Rueful Death Read Online Free Page B

Rueful Death
Book: Rueful Death Read Online Free
Author: Susan Wittig Albert
Tags: detective
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themselves and one another of their sins. Envy, covetousness, anger-stuff like that." Maggie looked uncomfortable. "Then they make a penance-a certain number of strokes with a leather whip."
    "A
whip?"
Ruby's red eyebrows shot up under her curls.
    "Self-flagellation was common practice for centuries," Maggie said. "But Mother Hilaria wouldn't have it at St. T's. She said it was barbaric."
    "My kind of woman," I remarked.
    "She was pretty special," Maggie said, lifting her chin. "She was fascinated by Buddhism, so she encouraged us to learn meditation and yoga and read the Eastern mystics."
    "Yoga!" Ruby exclaimed. "In a Catholic monastery?"
    "Sure," Maggie said. "A lot of Catholics are interested in Eastern spirituality. Not the St. Agatha nuns, unfortunately. They think it's pagan nonsense, or worse." She hesitated. "The two groups are exactly the same size, you see. Mother Winifred can't get a consensus on anything."
    "She said something on the phone about a 'minor mystery,' " I said reflectively. "I thought she was talking about the garlic, but maybe not. Do you know?"
    The rain had begun in earnest, and Ruby turned on both the wipers and the defroster. "A mystery?" She wriggled in her seat. "I
love
mysteries! When I was a little girl, I wanted to grow up and be Nancy Drew." After that, it was Kinsey Millhone, then V. I. Warshawski, and finally Kay Scarpetta. More recently, though, she's given up on hard-boiled women detectives. ' Raymond Chandler in drag,' she says sadly. "Lotta guts, no soul."
    Maggie looked out the window, not answering, and I sensed an apprehension in her that both surprised and disturbed me. Of all my friends, Maggie is the most serene, the most balanced. She can always be counted on to keep her head during the crises that happen regularly in the restaurant business. But now, her outer calm was less opaque, and through it I glimpsed an inner worry, a fear, even. Something was wrong at St. T's, and Maggie knew what it was.
    When she finally answered my question, though, her voice was controlled. "Yes, I think I know what Mother Winifred has in mind. But she should tell you first. Then I'll be glad to share what I know."
    That was fair enough. "You said Mother Winifred is acting abbess," I said. "Who will take over when she steps down?"
    "The nuns will elect an abbess," Maggie said. She paused. "If they can."
    "What do you mean?"
    "There are two candidates. Sister Gabriella is from St. T's. She's managed the garlic farm for five or six years. Sister Olivia was named abbess of St. Agatha's the week before it closed. She ran the conference center."
    "Uh-oh," Ruby said. "Sounds like trouble."
    Ruby was right. You didn't have to be a Vatican diplomat to understand the implications of the choice. The new abbess would have control over fourteen million dollars, give or take a million or two. Sister Gabriella would no doubt want to use the money to raise more rocambole. Sister Olivia would presumably transform St. T's into a conference center.
    "When will the election be held?" I asked.
    "They've already had one vote," Maggie said. "But the two groups are evenly matched, twenty on each side."
    "So, they're deadlocked, huh," Ruby said.
    Maggie nodded. "The order's charter says the abbess has to be elected by a majority-in this case, twenty-one votes. Of course, Reverend Mother General would like the new abbess to have more support than that. She won't schedule another election until it looks like one of the candidates can get a majority."
    "Meanwhile," I said, "Mother Winifred is still acting."
    "I'm sure she'd rather be working in the herb garden," Maggie said, "but she's stock with the job for a while. Until one of the sisters changes her mind, or leaves, or…"
    "Or dies," Ruby said, with a laugh to show that she was only joking.
    Maggie didn't laugh.

Chapter Three
    The heat of garlick is very vehement, and all vehement hot things send up but ill-favoured vapours to the brain. In choleric men it will add

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