Authors: Kylie Logan

Revenge of the Chili Queens (31 page)

“Old and fabulous, from what we’ve been told,” Sister Mary Jean said, and I caught the trace of a Southern drawl.

Fabulous. That’s what I’d always heard, too. The lake-front home now officially known as Water’s Edge Center for Spirit and Renewal had once been the home of wealthy island recluse James Scott Findley. Findley died right before I came to South Bass Island—about a year earlier—and in his will, he left the house to a nonprofit with the requirement that it be used as a retreat facility. All were welcome and since its opening, the Center had already hosted a group of rabbis and a meeting of Buddhist monks.

“Old and fabulous and still a work in progress,” I told Sister Mary Jean, who’d already reached for one of the bags of food and hefted it up in her arms. “From what I’ve heard, the kitchen isn’t exactly up to snuff. That’s why Elias asked me to help with the food.” I didn’t add that the original plan was for me—or, more likely, Meg, who helped with cooking for my guests—to prepare the meals and for Elias to come get the food every day and take it back to the center. That had changed when Elias went to the mainland. Now I’d need to schlepp the meals up to the center, but there was no use mentioning that and making the nuns feel guilty.

“Actually, I’ve been looking forward to checking out the house,” I admitted instead. “Everyone says it’s amazing and when Mr. Findley lived there, no one was allowed near it.”

“Oooh!” Sister Mary Jean shivered. “Sounds like something out of a Gothic novel. I can’t wait. You don’t suppose it’s haunted, do you?”

Sister Liliosa laughed and picked up the other bag of salads. “If it is, I think we can handle it, right?”

Sister Mary Jean nodded.

Sister Margaret, her eyes wide and her steps shuffling, mumbled something about extra prayers and angels.

Sister Gabriel didn’t say a thing. In fact, when she followed the other sisters toward the door and I stepped in back of her, she flinched and shot a look over her shoulder. Like she’d just remembered I was there, she offered a thin smile.

“No worries,” I told her. “I’m not much for ghost stories, either.”

“Things that go bump in the night?” From out on the front porch, Sister Liliosa’s silvery laugh flowed through the house on the tail of a spring breeze. “There are ten of us at this retreat, remember. And if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s never bet against ten nuns.”

I stepped out onto the front porch just as Sister Liliosa stepped back to allow the other nuns to go down the steps ahead of her, and I would have followed right along if I didn’t stop to shoot a dirty look at Jerry Garcia. Jerry? He’s the cat that lives next door and loves to lounge (and do other less sanitary things) on my front porch. I glared
at Jerry. Completely unconcerned and ever unrepentant, Jerry tossed his head and went right on doing his cat thing.

The momentary pause gave Sister Liliosa a chance to step in front of me. Her grin melted. “I hope you’ll convey our apologies to that handsome young man who left here in such a hurry when we arrived,” she said. “I’m sorry if we interrupted anything.”

My jaw had already dropped when she gave me a wink and allowed her gaze to slip to my feet.

“He has your head in such a whirl, you’re leaving the house in your bunny
slippers.”