One Blood by Graeme Kent Read Free Book Online Page B

so worried, almost frightened? Had he had a premonition of his violent death? Could he have been fleeing from someone? And what had caused the signs of struggle in the church? Abruptly she tried to dismiss her thoughts. Even if the death had taken place on her station, it was not her duty to investigate. She was mindful of a second interview she had endured before leaving the Honiara mission headquarters. This time it had been with the venerable mother superior of the order in the capital. She too had been in a warning mode.
    ‘You have many admirable qualities, and life around you is seldom dull, Sister Conchita,’ she had told the young nun, her heavily lined face at odds with a slight twinkle in her eye. ‘But if I may say so, you sometimes experience a desire to explore matters that, strictly speaking, are none of your concern. It certainly enlivens whichever mission you happen to be in at the time, but it can have its repercussions among the older and more settled members of our order. Most of them have had enough excitement for one lifetime. Perhaps if you were to spend less time on your self-imposed investigations into the transgressions of others and more on developing the virtues of humility and obedience, it might be the better both for you and for our order as a whole. You are an exceptionally observant young woman. By all means continue to sum us all up, but perhaps it would be wiser to keep your conclusions to yourself.’
    ‘Yes, Reverend Mother,’ Conchita had replied contritely, resolving yet again to try to make herself a more conforming member of the organisation. ‘I’ll do my best.’
    ‘As for Marakosi Mission,’ went on the mother superior, ‘it was once a byword for activity in the Roviana Lagoon. Father Karl and the sisters toiled, literally, for many years in the heat of the sun. However, for some time they have withdrawn behind their walls. See if you can reintroduce them tothe world around them. It will be good for them—but be tactful!’
    It was up the authorities to enquire into the bizarre death of Ed Blamire, decided Sister Conchita. But there were no authorities in the area. She had just been told that Inspector Lammond, the Western District police officer, and his sergeant were enquiring into a crime on the other side of the lagoon. It could be weeks before they returned. In the meantime, who was there to discover the truth? Certainly not her; her natural curiosity had got her into trouble with the islands’ church leaders before, and had even, on one not-to-be-repeated occasion, drawn upon her head the opprobrium of the Bishop himself.
    But why had Clark Imison and the other tourists in the rest-house seemed so unconcerned about the death? Or were they unconcerned? They had certainly been arguing about some letters when she had entered the lounge. There was plenty to think about. Fortunately she had time on her hands before she reached her next destination. She set her course for Gizo and gentled her canoe across the lagoon as the sun climbed to its apex in the cloudless sky.
    An hour later, she was only four miles from her destination. She was passing one of the many small and apparently uninhabited islands in the lagoon. It was about a hundred yards wide by seventy yards long, with a ring of white sandy beach and a profusion of the spiky green foliage of the tall casuarina trees covering its centre. Beautiful coral shoals surrounded the beach. Frigate birds made languorous circles in the sun. Behind the atoll were several others, equally minute, apparently joined by a coral causeway.
    At the sound of her outboard motor, two islanders ran down from the fringe of trees, shouting and gesturing to her across the turquoise water. Instinctively the young nun cut out her engine and headed for the shore. Gradually she drifted closer to the two men waiting on the beach. They were young,fiercely muscled and clad only in loincloths. She could see their dugout canoe already drawn up on the