Free Ghost Image by Ellen Crosby Page B

our meeting. Ursula would be here at any moment as well.
    â€œSophie,” Yasmin said when she reached Paul and me. “What are you doing here?”
    It was an odd question. Maybe Ursula had decided to fire me after all and I just hadn’t found out yet. Maybe Yasmin was expecting someone else.
    â€œKevin’s dead, Yasmin,” I said. “I found his body . . . found him . . . in the garden a few minutes ago. I’m sorry.”
    I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that, but I was still dealing with my own grief. Yasmin turned pale, a horrified expression on her face. When she finally spoke, she sounded as though she were gasping for breath.
    â€œOh, my God. That’s not possible. He can’t be.”
    Paul Zarin spoke up. “Here comes Father Xavier.”
    A small black car sped through the main gate and stopped in the driveway across from the three of us. A slight, white-haired man in a Franciscan habit got out.
    Father Xavier and Paul Zarin exchanged glances, and a look passed between them that I didn’t understand. “Where is Kevin?” Xavier asked him.
    â€œThe Gethsemane Grotto. Our brothers are praying for him, and then two of the knights are bringing him to the church. It’s where he would want to be. In God’s house.”
    The old priest turned to Yasmin and me. “I understand a woman found him,” he said in his gentle voice. “I am Father Navarro and I am in charge of this monastery. Was it one of you?”
    â€œI found him, Father,” I said. “I’m a friend of Kevin’s. Myname is Sophie Medina and this is Yasmin Gilberti. She and her fiancé are going to be married here in June.”
    Xavier nodded, apparently recognizing Yasmin’s name and possibly mine, but before he could speak, I said, “With all respect, you can’t move Kevin. I mean, you shouldn’t. All those people who are down there now are leaving footprints everywhere . . . if it’s a crime scene they could destroy evidence.”
    Father Xavier shot me a startled look as the full meaning of what I was saying seemed to dawn on him. “You are right,” he said. He turned to Paul. “Go and tell whoever is in the grotto not to disturb anything and that they must leave at once. I will call the police and we will cooperate with them.”
    Yasmin’s face was still as white as bleached bone. I took her arm and said, “You don’t look well. There’s a bench over there in the courtyard. Maybe you should sit down.”
    She shook her head. “I’m okay.”
    She didn’t look okay. She looked scared. To Xavier, I said, “I called the police as soon as I found Kevin.”
    Two blue-and-white Metropolitan Police Department cruisers pulled into the monastery driveway. “So you did,” he said. “It looks as though they’re here.”
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    The 911 dispatcher was right that the police wanted to talk to me since I was the one who had found Kevin. I caught a glimpse of Ursula’s black Mercedes with its blue, yellow, and white West Virginia “USS” license plate pull into the parking lot as a petite African American officer whose name tag said her last name was Carroll walked me into the visitors’ lobby of the church.
    She pointed to one of the benches in front of a screen where a video usually played before the tour started.
    â€œPlease have a seat,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
    I glanced up at the clock behind the reception desk where the knights usually sat. It showed exactly five o’clock.
    Officer Carroll didn’t return for half an hour. She sat next to me and apologized for keeping me waiting before she asked all the usual questions, how I’d found Kevin, what my business was at the monastery, and eventually, my relationship with the deceased.
    I flinched at that word and she looked up.