Sister Minnie Chance just killed a manâan act that challenges the faith on which sheâs built the last fifteen years of her life. The police, believing Minnie acted in self-defense, allow her to escape the Sister SlayerâDeath by Baseball headlines to be with her sick father in Florida, but before sheâs been there twenty-four hours, her fatherâs secrets begin to explode everywhere, and sheâs left wondering how much of her life was built on truth and how much was built on deception. As she uncovers the facts, she begins to realize how much danger sheâs in. Someone is trying to kill Minnie. But who? And why?
Sister Minnie Chance just killed a manâan act that challenges the faith on which sheâs built the last fifteen years of her life. The police, believing Minnie acted in self-defense, allow her to escape the Sister SlayerâDeath by Baseball headlines to be with her sick father in Florida, but before sheâs been there twenty-four hours, her fatherâs secrets begin to explode everywhere, and sheâs left wondering how much of her life was built on truth and how much was built on deception. As she uncovers the facts, she begins to realize how much danger sheâs in. Someone is trying to kill Minnie. But who? And why?
Prologue
It was family that led me here.
Or maybe I should say lack of family.
See, it was just the three of us.
Mom, Dad, and me.
Mom lost her parents to a drunk driver when she was twenty.
Dad left his family in Ireland to play baseball hereâto pitch. It was his dream, and that dream came true, but that meant he was on the road a lot. In fact, he was gone the day Momâs aneurysm exploded.
I was thereâalone.
Thanks be to God, Sister Marie was taking a break from convent life in order to care for her ailing brother. I donât know what wouldâve happened to me if she hadnât been thereâright there in the house next door.
I was twelve.
Mom took a nap that afternoon. She had a headache. Mom got lots of headaches.
When I couldnât wake her up at suppertime, I got scared.
Dad had a game in Cincinnati that night. It was June nineteen ninety-nine.
When he finally called, he was mad and upset. Theyâd lost to the Reds. I could tell heâd been drinking, and he didnât want to talk to me. He just wanted Mom.
But Mom couldnât talk. She was already at the funeral home. When I started to cry, Sister Marie took the phone. She explained in her softest voice what had happened. âIâll look after Minnie as long as you need me to.â Those words felt like the hug I needed, and I still lean on them when Iâm feeling lost or alone.
Sister Marie became family that day.
Dad was home for less than a week. He couldnât stay. They were close to making it into the championships, and he had to go.
He was a mess and so was I, but he boxed up Momâs things so I wouldnât have to look at them, took his bag and his glove, and kissed me goodbye.
As the years went by, Sister Marieâs brother got sicker. She stayed with him, which gave me someone to love. She taught me about God and helped me find a reason to smile again.
After Dad blew his pitching arm out my senior year, it was Sister Marie who encouraged me to apply for baseball scholarships. âYou can outpitch every boy youâve ever competed with,â she said. âIf a college wonât take you with that, theyâre out of their minds.â Then she apologized to the air and genuflected.
She was right. Dad had taught me well. I could throw one heck of a fastball and perplex just about any batter with any number of pitches. I had awards and recognitions that began in Little League. Still, it was impossible for me, as a young woman, to get a scholarship based on my pitching abilities.
Dad spent days at a time on the couch, mourning the loss of his pitching arm and crying about Mom. Every time I looked at him, he seemed to have a new open bottle.
With no scholarship offers and no money for college, I didnât have many options. I certainly couldnât stay at home.
Not long after Sister Marieâs brother passed away, I followed her to the convent. At first, Iâd just planned to visit for a month. I missed Sister Marie, but Iâd been feeling this ache inside of me, and I thought it might have something to do with a calling. I ended up staying at the convent. I studied hard. I prayed hard. I asked myself hard questions. I began to feel peace. The other sisters became my siblings, aunts, and cousins. There was always someone around, talking, laughing, and worshipping. And even if I was alone, I always had God to talk to.
I needed family.
A year later, I became a novice. I got my habit and white veil, but I kept my own name. Minnie was a name I shared with my Irish grandmother. I studied more, prayed more, stood for my simple vows and then later, my final vows.
When I felt I was being called to work with children, the church helped me get my teaching degree. Soon, I was working at the afterschool center with kids whose parents couldnât afford daycare. On cold and rainy days, I read to them, told them Bible stories, and played board games. Those donated games and puzzles kept us all busy until the weather improved.
As soon as spring arrived, we were all ready to play outside. I look back on that time with such joy. I played baseball with them. I coached them on how to pitch, how to run faster, and even how to slide, which is hard to do with dignity, especially in a habit.
After a while, when the centerâs funding ran out, I went in search of Little League teams.
Pitching seemed to be my gift. It had always felt like a little bit of heaven, I suppose, and Iâd found a way to pass that on to others.
In all the years Iâd been pitching, it had never occurred to me that something that brought me so much joy, had the potential to destroy a life.
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Chapter One
Fastball
Day One
âItâs pretty dark out there, Sister,â Frank said as the bus brakes whined to a stop at the curb. âAre you sure youâll be all right alone?â
He had a tough-guy façade with most of the passengers. I like to think he was sweet to me because he liked me. But it might have been because heâd gone to Catholic school and was afraid Iâd pull out a ruler and smack his knuckles if he wasnât. âThat tunnel there takes me right to the side door,â I told him, lugging my leather satchel to the front of the bus. âBesides, Iâm not alone. God is with me.â
He grinned. âHowâd practice go? Your little pitchers gettinâ any better?â
âThey are.â I was proud of their enthusiasm for the game. They all seemed to love baseball. âBut theyâre a tough group this year. Every once in a while, I have to remind myself, âSister Minnie, this is just Little League.ââ
He laughed. âThatâs what you said last year, too.â
âI know. And the year before that, and the year before that. Have a good night, Frank.â
âYou too, Sister.â With a wink and a smile, the bus door hissed shut and he pulled away.
I stepped out of the cloud of diesel and breathed in the early-spring night. The air smelled like new growth and rain on the way. A thunderless bolt of lightning flashed in the distance. I stretched and started toward the tunnel that led to the convent. Something rustled in the bushes to my left, and I paused midstep. With a snarl and a yowl, a huge black-and-white spotted cat rushed past my feet. I recognized it as one of Sister Mediatriceâs strays. âDomino,â I called, clicking my tongue at him, but he disappeared around the corner. His name should have been just plain âNo.â
The tunnel was darker than usual. Only the caged light in the center was lit, but I could see enough to tell that no one else was in there. I started in, each footstep throwing an echo back at me. Â
I was thinking about Tracy. She was ten. Sheâd out-pitched everyone at practice. When the rest of the kids had started to grumble about how well she was doing, she started changing her windup and stance. She didnât finish quite as well as sheâd started. That seemed to make the other kids happy, and I saw Tracy begin to breathe easy again. At that age itâs hard to be so much better at something than all your friends. I know from experience. My dad started teaching me how to pitch as soon as I could throw a ball. I would have to talk to her about her gift, about always giving her best. Â
When I was almost midway, I thought I saw a shadow slowly approaching from the other end of the tunnel. I paused to listen for footsteps. I didnât hear anything.
But a moment later, I heard the faint sound of a cell phone dialing. A man appeared, bluish white in the light of his screen. He was clean shaven. His hair was black. In one hand, there was a glint of something that looked like a knife, but I couldnât be sure. He said, âLike I said before, Iâll do it, but if I go to Hell, so do you. You owe meâbig time.â He put the phone into his pocket, and the light around him disappeared.
I stepped backwards toward the entrance as quietly as I could. Iâd twisted my ankle in the last inning of Wednesdayâs convent game, and it was still sore. I didnât think I could run very far. Besides, I was afraid to turn my back on him. His shoes didnât make a sound. All I could hear was his breathing. I kept backing out of the light until I was sure he couldnât see me.
Then I did the only thing I could do. I slid the flap of my satchel open and wrapped my hand around one of the balls. I rotated it until my fingers were in the right place on the seam, just as Dad had taught me.
I waited until the man stepped into the glow of the only working light. He was holding that knife out in front of him, looking at me as if he knew exactly where I was. I took a deep breath, wound up, and hurled the ball as hard as I could at his head. It found its mark with a dull thump. The impact knocked him off balance, and as he tried to find his footing, he aimed a strange look in my direction. Was it surprise? Shock? Then he seemed to fold to the ground.
At first, my feet wouldnât move. Was he breathing? I couldnât tell. I grabbed another baseball and got it into position, ready to fire on a secondâs notice. I took a few steps closer.
Suddenly, he wheezed. His body stiffened. A moment later, he began to twitch and then tremble. His legs and arms began to jerk. He made strange barking noises. Iâd seen seizures before, and thatâs what it looked like to me.
I went to him and rolled him onto his side, hoping to keep him from choking. When I thought he was stable, I hurried through the tunnel to the door of the convent.
The foyer was empty, and the kitchen seemed unusually silent. âSomethingâs happened,â I yelled. âSomethingâs happened in the tunnel.â
Sister Monica stepped quickly into the foyer. âWhat are you yelling about?â she asked, sweeping her reading glasses up to rest on her head.
Sister Therese followed; her round face flushed. âIs everything all right?â
âThereâs a man.â I leaned against the wall to steady myself. âHe had a knife. I think he was going to hurt me.â I dropped the satchel, and baseballs spilled out everywhere.
âOh my goodness,â Sister Therese said. âAre you hurt?â She began walking in slow circles around me, looking me over for signs of damage.
âI hit him in the headâwith a baseball. Heâs not well. We should call an ambulanceâand the police.â
Without another word, Sister Monica left to make the call.
Sister Therese patted my shoulder reassuringly. âIt will be all right, dear,â she said, beginning to pick up the baseballs.
âWhat if I killed him?â
âPut your faith in God,â she said. âWe should pray.â
Sister Monica returned, dusting off her palms. âTheyâre on their way,â she said. She locked the door and took my hand. âWhy donât we wait in the kitchen? Iâve put on the kettle. Iâm sure weâll hear the sirens when they arrive.â
âWe canât just leave him alone in there,â I said.
âLook at you,â Sister Therese said. âYouâre shaking like a leaf. Iâll see if I can find Brother Aaron. He can wait for the police.â
âIâm the one who hurt him. Iâd like to be out there.â
After a few stubborn moments, the sisters gave in, but they insisted we stand as close to the convent door as possible, where it was well lit.
The manâs seizure had stopped. He was lying facedown and still.
I only started to feel relief when I heard the sirens. âWhen is Sister Marie back from her trip to Boston?â
âNot until Tuesday,â Sister Monica answered. âWhy?â
âIâll just feel better when sheâs here.â Sister Marie always knew what to say and do.
Two police cars pulled into the long driveway, followed by an ambulance. Emergency personnel went first, carrying a stretcher and some equipment. Two policemen followed, with black cases.
Twenty minutes later, the medical personnel exited the tunnel and left the police in place.
I stopped them. âWill he be okay?â But Iâd seen enough to know that he probably wouldnât, otherwise heâd be on the stretcher they were carrying back to the ambulance.
âIâm sorry, Sister. Youâll have to speak with Detective Samuels. He should be out to talk to you shortly.â
They leaned against the ambulance, chatting and drinking coffee until their radio blared instructions to go somewhere else. Then they backed down the driveway and sped away, lights on, sirens warning.
Thatâs when I knew for sure, I think. But I asked the sisters anyway. âWhat does it mean if they leave? That they canât help him?â
They looked at each other and then back to me.
âYou know I would never hurt someone on purpose,â I said, feeling defensive.
âNow, hush, child. We know that,â Sister Monica said. âRemember your faith.â
A bolt of lightning flashed in the distance. Then another. And another.
One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand, four oneâ And there it wasâa huge roll of thunder that seemed to shake the ground beneath me.
I watched the sky, thinking about where Iâd been just a few hours before. If Billyâs mom wasnât always running late, Iâd have been in that tunnel half an hour earlier. Maybe none of this would have happened.
I was always wondering. What if this? What if that? Truth be told, Iâd had lots of thoughts over the last fifteen years that probably didnât befit my sister status. The times Iâd shared them with Sister Marie, she didnât hesitate to remind me, âThatâs not a very godly way of thinking.â I was sure she would have said it again had she been there, but she was out of town. Â
A man in his early fifties wearing a dark suit with a baby-blue shirt sauntered over. He had the air of someone whoâs always waiting for an argument. âSo,â he said, eyeing the three of us, âwhich one of you ladies killed this guy?â
Sister Therese gasped. âHeâs dead, then?â
âOh, heâs dead, all right,â the man said. âIâm Detective Samuels. Iâm in charge of this case. Youâll have to come with me to the station, Sister.â
âSheâs under arrest?â Sister Monica asked, with a tone of disbelief Iâd rarely heard from her.
âNo,â he said, looking at Sister Therese. âYouâre not under arrest. We just need to get your story about what happened here. Did you know this man?â
âNo,â Sister Therese said. âI didnât, um . . . It wasnât me. Iâm a terrible pitcher. I used to pitch for our Sunday afternoon games, but, well, we were all glad when Sister Minnie came.â
Detective Samuels shrugged. âThen, which one of you did it?â
I felt as though Iâd been kicked in the stomach. âIt was me.â I turned to Sister Monica and Sister Therese. âCould you drive me? Is the station wagon here?â
âNot necessary,â the detective said. âIâll take you with me right now and have a black-and-white drop you off when weâre finished.â A large white van pulled up, and a woman got out. She opened the double doors in the back, and a man jumped down. Together, they wrestled a wheeled stretcher to the asphalt driveway. Samuels waved them toward the tunnel and then turned back to me. âYou ready?â
Onlookers watched curiously as we walked to his car. One man yelled, âHey, whatâd you do, Sister?â and everybody laughed.
âBack the hell up,â Samuels said. âI mean it. Back up!â
They did what he said, giving us room to open the car doors. Just before I got into the back seat, I turned toward the convent. Most of the other sisters had stepped outside to see what all the fuss was about. I nodded at them.
As soon as the doors were closed and locked, the air in the car smelled like an all-day poker game where every player smoked. Detective Samuels didnât open his mouth the whole ride, except to breathe. He couldnât seem to breathe through his nose at all. Maybe he had a cold, or allergies, but it could have been the fact that his nose looked as though it had been brokenâand more than once. Maybe due to his charming and sensitive personality?
Sorry, God. Thatâs how Sister Marie taught me to do it. If you think it, or do it, then apologize. The sooner, the better.
I sat in the back seat behind a metal screen, looking out the window, but the dark and rain together made it almost impossible to see anything in detail. All I could think about was the man in the tunnel. I wasnât sure if I could live with taking his life, even if it was to save my own.
The hallway to the interview room was loud and crowded. Detective Samuels led me to a door with a small window in the top. The dark-gray room was empty except for a large oak table that had been written on and carved into so many times that the surface didnât look smooth anymore. There was one chair on the far side and two chairs closest to the door. âHere you go, Sister,â the detective said, pulling the far chair out. âWant something to drink?â
âNo, thank you,â I said and quickly reconsidered. âWell, maybe a glass of water?â The last thing Iâd had to drink was at the Little League fields.
A moment after he left, a woman knocked and stepped inside carrying a notebook and a tape recorder. She was taller than Samuels and came across as kinder. âSister Minnie?â she said. âMy name is Elaine DeCastro. Detective Samuels and I work together. I understand youâve had a rough night. Are you comfortable? Do you need anything?â
âNo, thank you,â I said. âIâm just upset about what happened.â
âIâll bet you are,â Elaine answered, taking a seat across the table.
Samuels entered carrying two cups. âHereâs your water, Sister.â He handed it to me and sat next to Elaine with his cup of coffee. âDetective, could you please start recording?â
Elaine pushed a button on the recorder, and Samuels began asking questions.
âWhat is your legal name and date and place of birth?â
âMinerva Alyson Chance. I was born June fifth, nineteen eighty-seven, in Valdosta, Georgia.â I paused and looked into their eyes. âAm I in trouble?â I asked. âDo I need an attorney?â Â
âRight now, weâre just trying to find out what happened, Sister,â Elaine said. âThatâs all.â
âI didnât do anything wrong. I was just trying to stop him from getting any closer with that knife.â
âAll right, Sister,â Samuels said. âCan we go on with the questions?â
âYes,â I answered, wondering if I was making a mistake. But surely they wouldnât arrest me for defending myself.
âCan you tell us what happened today?â he asked.
I told him everythingâhow I had to take the later bus because Iâd waited with Billy for his mom to get there, how Frank had dropped me at the tunnel, and how itâs usually much brighter in there.
âWhy would you take the tunnel when the bus could drop you at the front of the building?â
âIf itâs dark, the bus driver always drops me at the tunnel. It saves me a longer walk.â
âYou put yourself in danger walking through that tunnel at night, Sister. Anything could happen.â
I was instantly crushed. âAre you saying this is my fault?â
âIâm sure thatâs not what Detective Samuels meant,â Elaine said, âIs it, Detective Samuels?â
Samuels shot Elaine a nasty look. âAll I meant is that you have to be careful, Sister. Take precautions.â He stared at the table for a moment. âSo when did you first see the knife?â
âI thought I saw it when he was talking on the phone, but I waited until I knew for sure.â
âAnd that was . . .â
âWhen he got to the center of the tunnel, where the light was still working,â I said.
âAnd why didnât you run?â Samuels asked.
I showed him my wrapped ankle. Once again, I felt he was trying to blame me because I didnât try hard enough to get away.
âAnd this all happened tonight?â he asked, confirming the date and time of the incident for the tape recorder. âTo the best of your knowledge, have you ever seen this man before?â
âNever,â I said. âAnd Iâm very good with faces. Iâm sure I would remember.â
 âHave you discussed this incident with anyone else?â
âOnly Sister Therese and Sister Monica.â
âSo if we talked with them, they would give us an identical story?â
âThey should.â I was starting to get irritated with him. I sent a quick prayer to St. Dymphna, the patron saint of stress and anxiety. Then I took a deep breath and tried to slow my heart down.
âDo you have any idea what he wanted?â
âNo.â
âDo you wear any expensive jewelry?â
âNo.â
âHow much cash do you carry?â
âOnly a few dollars. Maybe ten at the most.â
âWhat I keep asking myself is why would he attack you, a nun?â
âI donât know. But I heard him on the phone. He told the person he was talking to that he was going to Hell for it. Did you find his phone? Maybe then youâll know who he was talking to?â
âInvestigators are going through it right now,â Elaine said. âHopefully, theyâll be able to come up with the name of the other person on the call.â
For a moment, they were quiet, as though they had run out of questions. Then Elaine wrote something on her notebook and shoved it down the table to Samuels. He looked at what sheâd written and shook his head.
âIs there anything else you can think of that we havenât covered?â he asked.
âNo,â I said. âBut Iâm tired. Maybe tomorrow Iâll remember more.â
They said I was free to go. When I stood to leave, I saw what Elaine had written on her notebook.
Tell her about the knife.
Sister Minnie Chance is a devoted nun who also happens to have a great pitching arm. One night after coaching baseball for a group of kids, she is confronted with a life threatening situation. A man in a darkened tunnel knows who she is and seems like he may want to hurt her. Minnie is not defenseless when she has a baseball in her hands so she acts in self defense. Her actions may have killed a man and now she has to deal with the pain and guilt of possibly taking a life.
Soon after she is called home by her sick father. He needs care and Minnie can provide that as well as get away from the headlines calling her Sister Slayer. She expects to find some peace and be there for her father when he needs her. But once she arrives, things take a dark turn and Sister Minnie Chance finds herself wrapped up in a dangerous mystery that will change her life, and her perception of her family forever.
Dangerous Habit does a nice job of providing us with a very likable protagonist. Sister Minnie is kind to a fault and doesn't judge people. She seems sincere throughout the book whether she is thinking about her faith or figuring out clues as to what happened.
There were some characters it would have been nice to learn a little more about in the story but I'm guessing they may appear later in the series. The ending also feels somewhat rushed to the reader but it does tie up the loose ends nicely.
The most refreshing thing about the book is that Minnie is not some hard-boiled detective who only sees the evils of the world but is hopeful and optimistic and believes in people. That's really refreshing to read in a mystery story.
If you enjoy murder mysteries or books where everyday people have to help solve a crime this book is for you. It's worth a read.