THE NARROW GATE by Mark Posey
A Nun with a Gun. Book 6.0
Mystery Thriller Novelette
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
4.0 Requiem Mass
5.0 Den of Lions
6.0 The Narrow Gate
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A fascinating journey of twists and turns as Alice's past comes into her present to make this story compelling. Throughout this series I have found myself craving more information about Alice and this book delivers another insight, with more revealed about her activities and relationships in the past.
Succinct and well written, The Narrow Gate, the 6th book in the Nun With A Gun series keeps the thrills and mystery alive and thriving!
I recommend starting at book one and taking time to savour each of these short books packed full of intrigue and engaging characters.
Great story. We get to see more about a different side of Alice in this book. The action and adventure continues as well, of course.
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EXCERPT FROM THE NARROW GATE
COPYRIGHT © MARK POSEY 2020
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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.”