New Book Launch Next Month!

My Christmas gift to you this year is the first chapter of my latest book, "A Priest, a Rabbi, and a Baptist Minister: The Murders at Saint Charles Seminary". The third in the series will be available in mid to late January. So sit back with a mug of hot cocoa - or something stronger - and get ready for another murder - or murders - that our favorite trio of mismatched clergy help to solve!

Saturday evening

       A biting wind howled through the skeletal branches of ancient oaks, their twisted forms casting long shadows across the historic Saint Charles Borromeo Seminary courtyard. The Maryland air that evening was thick with the scent of decaying leaves mingling with the faint aroma of incense that lingered in the drafty stone corridors. The chapel loomed ahead, its towering spires barely visible through the swirling November fog. Dim light flickered from within, casting a pale, amber glow through the stained-glass windows that depicted solemn saints with watchful eyes. The chill of the evening seeped through every stone, and silence hung like a heavy shroud, broken only by the creak of the chapel’s wooden doors.

        Joseph Lin, a young, third-year seminarian, paused at the entrance of the chapel, his breath forming delicate clouds in the cold air. His hands trembled slightly, not from the cold but from the gnawing anxiety that twisted in his gut. Something wasn’t right. He had felt it all day—a mounting tension, a creeping sense of dread that clung to him like the fog. He crossed the threshold with hesitant steps, the echo of his footfalls swallowed by the oppressive quiet. His eyes darted nervously toward the shadows that pooled in the corners of the chapel, where the candlelight couldn’t reach. He made his way to the confessional, the ancient wood groaning softly as he opened the door and stepped inside.

        Sinking to his knees, Joseph clasped his hands tightly together, trying to steady his breathing. The confessional felt colder than the rest of the chapel, the worn wooden walls pressing in on him as though they carried the weight of centuries of whispered sins. He opened the sliding door that allowed him to speak, heart pounding in his chest, as he heard the faint rustle of the priest’s robes on the other side. Yet something felt... off. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched by the priest and something unseen lurking just beyond the veil of darkness. Hesitantly, he whispered, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…” His voice trembled, more from fear than guilt, and he struggled to suppress the growing dread gnawing at the edges of his mind. In an embarrassed whisper, he relates some of his sins of the past week, none more serious than choosing to sleep in one morning, making him late for his first class.

        “We are all judged, Joseph,” the voice intoned, its tone slipping into something darker. “But tell me… who absolves the guilty?”

        Joseph’s breath hitched. Now sharp and biting, the voice seemed to slice through the thin wall between them. “Father, I don’t—” His eyes narrowed in confusion, but before he could speak another word, he heard the confessional door crash open, and suddenly, a dark figure was on him, strong hands wrapped around Joseph’s neck, cutting off his air. His vision blurred as he struggled against his attacker, the polished wood of the booth creaking under the violence.

        Before Joseph’s soul left his body, his eyes locked onto his assailant’s. It was—no, it couldn’t be! But why? What had he, Joseph Lin, the first generation of Chinese immigrant parents, done to deserve this? There was no mercy there, only cold resolve. Resigned, Joseph ceased his struggle. His lips moved in silent prayer as his world faded to black, the last sound in his ears the haunting creak of the chapel doors closing in the distance.