Pushing Murder by Eleanor Boylan Read Free Book Online Page B

here.”
    â€œMaybe they are, Dan.” I felt suddenly somber. “When we get to the chapel, we’ll invoke their spirits. Now, start talking.”
    â€œWhen we get there. Honey, will you do the chair?”
    We rolled on in silence. I decided to hear Dan’s story before I told him about Dwight’s call. I ground my teeth at the thought of the man. Had he snagged the letter? I had a sinking feeling that Dan would have laid it in my lap at once if he had it.
    We turned a corner, and another sign— CHILDREN’S WING —appeared over a door to a glass-enclosed passage. We went down the passage, and I looked out with wonder at the dense, snow-slowed traffic and the sagging ropes of Christmas lights. Strangely, the world outside one’s own has a way of going on. Now we’d reached the other building, and the first door inside was covered with worn leather and embossed with brass nailheads in the form of a cross.
    Dan opened it, and Kit pushed me into a dim little vestry. A handmade sign reading LIBRARY was tacked to a door on the left.
    I said, “Let’s peek in the chapel first.”
    It was tiny and very devotional, with small, high, stained-glass windows and a flickering red light on the altar making redder the poinsettias there. A very old nun sat in the back pew. She turned and looked at our awkward threesome in the door, smiled, and said, “Please come in.”
    â€œThank you, Sister,” I said. “Er—we don’t have time. Say a prayer for us.”
    â€œI will.”
    Kit pulled the chair back, and the door swung shut. She pushed me the few feet to the library, and Dan opened the door and groped for a wall switch.
    It was even tinier than the chapel—no bigger than my room. There were four straight chairs and a worn sofa, a table with a china lamp, and a bookcase with glass doors rather sparsely supplied with elderly books.
    Dan moved one of the chairs, and Kit pushed me in its place. They sat down, and Dan said, “Are you tired? You have to be.”
    â€œDan, come here.”
    He smiled and came, and I pulled his head down and kissed him and touched the gauze patch in his hair. I said, “He’ll pay for this. Did he get the letter?”
    â€œYes. You should fire me. Keep Kit.”
    â€œSit down and listen to me. You must be in some pain.”
    â€œNot a lot, really.”
    â€œYou will be. Those cuts aren’t funny, and I had a broken wrist once. It’s awful at night—you can’t get comfortable. We’ll talk now, then you two are going home. You’re both fired.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œDwight Dunlop has his letter, and I’m safe.”
    â€œLike hell you are.” Dan positioned his cast on the arm of the sofa. “Are you supposed to be happy and trustful of him when you find out what he did to get the damn thing?”
    â€œWhat did he do, actually?”
    â€œWell, he didn’t do it himself, that’s for sure. It was no seventy-year-old man who jumped me. The guy was young and strong.”
    The door opened, and Sadd came in with a brown paper parcel in the crook of his arm. A package of plastic glasses was perched precariously on top. Kit got up and took the glasses.
    Sadd said, “I wanted to get something decent, but I doubted that there was a corkscrew among the chapel artifacts, so I got some tank car with a twist-off top.”
    â€œWhat’s tank car?” Kit distributed glasses. “I love your lingo.”
    â€œNice alliteration.” Sadd smiled at her. “It’s cheap wine that is literally shipped in tanks.” He looked around. “What an ideal little hidey-hole. I hope we won’t be disturbed. Best keep our voices down.” He started to pour.
    I said, “Dan is about to tell us what happened.”
    Kit and Sadd sat down, and Dan looked into his wine.
    â€œI was so sure I’d covered my ass. I took a cab to your door