Free The Stone of Sadness (An Olivia Miller Mystery Book 3) by J A Whiting Page A

her,” Angela reported.
    “Her former fiancé went to high school with her?”
    Angela nodded.
    “Is he still around? I wonder if he would talk to me about Kenny. It might be helpful to talk to a classmate. He might have some insight.”
    “His office is in Chestnut Hill. Name’s Don Chandler. He’s an attorney. It must be easy to find his number.”
    “I might look him up,” Olivia said.
    “It couldn’t hurt. Let me give you my cell number in case there’s anything more we can answer for you.”
    Olivia added Angela to her contacts.
    “Thank you for your time, Angela. I appreciate your help.”

Chapter 13
    During their chat earlier in the week, Olivia learned from Lydia Andrews that Pastor Mike Sullivan had been at St. Catherine’s Church since before the murders and that maybe he could shed some light on the crime.
    Olivia knocked on St. Catherine’s parish house door. She hoped to have a talk with the priest. After a few minutes, an older woman opened the door and peered out at Olivia. The woman was small and stooped with silver gray hair. She was wiping her hands on her apron.
    “Yes?” she asked politely but seemed slightly put out that she had been interrupted from her work.
    “I’m Olivia Miller. Is the pastor available?”
    “Father Mike is in back tending the garden. You can go around to see him if you like.” She indicted the back of the house with a wave of her hand.
    “I’ll do that, thanks. Sorry to bother.”
    “No bother, hon.”
    Olivia found Father Mike bent over a row of soil. He was placing seedlings in small holes that had been neatly dug down the row. He was sitting on an overturned bucket.
    “Father Mike?”
    He stood just as Olivia spoke and he turned to her voice, his floppy straw hat shading his face. “Hello.” His voice was deep and kind. His face was lined and craggy and beads of sweat covered his brow. He took an unsteady step towards Olivia, his legs stiff from sitting on the bucket.
    “I’m Olivia Miller. Sorry to bother you. I was wondering if you had a minute to talk.”
    “Of course. Why don’t we sit on the bench.” He indicated a wooden bench placed in the shade of an apple tree. “I’d be glad for a break,” he smiled. He tottered a bit towards the seat, and Olivia reached over and took his arm.
    “Not as spry as I once was but I keep active. It just takes time to get these old legs going once I’ve been sitting.”
    When they were settled side by side on the bench, Father Mike wiped his face with a handkerchief and commented, “We haven’t met.”
    “No,” Olivia confirmed. “I’m staying at my cousin John’s house for a couple of weeks. John Miller. He isn’t a church member so maybe you don’t know him.”
    “I know who John is. We’ve served together on the town Recreation Committee for several years. Good man,” Father Mike said.
    “He’s away right now,” Olivia said. “He’s having some work done on his house which happened to coincide with an unexpected business trip. So I’m keeping an eye on things for him and taking care of his dog.”
    “I see.” His kind eyes met Olivia’s. “What brings you to see me, dear? What’s on your mind?” Father Mike asked.
    “When we were cleaning out the attic at John’s house, we came across some old newspapers. Some of them have articles about the murders that happened here in town a number of years ago. A young mother and her daughter. They were our cousins.”
    Father Mike winced. His shoulders seemed to slump and he looked down at the ground. “A terrible thing. That was a terrible day. I was the priest who said their funeral mass.”
    “I didn’t know that. How long have you been a priest, Father?”
    He straightened a bit. “Just over sixty years. The last forty-five years right here in Howland. Things have changed a good deal. Not so many men entering the priesthood today.”
    “You’re the only priest here at the parish?”
    “Yes. Time was, back in the day, there might