Page 25 of Silent Prayer

Rachel screamed as Jack lunged forward, the candlestick arcing through the air toward her head. She ducked, feeling the rush of air as it narrowly missed her. Mochi was barking frantically, adding to the chaos.

She scrambled away, her heels slipping on the polished floor. Jack pursued her, his face twisted into a mask of righteous fury. Rachel's mind raced, searching for a way out. The front door was blocked. The back door was too far. She needed a weapon, something to defend herself with.

As she rounded the kitchen island, her hand closed around the handle of a heavy cast iron skillet. Without thinking, she swung it with all her might.

Jack raised his arm, and the pan collided with his elbow, ringing hollowly. He let out an angry cry. Rachel dropped the skillet and ran for the front door, Mochi at her heels.

She was opening the door when something struck her from behind. There was no pain—just a flash of light and a strange numbness. Then she was falling, falling to the tiled floor, and the last thing she knew was the softness of Mochi's tongue on her cheek.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Father Stephen was lighting candles at the altar when Sheila and Finn entered St. Michael's Church. The soft glow of the flames cast dancing shadows across the ornate stained glass windows, creating an atmosphere of reverence and solemnity. The scent of incense lingered in the air, a reminder of the morning's mass.

"Father Stephen," Sheila called out softly, not wanting to startle the priest.

He turned, a warm smile spreading across his face as he recognized them. "Deputies Stone and Mercer. What brings you back to our humble church?"

As they approached, Sheila noticed the dark circles under Father Stephen's eyes. The strain of recent events was clearly taking its toll on him.

"We have some questions about the case, Father," Finn said. "We were hoping you might be able to help us."

Father Stephen nodded, gesturing for them to sit in the front pew. "Of course. I'll help in any way I can. These tragedies have shaken our community to its core."

As they settled into the hard wooden seats, Sheila pulled out her notebook. "Father, we've come across a name in our investigation. Does the name Father Wayland mean anything to you?"

The priest furrowed his brow, thinking for a moment. "Father Wayland? No, I'm afraid that doesn't ring any bells. Is he connected to the case somehow?"

Sheila exchanged a glance with Finn before answering. "We're not sure yet. But it seems that Laura Hastings may have met with a priest calling himself Father Wayland shortly beforeher death, and we have reason to believe Sophie Tournay met with the same person."

Father Stephen's eyes widened. "Oh, my. Yes, I heard about poor Ms. Tournay on the news. That's…concerning. But I can assure you, there's no Father Wayland associated with this church or any in the diocese that I'm aware of."

"What about new priests or visiting clergy?" Finn asked. "Anyone who might have been here temporarily?"

Father Stephen shook his head. "No, we haven't had any visitors recently. It's just been me for the past few months." He paused, a troubled look crossing his face. "Although..."

"Yes?" Sheila leaned forward, sensing they might be on the verge of a breakthrough.

"Well, it's probably nothing," Father Stephen said hesitantly. "But about a month ago, I noticed a few things missing from the vestry: candlesticks, robes. I assumed I'd simply misplaced them, but now..."

Sheila's mind was already racing with the implications. "Father, we're going to need a list of everyone who has access to the vestry."

"Of course," Father Stephen said, his voice heavy with worry. "I hope you catch this person. I can't stand to think that our church might have inadvertently played a role in these horrible crimes."

Sheila placed a comforting hand on his arm. "This isn't your fault, Father. You're helping us catch the real culprit."

He nodded, but he still looked troubled. "I'll be praying you succeed."

As the priest moved away, Finn turned to Sheila. "This could be our break," he said. "If our killer is impersonating a priest, it explains how he's gaining his victims' trust."

Sheila nodded, but her brow was furrowed. "But it also means he could be anyone. We're not just looking for arogue priest anymore—we're looking for someone with enough knowledge of the church to convincingly play the part. That's a big group."

As they were preparing to leave, an elderly woman walked past them, her wizened face creased with concern as she approached the priest. "Father Stephen, I just wanted to say how sorry I am about poor Laura. Such a tragedy."

Sheila's ears perked up at the mention of Laura's name. She was about to introduce herself when Finn's phone buzzed. He excused himself to take the call, stepping away to the back of the church.

"I'm Deputy Stone," Sheila said, turning to the old woman.

"Francine Albright."

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