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The mysterious disappearance of a seemingly worthless painting from the school's museum, together with the swoon worthy priest's questionable identity, has Lucy playing super sleuth. Suddenly, her humdrum life is looking immeasurably better.

Father Xavier, better known as Xavier Lamont, private investigator, has gone undercover as a teaching priest to investigate the theft of a painting. The last thing he needs, or expects, is to encounter a feisty, curvaceous teacher who has him hot under his fake dog collar and doing her best to prove he's a phoney, and blow his cover along the way.

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About the Author

Details
Publisher	Writers Exchange E-Publishing
Author	Catriona J. Reynolds
Recommended Minimum Age	Suitable for all ages
ISBN Number	1920741755
Electronic Download Formats:	PDF, PDB (Palm/Ereader), HTML, LIT (Microsoft Reader), PRC (Unencrypted Mobipocket), RB (Rocket), IMP (Gemstar 1150), IMP (Gemstar 2150/Rocket 1200)
Price:	$4.90

Excerpts (Read a sample or view an illustration):

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Chapter One "When...the...moon hits your eye like a big-a pizza pie, that's amore." Lucy Blake's far from dulcet tones echoed hollowly in the relatively confined space. She slid her navy pumps over the polished wooden floorboards simulating a not-so-sleek dance move and wondered whether she'd ever experience that elusive feeling of love. Or as Dean Martin would croon so appealingly, amore. Unlikely, considering her track record. "When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine, that's amore." Her arms sliced the air as she conducted an imaginary orchestra. Lucy stopped her lamentable singing and let her arms fall indolently to her sides. "Dean, Dean, Dean." She shook her neat raven head in dismay. "Talk about unrealistic expectations." Lucy didn't care to remember how long it'd been since she'd entertained any kind of romantic hopes. At twenty-nine it was probably pointless anyway. "Enjoy the one you're with, baby," she quipped with false bravado. "Pity you're referring to yourself, Luce," she added. Sighing noisily through toffee glaze lips, Lucy concentrated on the reason she stood in the quaint museum at nine o'clock in the morning. She swept lithely around the room checking the displays. She'd be treating her year nine History class to a mini-excursion today but couldn't continue with the outing unless all items were safely encased in their respective cabinets. Lucy stopped abruptly. The piece she expected to absolutely, unequivocally be there, wasn't. She stood inert, totally flabbergasted. No other word came close to describing her consternation. Dumbfounded wouldn't do it, neither would astonished. Flabbergasted fit the bill. Perfectly. "Reggie, where are you?" Lucy addressed the naked nail upon which Reginald Diamond's portrait should've been hanging. No beady black eyes stared back. No flowing snow-white beard begged for a comb. Goodness, how quickly she'd become used to Reggie's stern countenance. Thrusting her hands into the pockets of her tailored navy pinstripe jacket, she took a tentative step backwards. The painting had been a recent acquisition; one Lucy herself was responsible for. She'd uncovered the bold portrait of Diamond City's founder whilst sorting through old prints at a garage sale. After mulling over Reggie's destiny for an acceptable length of time, Lucy concluded that a generous and dedicated teacher--like herself--would donate such a remarkable historical find to a museum. Hurrah for St Augustine's! It appealed to Lucy's slightly askew sense of humour that the prestigious St Augustine's College planned to have a plaque made to honour her donation. As a necessary result she'd safeguarded Reggie's seemingly inestimable worth. No point broadcasting she'd bargained him down to a modest five dollars. "What are you playing at, Reggie?" Lucy continued to stare at the flaky paint on the stark white wall, striving to fathom the enormity of the situation. Pivoting slowly she resumed scrutinizing the historical items on display. St Augustine's small museum exhibited a collection of pieces from Diamond City's gold mining past, ranging from a life size diorama depicting the typical conditions of a gold digger's primitive tent dwelling existence, to displays of gold digging equipment and cooking utensils. Various paintings decorated the walls portraying scenes of Diamond City's growth. Reginald Diamond's portrait had been a minor coup. Marcia Davis, the librarian, and Lucy, were caretakers of the museum. According to Roger Jordan, the Principal of St Augustine's, they possessed impeccable credentials for the role. After all, the museum was annexed to the library and Lucy was a History teacher. Lucy sighed, her gaze settling on the fine sprinkling of gold dust responsible for Reginald Diamond's rise to fame. A luminous shimmer sometimes swirled above it like a halo. It wasn't glowing today. She completed her rotation, satisfied the other pieces of the collection were accounted for. Marcia would know Reggie's whereabouts. Lucy took several paces before skidding to a halt. Marcia was probably sipping pina coladas beneath a sparkling cerulean sky right now. Why? Because Marcia Davis was currently cruising the South Pacific aboard a luxury liner. "Some people have all the luck," Lucy mumbled enviously. Even under hypnosis she'd have a hard time recalling the last vacation she'd taken. Heck, she had difficulty regulating her solitary indulgence of jogging at dusk--never mind the odd vacation. Being a high schoolteacher of History, English, and Drama intruded upon most of her spare time. Lucy blamed herself entirely. She always involved herself in too many extra-curricular activities because of an inability to say no. It was her job she'd always qualify. But no matter how chock-full Lucy's life became--whether by her design or not--there lingered a gnawing gap growing more cavernous with every passing day. Then there was that annoying repetitious voice so fond of making itself heard. What about your dreams? it constantly challenged. She'd almost decided they'd never be anything more than dreams--silly notions of a teenager with stars in her eyes. The shrill wail of the electric bell sounding from the depths of the library cut off Lucy's reverie and triggered a warning siren in her head. Hooley Dooley! Reginald Diamond's painting was gone, and she and Marcia were the only ones with access to the museum. Reggie had disappeared. He was missing...gasp...maybe even stolen! "Why would someone steal Reggie?" Lucy wondered aloud as she hotfooted it from the museum, being careful to lock the door behind her. Roger Jordan would have to be apprised of the probable theft. She resolved to head directly over to his office and drop the bombshell on him. Quickening her pace, Lucy stumbled inelegantly down the stairs in her haste to flee the crime scene. Luckily she was alone, all students having dispersed for morning roll call. She pushed through the main door, the heavy steel frame sending a shock of electricity to her fingertips. "Ouch!" Rubbing her hands together, Lucy ventured into the chilly spring morning. The sun hadn't penetrated the enclosed quadrangle yet and the cold air lashed her face like an icy whip. The frantic tempo of sensible pumps reverberated loudly, bouncing off the walls of solid grey engulfing the courtyard. In the stillness of the now deserted quadrangle her footfalls seemed amplified. Slowing down as she approached the archway leading through to the main office, Lucy combed twitchy fingers down the front and back of her matching navy pinstripe skirt, smoothing it back into place. The darn thing had been steadily creeping up her thighs from the friction of her stockings rubbing against the lining of the skirt. Once through the archway Lucy stepped off the concrete path and onto the dewy grass. It offered a more direct route, but after several paces, she found it impossible to walk quickly across the lawn because her heels kept sinking into the soft soil. Blast! She lost a navy pump. Lucy swiftly retrieved the pump from the moist earth. Yuk, her beige stockings felt damp against her skin as she slid her foot back into the errant pump. After a few careful steps she lurched out of the other one. "Good one, Luce." Balancing on one leg she bent down to recover the pump from the turf. Great, now she had two wet feet. Lucy yanked at the pump. At first it refused to comply but then jerked free. Losing her footing she careered backwards landing heavily on her tush, legs splayed in a most unladylike fashion. "Thank Christ I'm alone," Lucy muttered through clenched teeth as she struggled to gracefully return to an upright position and regain her equilibrium. She managed the first, pausing to swipe the back of her damp skirt, straightening it, and dislodging any strands of clinging grass. She'd have to work on the second. Reaching the pavement she removed the matted pumps, slamming the soles together with more force than necessary. Small clumps of mud sprayed her jacket and skirt. "What next?" she trumpeted, flicking at the mud with dexterous fingers. Dropping the messy pumps, she forced her damp feet into them. Still not satisfied, Lucy crouched down to brush off the mud so keen on sticking to the semi-ruined heels. Inwardly bemoaning her rotten luck, Lucy slowly straightened. An appealing musky scent fluttered around her head before it collided with something hard. A low moan of pain escaped her lips. *** Xavier Lamont watched the woman's progress across the lawn with barely suppressed amusement. He sauntered over to the spot she'd reconnect with a solid surface intent on giving a convincing performance in his latest disguise as a priest. He'd spoken solely to Roger Jordan since his inception into the priesthood thirty minutes ago but Roger didn't count because he knew Xavier was undercover. This would be his first real test. "Are you okay?" She hadn't noticed his priestly presence; instead, she'd practically knocked herself out care of his elbow. The nattily dressed woman wobbled unsteadily at Xavier's feet. An oversized tortoiseshell clip restraining a chignon of raven hair wrenched free and a silky mane spilled down her back releasing a pleasant fruity fragrance, which teased his nostrils. The exotic creature's piercing emerald glare met Xavier's stunned gape. "Am I...okay?" Her voice was satin-smooth but laced with sarcasm. "Gee, let's see." Her furrowed brow needed massaging and he knew just the person for the job. "So far today I've tripped down a flight of stairs, had my shoes ravaged by...mush." An arm flapped in the direction of the offending patch of mashed earth. "My feet are wet, my tush is sore, and the pièce de résistance..." Both arms brandished the air threateningly but her voice remained deceptively calm, "I've come close to being smacked into next week by a priest no less. And all this before..." she glanced at her wristwatch, "nine-thirty in the morning." Now he really had the urge to smooth her creased forehead. "What the hell do you think you were doing?" she demanded when he didn't offer a comment on her diatribe. "Being polite," Xavier responded calmly, raking a hand through his hair. "Actually, I wanted to introduce myself." "Uh-huh." Her irises were swirling pools of emerald lava focused pointedly on his dog collar. Under such scrutiny it suddenly became itchy. "So introduce yourself." Yep, that's some heavy duty glaring you're receiving, Father Xave! "Xavier La-Father Xavier," he qualified, scanning those dangerously alluring eyes for a flicker of uncertainty. He quickly extended his hand in an attempt to cover his faux pas. She regarded it with disdain and Xavier thought she might reject the simple gesture but then her soft slender hand slipped into his. She rattled his arm with one energetic shake before dumping it like a wet fish. Feisty! Nothing like the flakes he was usually attracted to. "I'm...Lucy Blake," she imparted reluctantly. "It's an absolute pleasure to meet you," Xavier said enthusiastically. Hah, and you certainly aren't a flake...Lucy Blake! he chuffed silently. Lucy eyed him closely. She pushed a strand of sleek dark hair behind one ear exposing a delicate lobe--perfect for nibbling. Her hair, straight and fine, looked like a waterfall of liquid satin and Xavier found himself wondering how he could touch its lushness without detection. "Xavier La-" Lucy paused, widening those emerald gems meaningfully, "Father Xavier." Tilting her head to one side she gave him a mischievous smile. "What are you doing at St Augustine's?" He'd become so engrossed admiring her lips the question barely registered. He'd been studying the fresh glow from her mostly make-up free face. The earthy coloured lipstick she wore had a shiny lustre and he silently prayed she'd lick her lips, or better yet, maybe he could-- Whoa, buddy, keep your dog collar on! "Father?" Xavier cleared his throat so his voice didn't betray his thoughts. "Just visiting for a couple of weeks." To avoid Lucy questioning him further he turned the conversation around. "You're a teacher here?" She gave him a look of incredulity but didn't respond, treating it like a rhetorical question or one simply not worthy of answering. He'd have to rethink his questioning technique for Ms Feisty. Pull yourself together, man! He asked people questions for a living but with this woman he sounded like one of the teenage boys she taught, not a thirty-three year old who'd been around the block...several times. Well, he wouldn't allow this statuesque beauty with high cheekbones and smooth ivory skin to infiltrate his robust defences. "Are you a teacher?" Lucy asked sceptically. "I'll be doing some teaching while I'm here." Xavier hoped he sounded convincing. Teaching, huh! What did he know about teaching--he was a private investigator. Lucy nodded her silky raven head so slowly it seemed like she'd flicked a slow motion switch. "How long have you been a priest?" Her voice had lost its sharp edge and was now as velvety and soothing as a cushion of rose petals. Five minutes. "Seems like yesterday I donned the robes." "Do you enjoy it?" Ms Feisty was persistent! "I'm on a never ending learning curve." Xavier flashed her a wide smile. "Hmm, I'll bet." Lucy raised her eyebrows at him. He felt it in parts of his body that hadn't been activated in quite some time. "No doubt I'll see you around." She smiled through those inviting glossy lips. "No doubt," Xavier responded, thankful she was ending the conversation so he didn't have to face anymore of her loaded questions. He watched the strut of Lucy's shapely legs until they disappeared from sight and then set off in the direction of the History staff room. This assignment had already become tougher than expected. If Xavier had the slightest chance of success with this investigation it was imperative he make a believable priest. He'd almost blown it and he'd only been undercover five minutes. But coming across a gorgeous and sexy schoolteacher threw his concentration. In all his years at school he'd never come across one. It wasn't hard to imagine the thoughts Lucy's testosterone charged students would have about her. Her suit might be conservative but teenaged boys could be very inventive. So could Xavier Lamont! Xavier shook his head as if to rattle the image of Lucy from his mind. Priests weren't supposed to have impure thoughts and he'd done nothing but indulge in them since decking himself out in priestly black. Maybe it was his subconscious telling him clothes don't maketh the man, or perhaps it was a not-so-subtle reminder he was still a normal hot-blooded guy underneath his layers of deception. Whatever it signified, Xavier felt certain his thoughts and feelings about Lucy were an aberration too. What a relief, fantasies about a spirited, curvaceous schoolteacher were definitely not on his agenda. The only reason he'd agreed to come to Diamond City--which wasn't a city at all--was because his father and Roger Jordan were close friends. The unlikely pairing of his irascible policeman father and the Principal of a private school had endured a friendship spanning fifty years. He'd known Roger his entire life and wasn't about to make himself unavailable in his hour of need. The hastily devised plan wasn't one Xavier had much confidence in, but under the circumstances, it seemed the most reasonable. Besides, he could always revise it if necessary. And it appealed to him to be undercover again. Lately he'd been dealing with insurance claims so this was a welcome change. But a priest! That would test his undercover abilities. Roger phoned him on Monday and he'd driven down from Sydney the next day. Now Wednesday morning, Xavier stood scanning the blue and white sea of teenaged boys and girls scurrying to their respective classes fervently wishing he was thousands of miles from St Augustine's College, Diamond City. But he'd given Roger Jordan his word. In return he'd obtained Roger's assurance that teaching would be a walk in the park...a wild safari park, perhaps. He'd be teaching two History classes but only until the holidays, which kicked in Friday of next week. He'd manage somehow or be utterly humiliated in the process. The most challenging aspect of the case would undoubtedly be to keep his identity a secret. Only Roger and his Deputy, Mary Hogg, knew, and as far as he could ascertain no one else would learn the real reason for his presence in the school. Talk about being thrown in the deep end. There wasn't a single lead on the disappearance of the painting from the school's museum. He'd seen a picture of it and marvelled at its fifty thousand dollar price tag. He understood why Roger wanted to keep the investigation low key--no police involvement. Roger believed a student or two might be implicated, or similarly, there might be a student or students who knew something about the theft. They were more likely to come forward if the police weren't investigating. So Xavier's dossier for the next week and a half was to become Father Xavier, the History teacher. At least he didn't have to change his name. Bonus! He would teach two select classes the history of Diamond City in the hope it would encourage someone to talk. If nothing else, he'd learn something. At present he knew nothing about Diamond City's gold mining days. With an ounce of luck he'd have the case wrapped up by the holidays, ensuring his speedy return to civilization. He'd been pushing thoughts of having to stare down thirty kids in a classroom to the far recesses of his mind. Now the moment beckoned, Xavier found his palms sweating and the damn dog collar highly irritating. Walk in the park, he told himself for the hundredth time. With that thought resounding in his head, Xavier entered the History staff room.

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