The Crossroads

The priest parked his Lincoln Town Car in front of Spratling Manor.

Sharon met him under the sagging portico. She held a flickering candle.

“Miss Spratling is waiting in the chapel. She apologizes for not sending her chauffeur to pick you up, but Mr. Willoughby is otherwise engaged.”

Sharon led the priest down twisting corridors to the library and took him to a mahogany wall panel set between two towering bookcases.

“This way.”

She pressed against the wall and a secret door slid open. The priest ducked his head and followed Sharon down the dark tunnel. Up ahead, he could see the fluttering light of more candles.

They neared the Spratling family chapel.

Tonight the priest would say prayers for Clint Eberhart, whose soul had departed this earthly realm fifty years ago this very night.

Or so the priest had been told.