Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

212 :: JOHN R. MABRY
This woman was short, with a pageboy cut, and a no-nonsense
air about her. She did not smile.
Richard did. “Good evening. I’m Father Richard Kinney—”
“We don’t give handouts.”
“I’m not here—”
“And we already give to non-profits. Good day.” She went
to close the door, but Richard put his foot in it, deciding to
take another tack.
“Excuse me, ma’am, who do you think you are?” Richard
said, with feigned outrage. “I am the elder Mr. Dane’s priest,
and I have come to hear his confession and bring him communion.
And you are?”
The woman was taken aback, and looked Richard over
from head to toe more carefully, clearly flustered. Richard
fixed his stare straight into her eyes, and then he smiled
again. “Ah, but I see that you’re new here.” He pumped up
the charm. “Of course, you would not have seen me before.
Ms. Stahl, the last nurse here, knew me well. She even
brought me tea—no need to bother yourself about that, dear.
But if you don’t mind, I have other pastoral visits to make
tonight....”
Richard did not wait to be invited in, but charged forward,
trusting that, like the Red Sea, the way would be
opened before him. It was.
Richard was pretty sure he could remember the way—his
display of confidence would, after all, lend credence to his
subterfuge—and made directly for the elder Dane’s sickroom.
Looking increasingly uncertain, the nurse followed
behind. Richard glanced back at her and made small talk.
“When did you begin? What happened to Nurse Stahl? I’m
sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
The woman looked worried, and stammered a reply as she
scurried to keep up through the long, ornate hallways. “I