The Narrow Gate Read online

  Table of Contents

  About Narrow Gate

  Praise for Mark Posey’s Thrillers

  Title Page

  The Narrow Gate

  Did you enjoy this book? How to make a big difference!

  About the Author

  Other books by Mark Posey

  Copyright Information

  About Narrow Gate

  You’re not back on the job, are you, Alice?

  Detective Rafferty catches a new case: a priest shot through the forehead, a bloody cross drawn over the wound.

  When Alice’s alibi checks out, she and Rafferty draw the only possible conclusion: someone is committing copycat murders. But who? And why?

  The answers will change Alice’s and her friends’ lives forever...

  A Nun With A Gun is a series of short stories and novelettes about Sister Jacobine, the Pope’s hitwoman. They are best read in order.

  1.0 Feet of Clay

  2.0 A Port in the Storm

  3.0 Excommunication

  4.0 Requiem Mass

  5.0 Den of Lions

  6.0 The Narrow Gate

  Thriller Short Story

  Praise for Mark Posey’s Thrillers

  Well-fleshed out characters to really care about, and a deep state plot that is very timely given current world affairs.

  All in all, an enjoyable page-turner!

  The Narrow Gate

  Enter in by the narrow gate; for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and many are those who enter in by it. —Matthew 7:13

  Alice Fisher strode in the front door of Caremore House just as she had every night for the past month. She’d been there when George Talbot was put into hospice care and she’d be there when he got out, too.

  It had done Alice’s heart a world of good spending time with George these past two months. Reminiscing with him had wiped her loneliness away, even if only temporarily. As with all of the loved ones in her life, she knew the day was coming when she would have to say goodbye.

  In the meantime, though, she’d avail herself of the opportunity for remembered laughter, if only to remind herself there were still good things and good people in the world.

  Her stride slowed as she got farther inside. Caremore House was a relaxed, homey facility that did well disguising its true purpose. In the common areas, comfortable, worn, overstuffed couches and chairs were their stock in trade. Along with the low-light lamps, coffee tables and magazines, they did an admirable job of distracting attention from the myriad medical equipment on-hand for the Caremore House residents. At this late hour, most of the lamps were either dimmed or turned off, as the hospice settled into its late-night shift.

  As Alice rounded the corner closest to George’s room, she spotted Craig Talbot just down the hallway, feeding coins into the coffee machine. The machine served the most ghastly coffee Alice had ever tasted and that was saying something. When she was much younger, she’d once drunk coffee boiled in a dirty cast-iron frying pan over an open fire at a nunnery in Switzerland.

  Craig straightened up, paper cup of black sludge in hand, as she approached.

  “Lord High Constable, how is our George doing tonight?” Alice asked.

  Craig shrugged. “He’s his same old grumpy self.”

  “Whatever do you mean? He has been perfectly lovely with me.”

  Craig smiled ruefully. “He’s not in love with me, Alice.”

  “Nonsense. You are his great-grandson. Of course, he loves you.”

  Craig held up a finger. “I didn’t say he didn’t love me. I said he’s not in love with me.”

  Alice glanced toward the door to George’s room. “I am sure you are mistaken, Lord High Constable.”

  “I’m sure I’m not.”

  Having been through this routine every night for several weeks, Alice and Craig turned and strolled into George’s room.

  The scowl on George’s face softened noticeably as he laid eyes on Alice.

  Alice set her stance just inside the door, hands clasped in front of her. “Dear George. And how are we tonight?”

  George’s gazed flickered to Craig. “I’m doin’ fine—for someone on his deathbed.” His voice was shakier than usual.

  “Grampa George, don’t say that,” Craig admonished as he packed up his files and computer from the small table in the corner. “You’ve still got plenty of time, yet.”

  “You keep tellin’ yourself that, boy. One a these days, you’ll—”

  “George, do you know what I was thinking about today?” Alice interrupted. “Do you remember the time Corporal Silverthorne made a pass at that French nurse?”

  George laughed softly. It quickly turned into a harsh, bubbling cough. George grabbed a tissue, spit a mouthful of phlegm into it and tossed it in the wastebasket beside the bed. He shook his head. “Ol’ Randy always was too big for his britches. I bet she bruised her hand, she slapped him so hard.”

  “Quite right, George.” Alice’s wide smile belayed the sadness in her eyes as she gazed lovingly at George in his bed.

  Craig straightened up from the table. “Well, I can see you’re in good hands, Grampa George. I’m going to take off. See you tomorrow?”

  “Course you’ll see me tomorrow. Where the Christ am I gonna go?” George harumphed and crossed his arms.

  “Now, George, we’ve talked about that.” Alice frowned.

  “I know, I know.” George sulked, then his voice softened. “Thanks for stoppin’ by, Craig. You’re a good boy.”

  “I’ve had a good teacher,” Craig said.

  The two of them held each other’s gaze for a moment. George waved his hand at Craig. “Whatcha waitin’ for? I’ll be fine. Sister Jacobine’s here. Git a goin’.”

  “Good night, Sister.”

  “And to you, Lord High Constable.”

  “See you tomorrow night.”

  “Until tomorrow, then.”

  Craig slipped quietly out of the room and Alice turned back to George. “Now, where were we, George?”

  George’s face lit up and he chuckled. “Randy’d just got his face slapped.”

  “Quite correct. If I remember, he groused about that for weeks.”

  “Yep, he sure did.”

  *

  The sun was already creeping over the horizon by the time Alice pulled her rental car up to the curb in front of the Rafferty house. Time seemed to vanish when she was with George, and she always arrived back at the house refreshed.

  She glanced in the rearview mirror as a police cruiser pulled in behind her. She climbed out of her rental car and waited on the sidewalk for Rafferty to get out of the cruiser. Another man got out with him.

  “Good morning, Constable. Late night?”

  Rafferty scrubbed at the hair on the back of his head. “Still is.”

  Both men stepped up on the sidewalk. Rafferty indicated the other man. “Alice, this is my new partner, Detective James Corrigan. James, Alice Fisher. She’s staying with us for a while.”

  Alice and James shook hands. “Lovely to meet you, Constable Corrigan.”

  James smiled. “And you, Sister...?”

  “Jacobine,” Alice supplied. “But, please, call me Alice. No need to be so formal.”

  James was very young and looked clean-cut and neatly pressed, even after a long night on the job. He looked pointedly at Rafferty. “You’ll call me when you’re ready to go?”

  “You bet.” Rafferty nodded.

  “Sister...Sorry...Alice, nice to meet you. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

  “Indeed, Constable Corrigan. You are not staying for coffee?”

  He shook his head. “No, thanks. Gotta go get a few hours’ rest. Got a big case to solve.” His eyes glittered with enthusi
asm. “See ya later, partner.”

  Alice watched after him as he pulled away from the curb. “Certainly a well-mannered young man. Another detective schooled by nuns, no doubt.”

  Rafferty watched the cruiser drive away. “What makes you say that?”

  “He knew to ask my ordained name.”

  Rafferty stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned toward Alice. “Um...before we go in...”

  “Yes, Constable?”

  “You’re not...back on the job, are you?”

  Alice met his gaze. “Back on the job? You mean my job with the Vatican? I most assuredly am not back on the job, Constable. Why do you ask?”

  Rafferty focused on the sun just nudging itself over the horizon. “Caught a body last night—a priest. One ten-millimeter shot in the middle of the forehead, cross over it, drawn in blood.”

  “Oh dear. And you thought I might have done it?”

  He shrugged. “It is your M.O. You going to be able to account for your whereabouts last night?”

  “My word is not good enough?”

  “For me, sure. I’ll need something more for anyone else, though.”

  Alice nodded curtly. “I spent the night sitting with George Talbot at Caremore House. He saw me, as did several members of the staff throughout the night.”

  “Any chance this is someone from the Church trying to make trouble for you?”

  “I could not say, for certain. I can contact one or two of Roberto’s people that are trustworthy. Find out if they have heard anything.”

  “Thanks. That’d be a big help. If not, maybe we’ve just got some looney on our hands who’s copycatting you.”

  “That is not a very comforting thought, Constable.”

  “Tell me about it,” Rafferty said as the two of them trudged toward the front door.

  *

  The ringing of her cellphone ripped Alice from a deep sleep. It felt as though she’d just climbed between the sheets.

  She thumbed the screen to answer before she even registered who was calling. “This is Alice,” she mumbled.

  “Alice, it’s Craig. I just got a call from Caremore House. George has taken a turn for the worse. I’m on my way there, now. You better get over there.”

  Alice was instantly awake. “Right. On my way.”

  She scrambled to dress and rushed downstairs.

  Geri was still in the kitchen.

  “Good morning,” Geri smiled until she saw Alice’s face and then she sagged. “What’s wrong?”

  “George has taken a turn,” Alice said as she struggled to get her shoes on. “I must get over there. He has not been anointed, yet. He wanted me to do it.” Alice noticed a lump in her throat.

  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” Geri said.

  “Thank you, Geraldine,” Alice said as she rushed out the door.

  She fumbled with the keys to unlock her rental car. Dropped them. Scrabbled for them to pick them up. Then tried to fit the house key into the car door lock.

  When she finally got the right key in the lock and unlocked it, she yanked the door open, dove inside and fought to get the key in the ignition. When she got the car started, she slammed it into drive and shot away from the curb. A horn sounded immediately, and Alice slammed on the brakes. The collision narrowly avoided, she had to wait until the car pulled by her. The driver glared daggers at her.

  Once he was down half a block, Alice took her foot off the brake and eased on the gas. She slowly accelerated down the block and turned left to go to the police station.

  “Damnation!” She shook her head and cranked the wheel all the way right and nudged the car ahead to get it going the correct direction to Caremore House.

  It was the longest drive she’d ever taken to the hospice. Every traffic light was red. Every car in front of her was moving too slow. Every time it looked like there was a break in traffic, it was immediately filled by someone else.

  When she finally pulled to the curb in front of Caremore House, her knuckles were so white, she was surprised she had not crushed the steering wheel.

  She was out of the car and up on the curb almost before she’d shut the engine off. The front door of Caremore House banged open and she hurried through it.

  The nurse at the front desk glanced sharply up at the noise. Alice rushed past the front desk and down the hallway, her veil flapping. The first person she saw as she rounded the corner near George’s room was Craig Talbot.

  He leaned against the wall, his shoulders slumped, his gaze on the floor. As she neared, he looked up and met her gaze. His eyes were full of sorrow and he shook his head.

  Alice stopped in mid-step. “How long ago?”

  He shrugged. “Couple minutes.”

  Alice’s gaze drifted to the curtained window of George’s room. She could see a shadow moving inside. She stepped around Talbot and pushed open the door. The young nurse’s aide inside looked up at her and her face narrowed.

  Alice stepped slowly into the room. George was still on the bed, his eyes closed. At rest.

  “Oh, George,” Alice muttered, the lump in her throat bigger and more insistent. “Here we finally are.”

  The nurse’s aide stepped over to Alice and rested a hand on her arm. Alice’s gaze never left George.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss, Sister,” the aide said. “Had you known him long?”

  Alice pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. She could feel the tears building in her eyes. “Most of his life,” she said wistfully and cleared her throat. “Since he was a boy in the war.”

  The aide looked her up and down, confusion coloring her face. “I don’t understand.”

  Alice glanced at her. “No one does.” She stepped to the bed and drew a cross on George’s forehead with her thumb. Then she rested her palm on his forehead and took one of his hands in hers and the lump in her throat squeezed so hard, she couldn’t speak.

  She heard the nurse’s aide take a step.

  Alice cleared her throat, the lump in her throat dug its claws in to maintain its place. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth to say the Prayer of the Dead.

  The words were not there. She had said them hundreds of times over hundreds of bodies—over enemies, colleagues and dear, dear friends. Today, over George’s body, she couldn’t even find them, never mind say them.

  She heard the aide take another step and felt the young woman’s hand come to rest on her shoulder. She watched the aide’s other hand as she lay it gently over her hand on George’s.

  As soon as the aide said the first phrase, “Lord Jesus Christ,” the words were back and the two of them said the rest of it together. “Saviour of the world, we pray for your servant, George Talbot. Commend him to your mercy. For his sake you came down from heaven; receive him now into the joy of your kingdom. For though he has sinned, he has not denied the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, but has believed in God and has worshipped his Creator. Amen.”

  “Amen” was the only word out of sync. Alice’s deep, shuddery intake of breath delayed hers.

  Neither of them moved. They both just stood and watched George’s face. Alice’s gaze was blurred by the tears that still filled her eyes. “I shall miss you, forever,” she whispered after another shaky breath, as the tears flowed down her cheeks.

  The moment Alice made to withdraw her hands, the aide’s hands were gone and she took a step back. Alice turned to meet her gaze.

  “Thank you, child,” she said, her voice still thick with emotion. “I have said that prayer many, many times. I do not know why...”

  “It was my privilege,” she said. “George was a wonderful man.”

  The two of them watched each other for a moment and then motion behind the aide caught Alice’s attention. Talbot stood in the doorway.

  “You okay, Alice?” he asked.

  The aide looked befuddled. “Hang on, you’re Alice? George’s Alice?”

  “I am.”

  “But—I’m sorry,” she scrun
ched her face up. “The Alice he always talked about?”

  Alice pursed her lips. “Oh, I don’t know about that. Surely, not always.”

  The aide nodded her head emphatically. “Ever since he got here, all we’ve heard from him is ‘Alice this’ and ‘Alice that’, non-stop.”

  Alice looked over her shoulder at Talbot. He was nodding, too.

  “You’re that Alice?” the aide asked.

  Alice clasped her hands together. “I suppose I must be.”

  She furrowed her brow. “I don’t remember seeing any notation on his chart about dementia or...even confusion. He talks—talked about you like you were in the war with him.”

  Alice glanced at Talbot, frozen in the doorway like a deer in the headlights. “Yes, it was...a game we played,” Alice said. “Just a bit of fun.”

  “I didn’t know if you were somebody from his past, a figment of his imagination or what.”

  “I assure you, child, I am quite real.”

  The aide reached into a pocket on her smock, pulled out a small envelope and held it out to Alice. “He asked me to give you this. It was like he knew today was close.”

  Alice took the envelope and slipped it into her bag and nodded. “They often do.”

  *

  Alice drove back to the Rafferty’s house in a daze. When she pulled to the curb behind the police cruiser, she couldn’t remember any details of the drive there. Her thoughts had been filled with George and Randy and Eddie and Kelly and the memories of that day more than one hundred years ago.

  She stood on the sidewalk, staring at the Rafferty’s house. It was certainly not the makeshift hospital in Italy with its warm memories and cold drafts. And despite the life-or-death struggles she’d experienced with the Raffertys, the struggles in Italy were much more...familial. Their mutual experience against a common enemy had woven much tighter bonds between them. The Raffertys and even Michael, to an extent, were simply victims of her presence, allies in her fight. If she were gone, they would have nothing left to fight.

  The front door to the house banged open. Rafferty stood in the opening. “You gonna stand there all night or you gonna come in and eat dinner?” he called.