It Happened in a Cloister
help is absolutely necessary
It Happened in a Cloister (by Roman Druker/98-729 Moanalua Loop 202, Aiea, HI 96701;email@example.com)
When the two who pretended to be nuns walked by, I knew that they were not nuns.
They were in their forties, corpulent, with ruddy cheeks, and uninspired eyes. They asked me where the bishop’s room was, and I told them.
They went there without minding my tagging along and seemed almost oblivious to my presence.
In the room, they immediately approached a wicker-traveling chest that stood at the foot of the bed; bishop had a crystal candy-holder on top of it. The women almost danced with excitement—“that’s it,” one of them said; she produced a koa box from within her bosom, emptied the bishop’s candy-holder, and placed her delivery there—these were lavender or mauve-colored, heart-shaped confections that were both pleasant to the sight and smell. “He won’t be able to resist these,” one of them said, “even I can’t,” and she took one and just licked it—then she screwed up her face.
“Just one,” said the second woman and placed a candy in her mouth.
The one who just licked her candy, fell to the floor and pretended to be in excruciating pain. She squinted and whimpered while the other—stolid and consternated—laughed. Suddenly, the laughing nun dropped to the floor and began to turn the color of the candy. The first one jumped to her feet and asked me, “what’s the matter with her?”
I bent down and felt her pulse—there was none; I listened to her breathing, and no breath issued.
“I think she’s dead,” I said.
“How can you tell?’ the standing woman asked in horror.
“Well,” I responded,“ she isn’t breathing, she has no pulse, and I think that’s foam coming out of her mouth. It’s very likely she’s dead.”
“Let’s call for help,” the woman said.
“Good idea,” I said; “help is absolutely necessary.”
That’s when I was sure that these two were the assassins.