The Sister(173)

‘Who’s that?’ Stella said, transfixed by her appearance.

Jackie answered, ‘That’s The Sister. Oh, my God – I haven’t seen her for years. I once caught Ryan visiting her.’ She told them the whole story. ‘And she had this jet-black stone, plopped it into the palm of my hand and, well—’

Miller coughed discreetly, his eyes flashing theatrical caution at Jackie as The Sister approached from behind.

‘Talking about me, are you? Only nice things I hope,’ she said, her smile barely perceptible.

‘You didn’t say you were coming to the funeral,’ Miller said.

‘I tend not to announce my movements in advance, what with the church pursuing me and all.’

Miller was sure she winked at him from beneath the veil. Surprised she should mention such a thing aloud, he found himself double-checking he hadn’t just heard it in his head, but she was closed to him.

‘It’s a long way to come for a funeral.’

‘Aye, it is. I have unfinished business to look after. You know some things have to happen, for other things to happen.’ She touched her nose, her eyes bright, alive and knowing, clearly visible, despite her dark veil.

Apart from The Sister, none of them seemed to notice the petite, blonde woman in her late fifties who stood by the bar next to them, listening to every word they said.

Penny, intrigued by all she’d just heard, put together a picture in her head of The Sister and Ryan. That medium, turning up dressed in black like his widow. She seethed and for a second looked directly at the woman in black. Calm, the green eyes captured her miniature image and held her there. Unable to maintain eye contact, an idea bloomed. She suddenly knew exactly what to do.





On arriving home, Penny decided she’d report her to the church. She hadn’t any idea why they were looking for her, but it was about time they clamped down on seedy seaside fortune-tellers. Knowing the local priest wouldn’t be interested, she switched on her computer and googled to whom she should report the woman’s whereabouts.

Two thirds of the way down the screen, an interesting thread came up. The Church of the Resurrectionists of Monte Cristo, known among its members as 'The Church'. A shadowy organisation, links to corrupt political leaders, one of its bodyguards wanted for the recent assassination of an African Bishop.

She thought awhile before digging deeper. Monte Cristo, Mountain of Christ, second comings. Although she realised this was not the church that was looking for The Sister – if she told them about the stone and the fortune teller’s alleged abilities, the Resurrectionists might just want to find her, too.





Chapter 138



Penny contacted the Resurrectionists and, after an exchange of emails – the last one had requested her telephone number – she awaited the arrival of a man who had assured her he was a very distinguished member of The Church.

Unbeknown to Ryan, when he’d written asking for the return of her keys, she’d had them copied and kept the duplicate set. The original alarm was key-operated and had been for years. If she knew Ryan at all, he wouldn’t have wanted to spend money upgrading the system. Always keen to make a good impression on any man, Penny had dolled herself up for the visit. When the doorbell rang, she had no misgivings about letting the man in. She found herself quite excited at the prospect of time alone with him, he seemed friendly enough, but there was a distinct air of danger about him. Penny toyed with the idea of holding out on the information and using it as a bargaining chip. Who knows what might happen?

The Churchman didn’t take long in getting to the bottom of the story; she told him about the file she’d seen.





Twenty minutes later, the swarthy looking man returned to his hire car and placed a set of keys on the passenger seat. Within an hour, he was in possession of the file.

Penny had started a sequence of events she could not have foreseen when she contacted the Resurrectionists. The files they'd stolen illuminated a trail for them to follow. One by one, they would pick off their targets.

In Ireland, a black Fiat drove between the pillars of a rundown dry-stone wall into the front driveway area and bumped into a large pothole. The tall man in the passenger seat hit his head on the inside lining of the roof with a dull thunk, he shot a look of displeasure at the driver.

Brenda Flynn looked out of her window as the car parked. It’s late for visitors.

Brenda had had two or three of these visits over the years since Vera disappeared, emissaries of Rome looking for her. You'd a thought they'd a given up by now. When the two men arrived at her door, she was already waiting the other side. Opening it at the first knock, the unexpected visitors drove her backwards inside.

The shorter, swarthy-looking beady-eyed man held onto her while the tall, thin man looked around, moving down the hallway.

‘I don’t have anything worth taking,’ Brenda informed them coolly. ‘But you’re welcome to look, why don’t you!’

‘Your niece, where is she?’ the swarthy man demanded.

‘Who are you, and what do you want?’

‘Just tell us where she is and we’ll be gone.’

‘Vera? I haven’t seen her in years.’ Brenda glared at them defiantly. ‘And even if I had, I'd not be telling you!’

‘Which one is her room?’