Grace Among Thieves: A Grace Michelle Mystery (Grace Michelle Mysteries Book 3) by Kari Bovee

Author:Kari Bovee [Bovee, Kari]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bosque Publishing
Published: 2022-02-14T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

To my disappointment, Miss Lange could not meet with me ’til the following day. I reconciled the minor setback with the surety of the more concrete lead I’d received from Miss Ivanova.

Twenty five minutes later, after checking my side-view mirror at least one hundred times, I pulled up to the Mission San Gabriel, fairly confident I had not been followed.

It was an austere building and looked ancient. The front was comprised of yellowed plaster and an arched wooden door with no adornment. Two niches, placed high on either side of the door, contained statues of religious figures, and between them, a smaller rectangular door was set into the wall. A lantern hung from a wrought iron rod above the arched doorway. A few smaller, newer buildings with the familiar Spanish tile roofs stood in close proximity to the church. I got out of the car, contemplating which building to enter.

I chose the church. Cool and damp, the interior smelled of wood and frankincense. Two rows of wooden pews led up to an altar. Colorful frescos were set behind an archway, adorning the church wall at the back. To the left of the altar sat a bank of small votive candles burning brightly.

I walked slowly down the aisle, my heels clicking on the brick floor, worn and warped with age. A palpable stillness hung heavy in the air, wrapping me in a cloak of serenity. I breathed in the rich fragrances, the tension in my body and the whirling thoughts in my mind melting. The immediate and utter relief was astounding.

I slid into one of the pews to bask in the peacefulness of the church, if just for a minute. I closed my eyes, and immediately, a vision of Sophia came to me. She sat on a stone bench under two palm trees that had bent themselves into an arch over her. She was in a garden surrounded by a profusion of flowers. She motioned for me to come to her.

The sound of footsteps startled me. I opened my eyes to see a plump, middle-aged Hispanic woman with a feather duster in her hand, running it over some items in the sacristy. She then came around the front of the altar, bowed her head, and crossed herself, then went to the other side.

I rose from the pew and approached her. “Excuse me,” I whispered.

She turned and smiled at me. Dimples sank deep into her full cheeks. “Sí?”

“I’m looking for Sister Magdalena.”

“Ah, sí. She is in the office.” The singsong quality of her Spanish accent was thick. “Go through there—” she pointed to a side door “—and walk this way—” she indicated behind her “—to the first building on the right.”

“Thank you.”

I went through the door that led to an arched corridor. Soon I reached the correct building and pushed open the door.

A nun sat behind a desk strewn with papers. The neatness of her black habit and veil, offset with the white wimple that covered her head and cascaded down over her shoulders, stood in stark contrast with the mess on the desk.

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