Chapter 23

23

J enna held up a framed painting of the Smoky Mountains at sunset against the cream-colored wall. Her muscles screamed at her to put it down, but Elsie stood back with her mouth twisted to the side while she figured out if they'd picked the right spot to hang it.

"I don't know. What do you think?" Elsie tilted her head as if studying a Picasso.

"I think the picture will look fine anywhere you put it," Jenna snapped.

Elsie's eyes widened.

"Sorry." Jenna let her arms drop and set the frame against the wall. "That was uncalled for."

"You're not wrong though. I'm putting way too much thought into tiny details that don't really matter." Elsie wiggled her eyebrows. "Sound familiar?"

Jenna scoffed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Really?" Elsie shot back. "When I first got here, the kitchen felt like a cheerful, family scene. That warmth was chased out awfully quick as soon as Calvin mentioned going to speak with that woman. What gives?"

Jenna shrugged, not wanting to dive into her immature reaction. The sting of rejection hadn't been intentional. Hell, he was just doing his job. "I was acting like a silly teenager."

"Doesn't sound like you."

Jenna sank onto the floor and scooped Oliver into her lap. "My emotions have been all over the place the last couple of days, but one thing has become glaringly obvious. I'm still in love with Calvin. And after last night, I just had this idea of us being a couple again. Right back to where we left off. Being partners, making decisions together, and falling into the same rhythm. But that's not realistic and it wasn't fair of me to put those expectations on Calvin. I'll explain when he comes home."

"I'm sure he'll understand."

"I hope so." Jenna pressed a kiss to Oliver's cheek as her phone vibrated against her leg. She fished her phone from her pocket and read the new text message.

"What's wrong?"

She let out a long sigh. "It's Father Bowman. He wants to go over Stella's funeral arrangements with me."

Elsie lowered herself on the floor beside Jenna and hooked an arm over her shoulder. "That won't be easy."

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, and her emotions bounced back to grief. "I need to go to the church and see him. I've been so wrapped up in myself that I haven't given Stella's funeral the time it deserves. I owe her this. I owe it to her to make sure she has the best goodbye we can give her."

She texted back a response to Father Bowman, asking when they could meet. "He wants to know if I can go to the church now. Can you keep an eye on Oliver?"

"Absolutely. Take all the time you need."

Fifteen minutes later, Jenna parked along the street beside the church. The tall steeple greeted her. She hopped out of the car and hustled to the large brick structure. Stained glass windows shone from the sides of the building and a giant white cross sat on top of the bell tower. Jenna used the handrail to help her up the steps to the giant double doors. She tugged on the handle, and the old hinges creaked as the door swung open and she stepped inside.

The door closed behind her. Darkness took over the cold space, only the light through the intricate windows brightening the marble floor. The cherry wood walls and dark-colored glass gave the impression the hour was much later. An eerie silence made her shudder. She glanced around the rectangular vestibule. Closed doors sat on either side of the sanctuary, but the wide windows on the interior wall looked into the dimly lit sanctuary. Jenna went to one closed door, then the other, only to find them both locked.

A flash of movement caught her eye through the glass. She stepped into the sacred space and nostalgia washed over her. The smells of incense burned her nose, and a sheen of tears misted her eyes. This was the place Stella had found solace—had been given a second chance at life only to have it cut short.

She strolled down the long aisle toward the altar, skimming her fingers along the backs of the wooden pews on her way.

Father Bowman rounded the corner from the shadows with a large chalice in his hands. "Jenna, there you are. Glad you could come by so quickly."

She swallowed her nearly suffocating emotions. She forced a smile. "Hello, Father Bowman. Thanks for reaching out. I'm glad we can go over the details of the funeral."

Father Bowman pressed his lips together and dipped his chin. "Please come in and have a seat."

Jenna settled onto the front pew and placed her hands on her lap, her back straight. Some habits were hard to break. "Thank you. Where should we start?"

Father Bowman fixed a patient smile on Jenna. He grabbed a bowl off the alter. "I need a couple of minutes before we can begin. I just finished blessing the sacrament. A few regulars come to take communion. People who work on Sundays or stop by for confession. I'd love to offer you the body and blood of Christ."

Jenna studied the offering, caught off guard by the request. She searched her brain, trying to recall if it was normal for parishioners to take communion other than during Mass. But it'd been years since her last time partaking in the sacrament.

Her soul ached. She yearned for the simpler times when her faith carried her through the small things in life. That had all changed after her parents' death. But taking communion now might bring a peace she craved. "I'd like that."

Father Bowman descended the few steps and stopped in front of her. She rose to her feet, but he nodded toward the pew. "No need to stand. Make yourself comfortable."

Jenna settled back onto the hard bench and cupped her right hand under her left, staring up at him. The almost forgotten but familiar words washed over her as he began the liturgy. To her surprise, she even found herself responding at the appropriate places.

Father Bowman offered her a wafer. "The body of Christ for you."

She accepted the small, circular disk and placed it on her tongue. She made the sign of the cross over her chest, averting her eyes from the handsome priest. No flowing robe hid his toned body beneath the fitted black pants and buttoned-down shirt. If the starched white clerical collar didn't dominate the top of his throat, she'd never believe he was part of the clergy.

She'd never taken communion sitting with the priest standing above her. The intimacy of the moment raised her hackles, heightening her awareness of how close Father Bowman stood. Was this normal procedure for him, or had he loosened the strict rules that dictated the ritual because only the two of them were there? Either way, she wasn't comfortable with the invasion of her personal space.

"The blood of Christ." Father Bowman smiled and lowered the cup to her lips.

She placed her hands on the bottom of the chalice and tilted it upward until the sweet wine filled her mouth then blessed herself once more.

"There's not much left in there. Might as well finish it." Father Bowman chuckled and wiggled his eyebrows as he handed her the cup.

She squinted at him. She'd assume he was joking if he hadn't pressed the cup in her hand. He pressed his hand on top of hers and she sealed her lips around the metal and tipped her head back. He refused to release the pressure on the cup until she'd drank the rest of the wine then coughed, expelling the lingering droplets from her throat. An odd taste tainted the wine.

She shifted to the side, putting a little more distance between them. "So is there a program or something you'd like me to approve? I'd love if we could incorporate some of Stella's favorite things into the service. Songs or poems she loved."

Father Bowman held up a finger. "Please, just give me one more second. Let me just put this away." He disappeared back into the shadows he'd emerged from on the side of the altar.

Jenna fiddled with the purse strap still on her shoulder then let it slide to the seat beside her. Her throat burned, not exactly the sensations she'd hoped for after receiving communion. Footsteps sounded off the high ceiling from behind her. Jenna turned and watched Father Bowman hurrying down the aisle. She raised her brows. "Where did you come from? I didn't see you go to the back of the church."

He shrugged. "I had to get something from the office. It was quicker to come back in the sanctuary this way." He sat beside her and relaxed against the pew with his arm dangling from the back of the seat.

Jenna scooted to regain her personal space, suddenly wondering about the man she'd given free rein to plan her sister's final goodbye. "Did you know any of Stella's favorite hymns?"

His charm melted into sorrow. "I can't say that I do. We chatted after church sometimes. That's about it."

"Never when she was cleaning?"

He shook his head. "I'm not here much in the evenings."

She blinked, trying to line up her thoughts, but quicksand swallowed her brain. "I don't recall seeing you around town. Have you been the priest here long?"

A sly grin slid onto his mouth. "Nah. I haven't actually been a priest that long. Was called to the clergy later in life than most."

Her head was suddenly heavy on her shoulders. "Really? Why is that?"

He rubbed his palms over his thighs. "It's a long story. One that isn't easy to tell. But God works in mysterious ways. Joining the priesthood brought me here. Right where I needed to be."

"How long have you been in Pine Valley?" She blinked to keep her heavy eyelids from sealing shut.

He tightened his jaw, keeping his gaze locked on her. "About a year now. I really hope to make Pine Valley my home for many years to come. I'm tired of constantly setting new roots."

Details clicked into place despite the fogginess in her brain. Stella had broken up with Ryan Billings around the same time she got the new cleaning jobs—the same time she'd have met Father Bowman. She was in a secret relationship, and chances were she was killed by someone from the community. Someone with access to the hospital. The hospital boasted its own chapel. A chapel that all church leaders had access to, as well as coming and going to visit members of their congregation.

Could Father Bowman have killed Stella?

She needed to get away from him. To tell someone her suspicions. But fatigue pulled her down like gravity. If she could get him to leave her side, she could get to her phone. "I don't feel so well. Can I get some water?"

"Sure. In a second." He didn't move, just stared at her, head tilted like a hunter studying his prey.

Her heart pounded. Something wasn't right. She needed to call Calvin. She reached toward her purse.

Father Bowman closed a hand over hers. "What's wrong?"

She licked her dry lips. Her mind whirled. He put something in the wine. It's the only thing that made sense. She couldn't let him know she was on to him but needed to get the hell out of the church.

"You look a little pale. Are you feeling all right?"

The concern in his voice was in direct opposition to the growing alarm squeezing her insides. She couldn't think, couldn't move. Pain pounded against her skull. She needed to keep her wits, but it was so damn hard. She blinked, trying to keep her mind focused. "I'm fine."

Father Bowman frowned but a flash of excitement lit his eyes. "Really?"

Rat-a-tat-tat

Shifting, he grabbed his phone from his front pocket. "Sorry. Gotta check that."

The weird ring tone from the day she and Calvin broke into Stella's office. Her blood went cold.

Father Bowman was the one who'd rummaged around storage shelves.

Her suddenly blurry eyes locked on his, and for the first time since she'd met him, she understood what he really was.

A killer.