Murder at the Monks' Table by Carol Anne O'Marie Read Free Book Online

wearing only his undershorts. He was bound hand and foot with what looked like an old piece of clothesline, and a large white handkerchief had been shoved into his mouth.
    His eyes filled with quick tears of relief when he saw the two nuns. Obviously he recognized them, although Mary Helen had no idea who he was. Eileen held the flashlight steady while Mary Helen untied the hankie and deftly removed it from his mouth.
    â€œThanks be to God,” he said hoarsely, then, shivering, squirmed around so that she could untie his hands. “I thought I’d bloody well freeze to death before anyone found me.”
    â€œWhat happened?” Eileen asked while Mary Helen and the young man worked on the ropes binding his feet.
    â€œDamned if I know,” he said, his teeth now chattering uncontrollably. “I just stepped outside of the tent to have a fag and someone hit … hit me from behind.” He rubbed the back of his head. “I must have gone … gone out for a few minutes. When I woke my head was throb … throbbing and I had that gag in my mouth. I tried to move but I was boundlike a pig … pig for market and my clothes were g-gone.” He squirmed self-consciously and looked grateful when Mary Helen threw her raincoat around his shoulder.
    For her part, she was happy that she had decided to wear a sweater underneath it. They all needed to get inside out of this cold.
    â€œYou didn’t see anybody then?” Eileen asked.
    â€œNot a soul.” He rubbed his wrists, which were red and swollen. “But I swear, if I ever find out who did this, the bastard will wish he’d died as an infant.”
    He stood and pulled himself up to his full height. He might have looked ferocious, if he hadn’t been dressed in white cotton work socks, jockey shorts, and a woman’s raincoat that only half covered his body.
    â€œWhy do you suppose someone took your clothes?” Eileen asked, handing him her raincoat as well. She moved the flashlight away to give him a bit of privacy.
    â€œAll I can figure out is that someone wanted the Death outfit pretty bad.”
    Mary Helen’s heart raced. “You are Mr. Death?” she asked.
    â€œActually, I’m Tommy Burns with a raging headache,” he said weakly. “I only wish I was dead.”
    Eileen shone the flashlight in his face. The color was gone, and he looked as though any minute he might collapse back onto the wet grass.
    Mary Helen grabbed his arm, not that she’d be much help if he actually did fall. “You sit back down, Tommy,” Eileen said as she helped steady him. “We’ll go back to the tent as quickly as we can and find Owen Lynch and a blanket,” she said softly. “Sit yourself down, now.”
    With a moan, Tommy Burns lowered himself to the ground and drew the raincoats around him. “What kind of an arse would take me costume?” he called out after them.
    Let’s hope it’s not one who intends to put it to good use,
Mary Helen thought, following Eileen’s flashlight beam back across the damp lawn toward the tent.
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    â€œWho’s there?” a deep voice boomed out of the darkness.
    Both nuns froze. Mary Helen’s heart was thudding. Quickly Eileen switched off the flashlight and grabbed her arm. Except for the dim lights of the tent, still several hundred yards ahead of them, they were in total darkness.
    Mary Helen was sure that she’d heard that voice before, but who was it? Her mind raced, but for the moment fear had short-circuited all its connections. For the life of her, she couldn’t place it.
    She felt Eileen’s grip on her relax. She must be having better luck. Or, at least, Mary Helen hoped so.
    â€œIs that you, Father Keane?” Eileen asked with obvious relief. Her flashlight beam came back on and hit the parish priest full in the face. For some reason, he loomed even taller than Mary Helen remembered, and the dampness of the