Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“I’m betting it won’t come to that.” For Isabelle’s sake but also for the little boy’s. Matthew Bishop. Matty. No four-year-old needs to see his mother dragged off to prison, or worse, for murder.
I haven’t seen Isabelle since the night I left her locked in her room. Since she told me about her nightmare. Since she told me she loved me. I wonder if she’s had the dream since, but I stop my mind from wandering there. I can’t think about that. About her.
“Home, sir?” the driver asks as we merge onto the highway. He’s new. A young guy.
“What’s your name?”
“Anthony, sir.”
“Anthony.” I vaguely recall the name Dex mentioned. His replacement for the time being. “No, not home.” I check my watch, reread the text Zeke sent not half an hour ago. The one about the grieving Julia Bishop. “Take me to the cathedral.” He knows which one.
“Yes, sir.”
I text Dex to check in on Angelique and my mother. He sends back a photo showing me they’re more than fine. Enjoying the indoor swimming pool at the house I rented in the Adirondacks. Angelique apparently loves it. Loves the fall colors and the adventures she’s having with Dex on their daily hikes. She should be having those with me. But instead, I’m in New Orleans dealing with a pariah who murdered her lover and who knows how many others. Who attempted to run over my wife and gave her the means to end her pregnancy.
Isabelle’s words come back to me. She loves me. How can she hurt a part of me? Her face is next. Her eyes. Too often wide and frightened. Too often of me. And yet she loves me. And what have I done but make her life hell?
“Sir, we’re about five minutes out.”
“Thank you.” I start to put my phone away but change my mind and type out a text to my brother.
Me: How is my wife?
The dots appear as Zeke types his reply: She’s a prisoner. How do you think she is?
Shit.
Me: I’m almost to the cathedral. Is the boy there?
Zeke: She sent him home a while ago. It’ll be her and the priest. I’m on my way to visit the coroner. I’ll let you know what I learn as soon as I can.
Me: Thank you.
The driver takes me to the front entrance of the cathedral where Mass was just said for Carlton Bishop’s soul to be welcomed into Heaven. Best I can hope for him is that he’s burning in hell, but at least she gave him what he deserved. He’d have suffered in the days leading up to his heart attack. It’s not enough for what he did to my family but it’s all I have. As I step out into the cool fall night, I know it has to be enough because there are more lives at stake now. And I can’t bury another woman I love.
Two IVI guards stand sentry at the cathedral doors. They open them upon my approach and I’m happy to see Zeke was right. The place is cleared out apart from Julia Bishop and the priest, with whom she’s speaking as she adjusts the lilies decorating Carlton Bishop’s coffin.
The door closes loudly and my steps echo making them both turn, the priest’s face a mask of equilibrium. Julia’s flashes with surprise, then anger.
She faces me fully, folding her arms across her chest, standing between me and the coffin as if to keep it safe from me. Bishop’s dead. I don’t have to desecrate his corpse. It’s her head I want now.
“Am I late?” I ask, stopping a few feet from them.
The priest clears his throat. “The ceremony is over, but the body will remain until the morning for burial.”
“Then I can pay my respects,” I say, only glancing at the priest. “A word, Ms. Bishop.”
“I don’t have anything to say to you.”
“But I have something to say to you. And I believe you will want to hear it.” I glance to the priest. “Alone.”
She studies me. I smile faintly although nothing about this is making me happy. Because no matter what, Isabelle will be hurt. So will an innocent child. And he doesn’t deserve that even if he is a Bishop.
The priest looks nervously between us. “Ms. Bishop, I can stay—”
“No, thank you,” she says, turning to smile to him. “I’ll be fine.”
He glances at me once more before nodding and walking toward a small door at the back of the cathedral. His steps echo in the cavernous space and I wait to speak until the door is closed.
“Are you satisfied with yourself? Delaying his service? His burial?”
“I could give a fuck,” I say, walking around her to look at the stupid face of Carlton Bishop in the framed photograph. I pick it up, study it. “Was he your puppet all along?” I ask, slowly turning back to her.