Vengeance Is Mine by Joanne Fluke Page B

it’s because of your interview, darling.”
    â€œIt’s possible.” Les switched off the television. “You don’t have to get ready right now, do you, honey?”
    Trish looked up at him and smiled. It wouldn’t take more than a few minutes, and Les deserved his little reward. He’d done everything just the way she’d told him to.
    â€œI saved a whole hour, just for the two of us.” Trish reached out with one carefully manicured fingernail and brushed it lightly on the inside of Les’s thigh. “You will be careful of my hair won’t you, dear? I had it done this morning.”
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    Bishop Donahue stared down at the board. Just as he had anticipated, Black was playing an excellent game. He might have to sacrifice his White Pawn eventually, but certain sacrifices were necessary to attain a superior position. As he stared down at the antique pieces he thought of the film he had viewed shortly before he had come to Holy Rest, Ingmar Bergman’s The Seventh Seal . It was a psychotic outpouring of medieval religious images that was totally unsuitable for his naïve parishioners, but Bishop Donahue had found the concept of a chess game between man and Satan intriguing. Life would be simple if cosmic mysteries could be reduced to the pure abstraction of the chessboard. He had often imagined playing such a game, but he had never, in his wildest dreams, expected to be chosen.
    They all had watched Margaret Whitworth’s interview show this afternoon in the dayroom. Bishop Donahue had barely been able to conceal his fury when the mayor took a strong pro-WinterGame stand. The devil had attacked, advancing Les Hollenkamp, his Black Rook, to the fifth rank of the chessboard. Bishop Donahue was in position to capture the Black Rook easily, but he had to analyze the consequences carefully. There was great danger in underestimating his opponent.
    Sister Cecelia sat beside him, quietly praying. Rosary beads clicked softly between her fingers, and her lips moved in silent supplication. As Bishop Donahue stared at her meekly bowed head, rage consumed him. It was almost an insult to pray for divine guidance. He was a superb chess player!
    Bishop Donahue shuddered as he realized that he was guilty of the sin of pride. He mentally blessed Sister Cecelia for humbling him and turned back to the board with new determination. Good must triumph over evil!
    Several hours later Bishop Donahue looked up from his game. Sister Cecelia had turned on the lamp before she left, and the room was bathed in a soft golden glow. The White King seemed to nod approvingly as Bishop Donahue came to a decision. He would capture the Black Rook tonight. It was a weighty move.
    The sky was dark outside the window, and floodlights illuminated the skating rink on Lake George. It was deserted. Where were the children? They were always out skating on clear winter nights, gliding across the ice in their brightly colored snowsuits.
    Suddenly Bishop Donahue understood. It was the chess game, of course. Parents were afraid to let their children out after dark. He wished there were some way to tell them that only the evil would be punished, but they would understand in time. Then they would thank him for making the world safe for their children.

    Michele knotted a brightly patterned silk scarf at her throat and looked at herself in the mirror. Her tan coatdress was old—she’d worn it at her graduation—but it was back in style. It was the best she could do, and the taxi would be here in five minutes to pick her up.
    She had been lucky to get a cab at all. Michele had called more than two hours ago, and the Yellow Cab dispatcher said they were way behind schedule. No one was out walking tonight. Murders were good for the taxi business.
    Michele’s little white lie had turned on her despite her crossed fingers. Her car had been working perfectly when she’d told Steve it wouldn’t start. Now