Secrets in the Shallows (Book 1: The Monastery Murders) (2 page)

Jeanette Rosson Ramsey: Thank you so much for spending countless hours listening to me read to you. I appreciate you so much.

Thom and Lisa Graham, and Karen Bomensatt of the State of New Jersey: The idea for the Monastery Murders came to life when you took me to the monastery and cathedral.

To my friends in the State of Maine, in which The Monastery Murders Series is depicted — I was once a Mainer and I will always be a Mainer!

Last, but not least, I want to thank Zerida Pepp, the author of Trackers, Cabs and Sleepers. I cannot count the hours you spent with me as I read the draft in the wee hours of the morning. I love you, my friend!”

Karen Vance Hammond

I am very thankful for the opportunity to work with Karen Vance Hammond. Over the past year and a half, Karen and I have successfully collaborated to produce our own masterpiece. It has been a great experience that I have enjoyed very much. Not only have I been able to delve deep into a great story and helped create a suspenseful mystery that I am proud of; but I have also met a great friend and writing partner.

Thank you, Karen, for asking me to be a part of this project. I look forward to what is in store for our future endeavors.

I also want to thank my aunt, Lynn Rorie, for going back through and editing the entire book. Your help is much appreciated.

Through all of my many long hours over almost two years, I have had the support and help from my best friend and soulmate, Chris Matheny. Thank you, Chris, for all of your support, great advice and inspiring suggestions. You have definitely contributed very much towards the success of
Secrets in the Shallows
; not to mention were very patient through the entire process. I love you very much.

Kimberly Brouillette

P
ROLOGUE

Dense fog blanketed the canopy of autumn trees arrayed in a myriad of yellows, oranges and reds. In the distance, ghostly wails from a foghorn resounded throughout the valley. Its melancholy sound sliced through the silent evening air as its vibrations crept up the lighthouse spiral staircase. In the lantern room at the top, the Fresnel stood sentinel, rotating endlessly, casting its beam of light out onto the water. Anchored in the bay below, lobster boats gently rocked back and forth in the surf while the ominous storm clouds encroach upon them.

A large black crow landed on the shoulder of a marble statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary standing watch over the monastery lawn. Dangling from the sacred maternal hands, a long strand of rosary beads swung back and forth in the coming storm’s steady breeze. Loud cawing emanated from the crow’s black beak, as the bird spread and flapped its wings vigorously. The feathered hunter took only a moment to study its surroundings before flying away to find a safe haven from the storm.

Rumblings of thunder filled the air as streaks of lightning clashed with the ocean in the distance. Light winds began to swell and howl while rattling the beautifully arched monastery windows. Raindrops steadily tapped the colored panes of glass, echoing throughout the corridors as the storm began its descent upon the campus.

Suddenly, the monastery door was thrust open by a nun frantically fleeing the building. Dressed in a dark burgundy habit, she ran down the front steps flailing her arms and screaming over her shoulder, “NO! Stay away from me!”

Only seconds behind, a taller nun in a black habit clutched a short-handled battle ax with gloved hands while chasing the escaping sister. The dark figure slipped on the wet grass but regained her footing and continued to pursue her fleeing prey as the rain came down in torrents.

The frantic woman disappeared into the woods as her screams for help evaporated in the wind. Her burgundy habit flared out behind her as she tried to escape. Evergreen branches slapped her face and scratched her arms as she tried to elude her pursuer. The nun’s only goal was to find a safe place to hide.

As the terrorized woman ran through the woods, a low-lying branch caught her wimple, exposing her long, beautiful blonde hair, and drenching it in rainwater. Glancing back through the blinding sheets of rain, she was lost in a sea of branches and tree trunks. Suddenly, she slammed into her attacker. Tears burst from her blue eyes as a look of absolute terror and recognition came upon her.

“Why are you doing this?! What have I have done to deserve this?”

The dark nun mocked, “What have you done to deserve this?! You really don’t know?” Peering into her eyes with disgust, the ghastly nun grabbed her arm so hard that the blonde nun could feel the nails claw into her skin.

Desperate to get away, the smaller nun tried to wrench her arm free, but could not escape from the dark nun’s grasp. “Please, let me go! You know I love you like my own family.”

Immediately, the assailant vehemently ordered, “On your knees,
Sister
.”

Panicking, the frightened woman emphatically pleaded, “NO! Don’t do this!” Then, falling to her knees with her palms pressed together in front of her, she begged, “Don’t hurt me! Please!”

Without hesitation, a gloved hand brutally slapped the nun’s cheek. “Why not? I have suffered silently for years due to your mistakes. You will never comprehend how much pain you have caused me.”

Mud covered the side of her face as the nun fell. Her long blond hair splayed onto the wet ground. Frantically attempting to rise, the final thing the frightened nun saw was a sharpened battle ax blade swinging toward her.

A grimace of shocked surprise was frozen on her face as her severed head landed on the ground. Her wide-opened eyes blinked twice as her lips voiced a silent protest. Her lifeless body slumped in the mud beside her head. Deep red blood spilled from her open neck, mixing with the falling rain into dark puddles like tears.

Deliberately, the murderer trudged through the mud to where the nun’s headpiece hung loosely on the branch of a gnarled old tree. Lifting it up in the rain, the killer inspected the wimple for any tears before hiding it in her own habit. Still holding the bloodied ax, the murderer turned to study the victim one last time, and then slipped away silently, fading into the shadows.

* * * *

Somewhere in the dark of night, restless eyes twitched erratically beneath their slumbering lids. An eerie moan escaped between the chapped lips of its confinement. In the dreamer’s mind, a rising wail of anguish rose and joined a booming clap of thunder. Violently, the figure bolted from bed as a white flash of lightning drove the shadows from the room and momentarily blinded the once-sleeping eyes.

P
ART
1:

L
IES
B
ENEATH THE
S
URFACE

C
HAPTER
1

Angry waves pounded Maine’s rocky coastline with a vengeance as the first blizzard of autumn rolled in from the Atlantic. A howling gale ushered in dropping temperatures with the onslaught of nature’s fury. Out on the horizon, snow blew sideways from the billowing clouds as the storm headed directly towards the shore. Flashing rhythmically across the rough ocean water, a lighthouse beacon guided mariners to the harbor for safety.

Stalwart and steadfast, a statue of the Holy Mother braved the coming storm as she fervently guarded the St. Francis Monastery and Catholic School. In the garden, she stood and protected her charges from all who would seek to do them harm. Staring down at her hands, she offered eternal prayers while endlessly counting her rosary beads. Facing her from the other side of the garden, the
Children of Fátima
stood firmly on their stone foundation with drifts of snow continuing to cover them in the eerie night.

Within the forbidding darkness of the trees that surrounded the monastery, an even darker shadow lurked. The intimidating figure watched the back of the monastery, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Finally, a glimpse of the stalker’s prey came in to view as Timothy Fields peered out of the back window, mesmerized by the dark clouds in the distance as the winds whistled outside. The eighteen-year-old boy’s tousled, dark brown hair was as unmistakable as his freckled cheeks.

Exhausted from waxing the rectory floors, Timmy wiped the sweat from his flushed face. The punishment was the result of breaking the dress code and not being smoothly shaven. Timmy was embarrassed to admit that he didn’t realize he needed to shave his boyish face. It just hadn’t occurred to him. However, Mother Superior made sure that he would think about it from now on.

As Timmy recognized the all-too-familiar sign of the coming winter, he thought to himself,
I’d better go home before that storm gets here.
A loud, shrill voice cut through his reverie. “Timmy, are you done yet?”