7. Chapter 7 #2
Kingsley washed the glass and put it back in its place in the cupboard. Those greens drifted to me. “Don’t believe everything they say. Especially the kid. He talks a lot. You know the disciple shouldn’t open his lips for idle words.” In passing, he popped the back of Brother Matthew’s head.
The youngest monk ducked. “Careful, or my knife might slip.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” Kingsley winked at me, then disappeared out the kitchen.
Surely, my mouth had to be hanging open. Where did this fun side come from? And what about the pranks?
A sudden heaviness pulled at my heart. This community was beautiful. I wanted that, yet I was so lonely. Sure, I had amazing friends and knew a lot of people. But again, that deeper connection wasn’t there.
Brother Matthew kept going with his stories as we chopped and sliced, then did dishes. The kitchen started smelling of freshly baked bread and the vegetable soup we had going. It had to be late afternoon when Brother Aurelius handed me a sandwich and a bottle of water.
“Would you mind bringing this to Brother Samuel? He keeps forgetting to eat when he’s doing yard work.”
“Of course.” I took it and left the two monks to it.
Outside, the sun had wandered farther to the west but was still high in the cloudless sky.
I trailed a beaten path through a field, then crossed the woods.
Kingsley was by Serenity Lake, mowing knee-tall grass with a scythe.
He worked fast and smooth, his rhythm never slowing.
His hair and habit dripped as if he’d taken a dip in the lake. Had he been doing this all afternoon?
I stopped a few feet behind him. “I’m sorry to interrupt your work, Brother Samuel, but I come bearing gifts.”
The scythe halted mid-swing. Kingsley looked up at the sky, then over his shoulder at me. “Hey.”
“Why do you always do that?” I asked.
“Pardon me?”
“Look at the sky. I’ve seen you doing it several times today.”
He sniffed. “Time. The position of the sun tells me what time it is. Approximately.”
“Ooooh, that’s smart. Welp, it’s time for a snack.” I held up the sandwich and water bottle. “I have orders to feed you.”
He chuckled. “I doubt that.”
“Maybe not orders, but I won’t leave until you eat the whole thing. Even if I have to stuff it down your throat.”
One of his brows arched. “That’s . . . aggressive.” Grinning, he leaned the scythe against the trunk of a pine tree and bridged the gap between us. His wet habit clung to his broad shoulders and solid chest.
Holy Absalom, I’d never thought I’d use the word hot to describe a monk, but this man . . .
Don’t go there, Harley. Just don’t.
What had we been talking about again? That I would stuff the sandwich down his throat. Right. “I call it ‘making sure people who matter to me are taken care of,’ and yes, sometimes aggressive love is needed for that.”
He stilled. Water dripped from his dark brown loose curls as his gaze searched my face.
Yes, I was aware of my choice of words, and no, I couldn’t help that I already cared about this man.
He’d protected me, calmed me down, given me a lift home to get my things .
. . All of it without asking for anything in return.
Not a lot of men did that in this day and age.
They took what they wanted, then ghosted you. Or maybe I’d just met the wrong ones.
“Sit with me?” Kingsley pointed at a patch of juicy grass in the shade of a gigantic mango tree, then relieved me of the sandwich and water bottle.
We settled under the tree, leaning against the trunk, arms almost touching. The rough bark bit into my back, but I barely noticed it because the view was so breathtaking. Green mountains rose around the other side of the football-stadium-sized lake, the navy water calm.
I sighed. “It’s so beautiful up here.”
“It is.” Kingsley held up the water bottle. “Want some?”
“I’m good. I just drank some in the kitchen.”
He opened it and downed half of it with a few gulps, then recapped the bottle.
“Did you go for a swim or why are you so wet?” I asked.
“I did. Was getting a little too hot.”
I chuckled. “I can only imagine. Who in their right mind works in the blistering heat while wearing a habit? A black one at that.”
“Well, usually I don’t wear—” He cleared his throat. “I wear something else. But for modesty reasons when having a female guest . . .”
“So you’re almost suffocating because of me? Why didn’t you just tell me not to come back here?” Despite burning to know what something else meant, I didn’t press him. He was obviously uncomfortable elaborating, or he would have.
“It’s no big deal. You’re great company.”
“You’re not so bad yourself.” I nudged his arm with my shoulder, grinning up at him.
The corners of his mouth tugged upward, then he dropped his gaze. “Want some?” He held up the sandwich.
“No, you eat it. You’ve been working like crazy.”
“You, too. The kitchen is hard work.” He carefully tore the sandwich in half and handed me one part. “Please don’t make me resort to aggressive love.”
I snickered. “We don’t want that.”
He blessed the food and thanked God for it, then we ate.
Birds singing and the wind rustling the leaves of the bushes and trees around us filled the comfortable silence.
The warm air smelled of cut grass, dirt, and mangoes.
How could anyone experience the beauty of nature and argue there was no God? His fingerprints were everywhere .
I swallowed the last bite, then rubbed my hands on my olive maxi skirt. “What’s that Bible verse about no one having an excuse to not believe in God because of nature?”
“Do you mean Romans 1:20? For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse. ”
I pointed at Kingsley. “That’s the one. God’s existence couldn’t be more obvious, yet people still reject the idea of Him.”
“Some prefer to be their own god.” Kingsley ran a hand through his wet hair. “Although we all have our moments where we act as if we don’t need Him.”
“Yup, I’ve definitely been there.” Again, I wondered what Kingsley did. What kind of sins he wrestled with. For the life of me, I couldn’t imagine him sinning in any way.
Which was ridiculous. Only Jesus had been without sin.
“Can I tell you what had me so spooked last night?” I blurted.
I needed to talk about what I’d seen, but not with Rome.
He wouldn’t hesitate to set Craig straight.
And Bella . . . She’d grown up very sheltered.
Hearing that this island was crawling with Mafia and corrupted cops would burst her bubble.
Getting my other friends involved wasn’t an option either.
Noa Rose worked for the DRPD, and Coco had enough problems of her own to deal with.
Kingsley glanced over at me. “Of course.”
“He killed several guys. Craig, I mean. He made some kind of deal with shady figures, then he shot two of them. Two men were with him. I think they were Italian Mafia, but I’m not sure. Those two shot the other three guys.”
Kingsley’s brows drew together. “Where?”
“At Silent Wharf. They unloaded some kind of wooden crates, and bang ! Killed them in cold blood.” I shuddered. How had I not had bad dreams last night? “They caught me watching, and I ran, but I took a wrong turn at the bottom of the mountain and ended up here.”
“How did you even end up in that situation?”
“I was at a friend’s house, and on my way home saw Craig’s Charger ahead of me. He drove . . . unfocused. So I followed him all the way to Silent Wharf.”
Kingsley nodded. “And why didn’t you tell Rome if the Mafia was involved?”
“Because I’m not even sure it was the Italian Mafia. It was too dark to see much.”
“And the crates? What do you think was in the crates?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, but it has to be something illegal considering all the cloak-and-dagger behavior. What if it’s something that could endanger people? Maybe even the entire island? I really want to talk to the authorities, but I don’t know who to trust.”
The crease between Kingsley’s brows deepened as he ran a hand over his beard. “My brother, Wentworth, is a member of a clandestine military unit. They technically don’t exist. He’s deployed at the moment, but I could get him involved once he’s back.”
“Hmm, I don’t know. Craig has lots of friends in the military, all branches, and the CIA and FBI, too. As you saw today, he has a long arm.”
Kingsley grunted. Then he looked me straight in the eye. “I don’t want you to leave the monastery alone.”
“I have to leave it at some point.”
“Not until we figure this out.” His gaze intensified. “Promise me, Harley. Promise me you won’t leave unless someone goes with you.”
Despite the heat, goosebumps rippled across my skin. Here he was, doing it again—worrying about my safety. “Okay. Promise.”
I leaned my head against the trunk and stared out at the lake. Maybe involving his brother wasn’t a bad idea. What about Rome, though? Nothing happened on this island without his knowledge.
One thing was for sure—I had to do something. I needed to know what was in those crates before it was too late.