Part 5 (1/2)

He grabbed my arms. ”Hey, what's wrong? Hold on there. Why are you running?”

”Where's your guardian?” I said. ”Where's Father Xavier? I just found Brother Kevin Boyle in the Gethsemane Grotto. I'm so sorry . . . he's dead.”

The words tumbled out and the friar flinched. He was young, in his early twenties. ”What are you talking about? Dead? Are you sure?”

”He's lying at the bottom of the stairs and there's blood. He's . . . believe me, he's dead. I called 911 and the police are on their way.”

A scowl crossed his face. ”The police? Why did you call them?”

”Because that's what you do when someone dies, that's why.” He was staring at me like I was speaking in tongues. ”You need to get Father Xavier.”

”Who are you?”

”Sophie Medina. A friend of Kevin's. Who are you?”

”Paul Zarin.” He let go of my arms and pulled his phone out of his s.h.i.+rt pocket. ”Don't go anywhere. Stay right here.”

He sprinted away and slipped into the church through a side door. Kevin had mentioned a Franciscan named Paul the other night. He had been walking through the monastery when Kevin thought someone was following him in the cloisters. According to Kevin, Paul had heard nothing.

He was back in less than a minute, accompanied by two knights of St. Sepulchre in white ice-cream suits. They split up, the knights heading toward the entrance to the lower garden and Paul Zarin returning to where I waited.

”I want to thank you for finding our brother,” he said. ”You're free to go. We'll take care of him. Our guardian will talk to the police if it's necessary.”

”Take care of Kevin?”

”He belongs to G.o.d now,” he said as the two knights disappeared down the ramp.

”What are you talking about? What are they going to do?”

”Bring Kevin to the church to lay him to rest there. It's what he would want. It's where he should be.”

I caught my breath. ”You can't move him. No one should touch anything in that grotto. Kevin could have fallen down the stairs, but he also could have been pushed. It could be a crime scene.”

Paul Zarin's head snapped back as if I had just uttered something that defiled this holy place. ”That's not possible. No one here would do such a thing.”

”You have visitors, people who come and go as they please. And Kevin was a controversial public figure, you know that. People heckled him at talks all the time. Maybe someone showed up today and went too far.”

Paul Zarin gave me another dark look. ”Or maybe nothing like that happened and it was merely G.o.d's plan to call Kevin home. Thank you again for finding our brother, but now I must ask you to leave. Please. Go in peace.”

I folded my arms across my chest. ”I'm not leaving. I can't leave. I'm the one who found him. The police will want to question me.”

I thought when he had taken out his phone he'd called his superior, a quick, discreet conversation with Father Xavier Navarro to let him know something was seriously wrong, that this was an emergency. Instead it seemed like he'd alerted the entire monastery. I heard male voices as about a dozen men in Franciscan habits and a few in street clothes ran toward us, some emerging from the church, but most coming from the friary.

He pointed to the entrance to the lower garden and shouted to the others. ”Down there. He's in the Gethsemane Grotto with two of the knights. We must pray for him and then bring him to the church.”

”Are you crazy?” I said. ”You can't send them down there. They'll trample everything. They could destroy evidence before the police get a chance to search the area. Don't do this. You need to get Father Xavier here right now.”

”Father Xavier is on his way back to the monastery. He should be here any minute.” His clear gray eyes were cool and he pointed to my khaki trousers. ”Did you fall or trip on something? That mud stain on your knee is fresh. You never told me what you are doing here or how you knew where to find Kevin.”

It took a moment before I realized he was implying I had something to do with Kevin's death. I said, stunned, ”I didn't know where to find him. And I came here to return something to him, plus Kevin asked me to take photos of the community garden. Ask the security guard at the residence. I checked with him when I got here.”

But Paul Zarin had stopped listening. ”Did you bring a friend?” he asked.

”Pardon?”

He pointed over my shoulder. ”Her.”

Yasmin Gilberti, stylishly dressed in jeans, leather boots, and a Burberry rain jacket with a pashmina scarf knotted around her neck, walked toward us down the middle of the driveway. Her vivid red hair was even more startling against the grayness of the afternoon. Paul Zarin didn't take his eyes off her.

I had forgotten all about our meeting. Ursula would be here at any moment as well.

”Sophie,” Yasmin said when she reached Paul and me. ”What are you doing here?”

It was an odd question. Maybe Ursula had decided to fire me after all and I just hadn't found out yet. Maybe Yasmin was expecting someone else.

”Kevin's dead, Yasmin,” I said. ”I found his body . . . found him . . . in the garden a few minutes ago. I'm sorry.”

I shouldn't have blurted it out like that, but I was still dealing with my own grief. Yasmin turned pale, a horrified expression on her face. When she finally spoke, she sounded as though she were gasping for breath.

”Oh, my G.o.d. That's not possible. He can't be.”

Paul Zarin spoke up. ”Here comes Father Xavier.”

A small black car sped through the main gate and stopped in the driveway across from the three of us. A slight, white-haired man in a Franciscan habit got out.

Father Xavier and Paul Zarin exchanged glances, and a look pa.s.sed between them that I didn't understand. ”Where is Kevin?” Xavier asked him.

”The Gethsemane Grotto. Our brothers are praying for him, and then two of the knights are bringing him to the church. It's where he would want to be. In G.o.d's house.”

The old priest turned to Yasmin and me. ”I understand a woman found him,” he said in his gentle voice. ”I am Father Navarro and I am in charge of this monastery. Was it one of you?”

”I found him, Father,” I said. ”I'm a friend of Kevin's. My name is Sophie Medina and this is Yasmin Gilberti. She and her fiance are going to be married here in June.”

Xavier nodded, apparently recognizing Yasmin's name and possibly mine, but before he could speak, I said, ”With all respect, you can't move Kevin. I mean, you shouldn't. All those people who are down there now are leaving footprints everywhere . . . if it's a crime scene they could destroy evidence.”

Father Xavier shot me a startled look as the full meaning of what I was saying seemed to dawn on him. ”You are right,” he said. He turned to Paul. ”Go and tell whoever is in the grotto not to disturb anything and that they must leave at once. I will call the police and we will cooperate with them.”

Yasmin's face was still as white as bleached bone. I took her arm and said, ”You don't look well. There's a bench over there in the courtyard. Maybe you should sit down.”

She shook her head. ”I'm okay.”

She didn't look okay. She looked scared. To Xavier, I said, ”I called the police as soon as I found Kevin.”

Two blue-and-white Metropolitan Police Department cruisers pulled into the monastery driveway. ”So you did,” he said. ”It looks as though they're here.”

The 911 dispatcher was right that the police wanted to talk to me since I was the one who had found Kevin. I caught a glimpse of Ursula's black Mercedes with its blue, yellow, and white West Virginia ”USS” license plate pull into the parking lot as a pet.i.te African American officer whose name tag said her last name was Carroll walked me into the visitors' lobby of the church.

She pointed to one of the benches in front of a screen where a video usually played before the tour started.