Iron and Salt Read online

  “Well, do you, or don’t you?”

  “Hand it over.”

  He closed the gap between them, extending the weapon in her direction.

  “Now back up,” she said. She stood, crouched, and deftly flicked the button to release the spring-loaded blade. When it sprang free, she slashed the air in front of her.

  Paul’s eyebrows rose. “Whoa, girl. Where’d you learn to wield a switchblade?”

  She closed the blade and dropped it on her bed. “In another time and place. It’s not important.”

  “I see,” he said, not wanting to press further. “Do you have a flashlight? I’ll take a look around outside.”

  She turned toward her dresser and rummaged around in the top drawer.

  “Here,” she said, spinning around. She handed him her flashlight.

  He took it from her, and his fingers brushed hers. He swore an electric current sizzled between them.

  She yanked her hand away.

  He pretended not to notice and hefted the light. “I’ll, uh…I’ll take a look around.”

  “Be very quiet. We don’t want to wake Father Gillespie. He’s a bit cranky when he doesn’t get his full eight hours.” She stifled a giggle. “But, he’s so good to me. He watches over us with gentle guidance. We’re so fortunate to have him here.”

  Paul had other thoughts about that matter, but he bit his tongue. “I’ll be right back,” he said, waving the flashlight.

  In the darkness outside, every shape appeared sinister. Branches waved overhead like serpents. Rocks hid monsters. An owl hooted, and Paul nearly screamed. His arms jerked like a marionette’s, and he dropped the flashlight.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” he whispered. Every nerve in his body stood in alarm.

  He crept around the side of the building and headed for Anne’s window.

  She slid the window open, startling him. “Do you see anything?” she whispered.

  He shone the light on the ground beneath her window. “Footsteps. See the prints?”

  She leaned out the window, giving him an eyeful of her cleavage.

  He dropped his gaze to the ground, studying the mishmash of footsteps. It’s like the guy paced beneath her window until she woke up. He crouched to investigate. Was there more than one person? He couldn’t tell. He rose to stand and looked up at her. “Well, we’ve confirmed your fears. There definitely was someone, or a few someones, out here.”

  “You know what?” She swished her hand back and forth. “It was probably teenagers. Students, out to frighten me. I gave a pop quiz on Friday, and Timmy and Tommy did horribly. They’re probably the culprits.”

  “Maybe,” Paul said. He kept his skepticism in check. He didn’t want to stir her fears any more than they’d already been stirred.

  “Come back inside, and I’ll make you a cup of tea,” she said. She shut the window. It gave a soft thwack.

  Paul glanced up at the second story. Still dark. He hoped Father Gillespie slept deeply.

  Eager to spend more time with Anne, he trekked back inside.

  Anne already had the electric kettle on when he arrived back at her room. Two dainty teacups sat on her desk. She placed a tea bag in each cup and kept her gaze trained on the kettle.

  Paul leaned against the door, unsure of whether he should drink his tea standing up, or maybe ask for a to-go cup. Like she keeps to-go cups in her closet.

  When the water boiled, she carefully poured some into each cup. “I have sugar and cream if you like,” she said, keeping her gaze trained away from him.

  “Black’s fine. Thank you.” He stepped next to her and picked up one of the porcelain cups. Clumsily, he held the tiny piece of China between his thick fingers.

  They both stood side by side, eyes focused on her desk.

  Her body heat warmed his side.

  She moved away from him and sat on her bed. She patted the space next to her. “Please, sit. I’m sorry I have so little furniture.”

  Paul glanced around the sparsely furnished room. A bed sat pushed against the wall. A Bible rested on top of the small nightstand. Her desk was pushed in the corner. A pine dresser sat on the opposite wall. “Looks like you have enough. But where’s the chair that goes with this desk?”

  “Sister Maria borrowed it. Hers broke. It’s in the shop, being repaired.” She patted the bed again. “Please, sit.”

  He closed the distance and settled on the mattress, making sure a respectful space stretched between them. Between the fright of footsteps outside her window, the sight of her cleavage, and her in her wispy nightgown sitting next to him, his mind zipped in wild directions. He sipped his tea, so his hand had something useful to do, rather than reach over and touch her creamy skin to soothe her. What kind of a creep would it make me if I turned the night into a seduction scene while she’s in a state of fright? It makes me a royal douchebag, that’s what kind. He shook his head and forced his thoughts into those of a caring friend.

  She lifted her cup to her lips and took a drink. “I’m sure I’m caught up in all the hysteria brought about by the murders. It makes one’s mind create all sorts of stories. In fact, when I think about it, the outline I saw even had a smooth head. No hair to be seen. You know how Timmy wears a skull cap all the time.”

  “Right,” Paul said. “I’ve had to ask him to take it off several times. ‘You can’t embellish your uniform with a skull cap, Timmy. You, too, Tommy,’” he intoned in his classroom voice.

  Anne giggled.

  Paul took another slurp of tea and set the cup on the floor, away from his feet.

  Anne did the same. “I’m kind of cold. Would you mind sitting closer?”

  His eyebrows rose. Hell, no, I wouldn’t mind.

  “Sure.” He scooted next to her.

  She clasped her hands in her lap. “You could put your arm around my shoulders if you don’t mind.”

  He blinked like a deer that had been clubbed by a two-by-four.

  “All right. As you wish.” He gently placed his arm around her delicate frame.

  She sat stiffly.

  They sat in awkward silence for a few long seconds.

  Then, she relaxed, letting her body melt into his side.

  He swallowed, then squeezed her shoulder.

  She let her hand drop to his thigh. Her fingers drew tiny circles on his leg.

  His breath caught in his throat. Don’t get hard, don’t get hard, don’t get hard. Too late. His wretched cock began to stir. He had to get her to stop touching him so sweetly and softly.

  “Anne, I…”

  She turned a beguiling blue-eyed gaze at him. Her lips parted.

  “What?” she whispered. Her hand tightened on his thigh.

  “I should go,” he said. His body had other ideas.

  “You should.” She licked her lips.

  Without thinking, he lowered his mouth and kissed her. The contact of mouth on mouth unleashed a cascade of sensation, none of it virtuous.

  She surrendered to the kiss, and he slid his tongue between her teeth.

  She jerked back her head.

  “Stop,” she said.

  He drew back. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

  “It’s all right,” she said, bolting to her feet. She turned away from him. “It’s a natural thing for a man and a woman who like one another to be attracted to one another.”

  “You like me?” Paul said, his jaw dropping open.

  “Well, sure I do.” She busied herself with picking up their teacups and placing them on the desk. “I consider you a friend.”

  “Huh,” he said. “Good to know. I thought I was nothing more than a co-worker.”

  She scurried to her closet and retrieved a thick bathrobe. “This is my fault, Paul. I don’t hold you responsible. I don’t know what I was thinking of letting you see me in my nightgown.” Her hands shook as she shoved her arms into the sleeves.

  Paul stood and stepped toward the door, eager to get on his way.

 
Her cheeks held a rosy flush. “I’ll take this as a sign of the work I need to do to raise my devotion to Christ, Our Savior. He’s the one I need to be courting, not you.”

  She tied the sash of the robe so tightly around her, Paul wondered how she could breathe.

  “Anne, I…”

  She waved away his words. “Not another word, Paul Riordan. I have a long way to go to attain the kind of pure devotion I need to sustain my mission. I need to be the change, not merely mouth the words.” Quickly, she hurried toward the door and opened it. “Thank you for coming over and helping me see the folly of my ways…My imagination got the best of me with the intruder, and, I…” She shook her head forcefully. “Please go.”

  Paul sighed. Her lips had felt exactly like he’d dreamed—hot, sweet, and full of promise. He stepped into the hallway and paused. “You know…serving God and being in love are not mutually exclusive. Look at my Uncle Cillian. He’s the best example of any of being able to devote himself to the community as God’s example and yet, he’s deeply in love with my Auntie Lassi. Sometimes, it’s love that truly makes service a blessing.”

  Anne stood silently in the doorway, her hand gripping the knob.

  Without another word, Paul nodded and took his leave. Things might get awkward at school later today. But, his heart held hope that something good might come of tonight. His mind, however, told him that something terrible might happen, and the memory of their kiss would be the only thing he had left of his beloved Anne. So then why am I leaving her side? He knew the answer—she wasn’t his to protect. Didn’t mean he didn’t want to look out for her.

  Chapter 12

  Monday morning – Paul

  At St. Christopher’s later that same day, the morning crept like garden snails slowly slithering across a garden. Finally, the clock eased toward break time. Paul dragged his sleep-deprived body toward the break room, along with a sheaf of student papers under his arm.

  Someone had left a box of donuts on the table. A pile of napkins sat near the box. A stack of small plates had been placed near the napkins.

  The side door that led to the patio had been cracked open, letting a chill into the room.

  He reached for the door handle and shut it. Then, he set down the stack of papers he needed to grade and reached for a powdery white donut, grateful for the chance at a sugar rush. He took a bite, and powdered sugar sprinkled all over his dark blue dress shirt.

  “Oh, crap,” he mumbled, with his mouth full. As he reached for a napkin, Anne pushed open the door. He glanced at her, his stomach tightening. Here comes awkward.

  Dressed in her usual black jumper and white shirt, her flaxen hair tamed by her short veil, she looked the picture of innocence.

  After setting the donut on a plate, he swallowed his mouthful of pastry.

  “Anne,” he said, brushing at his shirt with the paper napkin. “Did you get any rest?”

  Instead of the bashful response he’d expected, she stepped toward him. She grabbed a napkin and wiped his cheek. “You have sugar everywhere, Paul.”

  She finished her task, wadded up the serviette, and threw it in the waste bin.

  “Thank you,” he said, his eyes narrowing at her motherly concern.

  She returned to stand before him and looked into his eyes.

  Again, another surprise. He had figured Anne would avoid him from this day forth. In fact, he’d started a schedule in his head to alter all the times he usually ran into her at school.

  “I want to thank you for coming to my aid last night. I was selfish. Making mountains out of molehills. I’m embarrassed to have disturbed you in the middle of the night. You look rather tired.” She reached out and traced a half-circle under his right eye.

  He pulled his head back. “I’m fine.”

  “I’m not a stranger to lust or love or anything like that,” she said.

  “Okay,” he said, cautiously. “Where is this coming from?” He sat at one of the chairs surrounding the table and gestured for her to do the same.

  She perched on one of them, appearing to hover like a hummingbird ready to fly away. “I thought I owed you an explanation for my behavior. I’m not the Virgin Mary.”

  He smiled, feeling somewhat relieved. In the night, as he had tossed and turned, he thought he might have sullied an inexperienced woman’s reputation.

  “I, um, dated before I gave myself to the church,” she said, reaching for a pastry bar covered with maple glaze. She bit on it, chewed, and then dabbed at her lips with a napkin.

  “Okay,” he said. He picked up his donut, extended his neck, and took a bite, careful to not let any more sugar fall on his now white-streaked shirt.

  “In fact, I dated a friend of yours—William Ward.” She nibbled at the maple bar.

  His head jerked backward. “My William?” he blurted, inhaling some of the pastry in his mouth. He started coughing.

  Once he recovered, she said, smirking, “I didn’t know he was yours. But, yes, I dated the same William Ward I’ve seen you hanging out with in town. It never went anywhere, and, to me, it was a clear sign that my life was being called in another direction.”

  The thought of William with his smooth charm having his hands all over Anne sent spikes of jealousy stabbing at his heart. Then, he remembered his conversation with Marie in his father’s woodshop. What had she said? Oh, right. She and I wondered if there are other women he dated who have been killed by Bluebeard. Maybe there were more to come.

  Sweat broke out on his forehead and neck. William crossed paths with far too many women who ended up either in danger or dead. Hold up, there’s only two that I know of. I’m making up conjectures, and I have no evidence. Still, he couldn’t shake the suspicion from his brain. He shook his head, conscious that she stared at him.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Nothing. Nothing’s the matter.” He shoved the rest of his donut in his mouth and bolted to his feet. He didn’t want to believe his fears. Still chewing, he stepped toward the sink. As he swallowed, he washed his hands, grabbed a paper towel, wet it, and wiped his face. William’s like my brother. Or, he used to be. Still… The implications and consequences of Bluebeard’s victims having something to do with William were too devastating to consider.

  “I’m sorry, Anne, but I have to get back to class,” he said, not even looking at her. He raced from the room.

  He rushed down the hall, then stopped. I forgot my papers. He did an about face and scurried toward the break room.

  Voices—one of a man, and the other, Anne—sounded from inside.

  Paul pressed his ear to the door. Father Gillespie. He must have entered from the patio. He frowned.

  “You’ve got to remain pure,” Father Gillespie said, in a tone much like his Hellfire and brimstone sermon. “Pure in heart, pure in spirit, and, especially pure in body. Are you doing that, Anne? Are you maintaining your fidelity to Christ?”

  “Yes, Father,” she said.

  “And you have not sinned in the eyes of the Lord?” Father Gillespie said.

  Someone laughed at the end of the hall. Paul looked up to see Timmy and Tommy in the distance, pointing at him and leering.

  Paul resisted flipping them off and shouting at them to get back to their classroom. He glared at them.

  Timmy and Tommy slunk away.

  He turned his attention back to the conversation between Father Gillespie and Anne. The good father’s questions were creeping him out.

  “And no man has entered your flesh, and forged where he dare not enter, am I right, Anne?” Father Gillespie’s voice began to rise.

  “I don’t understand,” Anne said.

  Paul peeked through the slit between the door and the frame.

  The priest stood over her seated form, with his hand on her shoulder.

  Paul’s stomach became queasy.

  “Have you engaged in intercourse with a man, child?” Father Gillespie said, his tone gentler.<
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  Paul frowned at the question, chiding himself for wanting to know the answer. If William screwed her, I think I’m going to be sick.

  Anne stuttered when she answered. “No, Father. I have not engaged in intercourse with a man.”

  Father Gillespie placed his palm on her hair.

  Anne inclined her head, lowering her gaze.

  “Bless you, child. The Lord will protect you, as you serve in his mission.”

  “Thank you, Father,” she said.

  The bell rang, and Paul pried his gaze away. He’d heard too much. It was none of his business whether William had screwed Anne in her past. It was her life, not his. He didn’t know what to think…about William dating Anne, or about Father Gillespie grilling her on subjects that seemed far too intimate. As he opened the door to his classroom, the only thing he seemed certain of, was never wanting to think again and ensuring that no one lay a hand on his sweet Anne—not Father Gillespie, and definitely not the killer Bluebeard.

  Chapter 13

  Monday morning – Marie

  “If this Monday had any consideration,” Marie grumbled to Crusty McKitty while brushing her hair, “it would have made just a little effort to be better than last Monday.” Standing before the full-length mirror on her bedroom door, she yanked on a snarl, nearly tearing her hair out by the roots. “But, no. Monday has to be a bitch again because nothing says, ‘Fuck you, Ward family,’ like Inspector Moira Brown showing up on our doorstep before Mum even has time for tea. Doesn’t Inspector Brown know she’s taking her life in her hands to interrupt Mum’s tea?”

  She sidled to her door, eased it open a crack, and cocked her head to listen.

  Mum and Inspector Brown continued to argue.

  While Marie listened, she let her gaze drift out the window toward the sheep with the blue butts that grazed on the hill. I wonder where the pink butted sheep are? She longed to don her running gear and take off in their direction.

  Crusty sauntered toward her legs and brushed against them, in his familiar “everything’s going to be all right” rub.