The Quick And The Dead (A Sister Agnes Mystery) - Plot & Excerpts
Plenty of time to get up, go to Julius’s eight o’clock Mass and then on to the hostel. Agnes closed her eyes against the slanting early sunlight. She could hear birdsong, sporadic chirping in defiance of the traffic in the street. Her head ached. She opened her eyes again and looked around her room, her gaze coming to rest on the icon of St Francis which hung on the wall by her bed. Something had changed. Some part of her had gone, consumed in the burning whisky-fuelled anger of the night before. It was a puzzling sensation. No, she thought, I will not go to Mass. She found clean underwear, pulled on her jeans, phoned the hostel to leave a message with the night shift that, no, she wouldn’t be coming in today. ‘Sorry if it messes up the rota,’ Agnes said, feeling not sorry at all. She grabbed a cotton sweater and went out, down the stairs, into the morning sunlight. She felt light, liberated; cauterised. She went straight to her favourite shabby cafe on Borough High Street and ordered Full English Breakfast, and ate her way through bacon, eggs, tomatoes, beans, sausages and fried bread, her headache lifting with each mouthful.
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