouch with the rosary into her bag she stood, eager to leave. “I’ve taken up enough of your time.”
“Kelly, are you sure you’re all right? You’re as white as a ghost.”
“I’m okay. Really,” she assured him. “Thank you for everything, Peter,” she said, and after shaking his hand, she raced out of the office.
Once she stepped outside into the cool November air, Kelly attempted to hail a taxi while she digested what she had just learned.
Sister Grace hadn’t died of a heart attack. Someone had murdered her.
Anger churned in Kelly’s stomach as she recalled the nun’s last moments and her fear. Somehow, some way, she had to find out who was responsible. She owed Sister Grace that much.
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