337 Words

Tonight is Enid Writers Club critique group. I’m debuting the first 337 words of Solomon’s Many Wives: the third Father Anthony Savel Mystery. Don’t get too excited, this is all that’s on paper so far, but… it has begun. Actually, it began a couple of months ago, but I’m just now getting back to it.

A Walk in the Snow

A foot of snow had fallen overnight, and the temperature had dipped into the low twenties, yet the day was glorious. The sun rising over the mountains illumined a crystalline blue sky, and the snowflakes that clung to branches and other growth cast the sun’s rays in all directions—a cathedral of light and ice. 

For the past half hour, Thomas Stavlo had been walking a path many had traversed over the past one hundred years—the Stations of the Cross on the grounds of St. Mark’s Seminary. He now stands at the eighth station—Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem—and spends a moment looking out over the Great Salt Lake Basin, the city below, still covered in low-hanging clouds. 

As he walked alone, his mind had been at peace and prayer. Could this really be what I’m supposed to be doing? He had asked himself—and God. Was he being called to become a priest? Father Anthony and Janine thought so, but his life as a police detective never seemed to leave him. Each time he appeared close to making a decision, something broke in and shattered his progress. Today was no different.

He had at first thought a piece of one of the figures in the life-size scene had broken, but when he got closer, what he saw protruding from the snow was a frozen and bloodied hand, the nails having been recently manicured and painted a soft pink. The emerald and diamond wedding ring made Janine’s engagement ring look like something out of a gumball machine. 

“Hail Mary, full of grace,” he said quietly, the steam of his breath swirling about his head. Then, he retrieved his cell phone from a coat pocket, powered it up, and dialed 911.

Having made the call, he stepped back and gazed upon the purity of the snow. “Is it all just whitewash?” He asked. Turning from the body, he placed another call. After several rings, a groggy voice answered. “Padre,” he said, “what’s your alibi this time?”