The weatherman had predicted a beautiful Tuesday and the morning proved him right. Sun shone on snowbanks, sparkling with crystalized jewels. The temperature climbed above freezing and melting snow dripped from trees and the eaves of Rose Chapel’s parsonage.
Pastor Williams’ small house sat only a few yards from the church. It looked warm and snug, nestled between two large pine trees. When I phoned Gabe Williams this morning to ask if our appointment was still on, he sounded cheerful and said he looked forward to talking with me. He said he had a few confessions to make, several things that he wanted to set right and he would have the coffee pot on.
“I thought confession was for your parishioners,” I joked. “Aren’t you supposed to be the person who listens to all our sins?”
Somehow, he didn’t think that was funny. “I think you’ve got us mixed up with a different church, Miss Nettie,” he said.
Sliding out of my SUV, I glanced around. Buildings and grounds looked well cared for. The front door of the parsonage was ajar. This seemed a welcoming gesture as the pastor was expecting me.
Knocking on the door, I peered in past the screen. “Pastor Williams!” I called. “It’s Nettie McNeil.”
Thirty seconds later, I knocked again. No one came to the door nor called a welcome.
I cracked open the screen door and said, “Are you there, Mr. Williams? Shall I come in?”
Complete silence met me as I stepped inside the small house. The living room was furnished with old but well cared for furniture. The floor was hardwood with a few bright rugs scattered across it.
Unease pricked at the nerves between my shoulder blades. My heart beat faster. Another time when I had entered an empty house and found a dying man on the floor jabbed my memory. I had a curious feeling of déjà vu as I walked quickly from the living room into the kitchen.
Moonlight Can Be Murder and all the Blanche Day Manos cozy mysteries can be found by clicking here: Amazon Books: Blanche Day Manos.
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