Ilka was exhausted when she turned into the funeral home’s rear parking lot. She kept seeing the look Mary Ann had given her just before taking the rifle out of Leslie’s hands, an intimation that they would be sharing a secret the rest of their lives. By not telling Stan Thomas the truth, Ilka had accepted a new lie that would tie her once and for all to her father’s family.

How irritating, she thought. She shook her head. Raymond Fletcher had gotten what he deserved, though, and she really didn’t care which of the two women had ended his life, which was why she’d gone along with the deception. He was dead, and that was good. She would never forgive him for what he’d done to her father. And to her.

She realized she should call Davidson to tell him the good news, but after grabbing her phone she remembered Amber’s horses. Davidson seemed to be a good man, but those horses would have to be returned before Ilka could trust him. She should be calling Frank Conaway; now that Fletcher was dead, she was sure the case against him would be dropped, after what Mary Ann had said.

She held her phone to her ear and walked to the back door. Odd, she thought; it was unlocked. Alarm bells rang in her head and adrenaline shot through her body as she put the phone away. The curtains in Sister Eileen’s dark apartment were pulled.

Cautiously she pushed the door open, tiptoed inside, and stopped to listen. Silence. The preparation room was closed, and though Artie hadn’t used it the past few days, she could still smell the sharp chemical odor. She crept past the office and arrangement room, and when she reached the reception, Sister Eileen was sitting in a chair against the wall, where Michael Graham had waited when he arrived to plan his wife’s burial. A small suitcase stood on the floor beside her.

Ilka stared. Instead of her headpiece and nun’s habit, she was wearing a pair of jeans and a thin beige sweater. Her short hair was brushed back. She looked Ilka right in the eyes.

“Lydia Rogers, that woman the man was asking about this morning. It’s me. The people who have been following you are looking for me.”

Ilka made her way over to the desk and sat down. The look on the nun’s face alarmed her. She leaned her arms on the desk and waited.

Sister Eileen sat in her familiar way, hands laced on her lap, as she held Ilka’s eye. “I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into all of this. It wasn’t my intention.”

“What do you mean?”

Sister Eileen shook her head but didn’t answer her. “I’m leaving now. I can’t allow what happened to Artie to happen to you. They’re too close, and that’s dangerous.”

If she hadn’t looked and sounded so serious, this sinister mood the nun was building would have annoyed Ilka. But there was something else going on that sent shivers up her spine: Sister Eileen had vanished. A different woman was sitting over by the wall.

“But what did you do?”

Suddenly Sister Eileen looked over at the door, and Ilka’s eyes followed, even though she knew it was locked, with the CLOSED sign hanging in it.

“It’s more what they’re accusing me of.”

“What?”

Sister Eileen took a deep breath. “I’m not a nun. For the past twelve years I’ve been living underground, on the run.”

Ilka sank back in the chair. This was all way, way too much; she wasn’t sure she could take any more. “But why?”

“They’re accusing me of something I’m innocent of. And if they find me, I’ll end up on death row. And they’ll execute me.”

“What? Death row? But…what is it they say you’ve done?”

“Murder. Multiple murders. They claim I’ve killed at least eight people.”

Ilka shook her head. Not that it was that great a shock to learn this woman wasn’t a nun; several things about her had made Ilka wonder. But these accusations sounded incredible. Her mouth felt dry as sandpaper. “But you didn’t, right?”

Sister Eileen—Lydia Rogers—glanced over at the door again before nodding. “Yes, I did. But I had my reasons to do so, and also I didn’t kill as many as they say I did.”

Ilka’s jaw dropped. “You’ve killed someone? Your nun’s habit, that’s just a disguise?”

She nodded again. They sat for a moment in silence, still looking, studying each other.

Ilka sat back up in her chair. “What do you mean, it’s dangerous for me?”

“If they find me here, you could be hurt.”

“They? Who are you talking about?”

“The man who was here this morning. The people who hurt Artie. The people who have been following you. They’ve been keeping an eye on you, hoping to find me. And they have. The man who approached us in the hospital parking lot, he recognized me.”

“I don’t get it, what do they want?”

“To have me arrested. They’re after the reward. Right now, they’re searching for your father too.”

Ilka looked at her in disbelief. “But my father’s dead! What does he have to do with it?”

Again, she ignored Ilka’s question. “I have to get out of here.”

“How much of this did my father know about? Did he know your nun habit was a disguise? That you’re on the run?”

Lydia squirmed, but reluctantly she nodded. “He found out about it the first time they tracked me down.”

Ilka was lost. “The first time?”

“Javi Rodriguez found me. He showed up one evening, but Paul heard me scream. And he came over and helped.”

“But why are they looking for my father? I told the man who came by during the service that he was dead. It doesn’t make any sense…”

Ilka watched as the woman’s face froze. “What is it you’re not telling me?”

For several seconds they stared at each other, then Lydia slowly shook her head. “Your father’s not dead.”

To be continued…