Blood on the Bones

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Authors: Geraldine Evans
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Rafferty began to consider other drawbacks. ‘And apart from all the time you'd spend on your knees, praying, there's the no sex rule to contend with as well.’
    ‘Even the Garden of Eden had its snake,’ Llewellyn murmured.
    ‘Good old Hissing Sid?’ Rafferty took another deep gulp of his tea. It was piping hot, strong and well sugared, just as he liked it. He studied Llewellyn's face through the steam. It was as aesthetic and serious-looking as that of any religious and he commented, ‘I know you said a religious life held no appeal, but I can still see you as a monk.’
    Llewellyn didn't even slop his tea at this remark, but just said, ‘Easier than you could see yourself as one, I imagine?’
    ‘True. I could never be a Holy Joe, me.’ Rafferty raked his hand through his unruly auburn hair. ‘The tonsure would be bad enough, but those sandals would finish me. Well that and the lack of se–’
    ‘Yes, I think we've already established that particular drawback.’ Llewellyn straightened his already immaculate jacket and observed, ‘For me, it would be the clothes. I understand that even monastic orders that don't wear the habit, buy their clothes from charity shops.’ The elegantly attired Welshman gave a faint shudder.
    Rafferty laughed. ‘Perhaps you'd suit being a Catholic priest better. They're done up like the Christmas fairy for much of the year.’
    ‘Possibly. If I was of the appropriate religious conviction. But as we've already discovered, neither of us has the requisite vocation. And, apart from any other consideration, in my case, there's my wife to bring into the equation, and in your case, there's my cousin, Abra, and Mrs Rafferty.’
    Rafferty fixed on the second person whom Llewellyn had named. ‘Ah, yes. Ma,’ he said, before he paused reflectively. ‘I wonder what she'd have to say if I renounced the world and the grandchildren she's still waiting for me to produce?’
    ‘It's probably as well that you're unlikely to find out.’
    Rafferty nodded, finished his tea and observed, ‘Time to get back to work, I think. Back to the real world and its complications. Let's have the next sister in, Dafyd. The sooner we get these interviews finished the sooner we might be able to get on with solving this murder.’
    Sisters Agnes and Elizabeth were next. Like the round and rosy Sister Perpetua, both were currently on kitchen duties. Though, with such a small household to cater for, three sisters to do the cooking struck Rafferty as over-egging the pudding, especially as the well-rounded Perpetua was surely sufficiently enthusiastic about her food to be able to prepare and cook three simple meals a day without assistance.
    Sister Agnes, Cynthia Mayhew, as was, was tall and thin, with a long nose that, to Rafferty, indicated that the woman would be naturally inquisitive. However, it must be a trait she did her best to subdue because she neither asked nor volunteered anything until nearly the end of their session.
    And although Sister Rita had claimed that each of her fellow nuns was anxious to help all they could, it seemed that Sister Agnes, at least, didn't enjoy her colleague's robustness at the disturbance of her normal routines. Rather than showing a desire to be helpful, she seemed on edge, even a little resentful of their presence.
    Her voice, unlike the warm tones of Sister Rita, and the jolly chirrups of Sister Perpetua, was thin, with a tendency to high-pitched cut glass, which set Rafferty's teeth on edge. And when she finally allowed herself to give in to the aristocrat's natural inclination to take control, her first question was one that common sense should have told her was impossible for him to answer.
    ‘How long is your investigation likely to last, inspector? I understand that you, too, have your duty to do, of course, but this man's death and the presence of so many worldly people is upsetting some of the older sisters. Most have been here so long, our daily routine is all

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