Thin Lives (Donati Bloodlines #3) Read Online Free

remember?”
    Calisto scowled. “Didn’t I just say that?”
    “I wanted to be sure, that’s all.”
    “Yes, obviously. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be trying to find out more.”
    Affonso chuckled dryly. “I suppose.”
    “I know you want me to focus on the future,” Calisto said quietly. “And to leave all that alone so that I can be happy.”
    “Of course, Cal.”
    “I need to know what I’m missing, zio .”
    Affonso sighed heavily. “Oh, Calisto.”
    “What?”
    Didn’t the man understand?
    “You’re missing nothing,” Affonso said, firm and sure. “Absolutely nothing.”
    That couldn’t be true.
    Calisto still felt far too empty.
    Alone, even when he wasn’t.
    That was something.
    And something wasn’t nothing .
     

     
    Calisto balanced a bag of bagels and muffins in one hand, a coffee in the other, and bit the rim of his own to-go cup of coffee as he used his back to push the church doors open. He figured that since he was planning on grabbing something to eat on his way over to visit Father Day, and he knew the man spent early morning to late at night at the church, the priest might appreciate a fresh coffee and food to go with it.
    No doubt, Father Day brought his own meals, but it was the nice thing to do. People were always more willing to talk when their hands and mouths were filled with something.
    The front hall of the church was empty, but that wasn’t unusual for a Tuesday morning. Unless a wedding was happening, the church was typically devoid of parishioners throughout the week, except for Wednesdays, Sundays, and the occasional Saturday service or funeral. Their church wasn’t a large congregation, either, so Father Day was capable of running and caring for the place himself with a few volunteers who came in to clean and such.
    Calisto called out for the priest as he walked into the main hall, only to find the pews empty and the altar just as vacant. Unfortunately, with the rim of the coffee cup still in his mouth, it came out as a muffled shout that didn’t make much noise at all.
    He stuck the bag of food under his arm, grabbing the coffee out of his mouth.
    “Father Day?”
    Nothing.
    Calisto’s call echoed back to his spot.
    Usually, the priest would be in the main hall, sitting in one of the front pews, praying or going over papers. Or, he might be up on the altar, preparing another sermon. He had an office in the back of the church, along with the confessional room and another two private quiet rooms for people to use during funerals or weddings.
    But the priest rarely stayed shut away in his office.
    Calisto remembered him saying once that anything he could do behind a desk, he could do sitting in a pew or standing at the pulpit.
    Careful not to drop the coffees on the carpeted aisle between the pews—as it was the only place in the church with carpeting—Calisto made his way toward the back of the church. He called for Father Day a few more times, still not receiving any response.
    Something strange settled in Calisto’s stomach.
    A weight dropping.
    Father Day would never leave his church unattended. If he weren’t available, or gone from the parish, he would lock it up. Yet, Calisto had found it unlocked and all the lights above were on.
    It wasn’t right.
    Father Day’s office was at the very end of the back hallway. From the very mouth of the hall, Calisto instantly knew something was wrong.
    The priest’s office door was opened just a crack.
    Father Day would never leave his door like that—it would be either opened all the way, signaling he was available for anyone to walk in at any time should they need to, or closed entirely to say he was busy or with someone.
    Never cracked.
    Calisto, instinctively, picked up his pace. He didn’t realize his hands had started trembling until a bit of hot coffee splashed on his fingers from the opening on the cover.
    He barely felt a thing.
    Without a thought, he kicked the office door open.
    The bag of bagels and muffins fell