Read The Devil's Labyrinth for Free Online Page B

the second time, and as he passed the slimy stuff on the stairs, reminded himself to make sure he cleaned it up before he went home.
    The graffiti, though, was going to have to wait for another night.

C HAPTER 6
    B ROTHER F RANCIS NERVOUSLY wended his way through the Boston traffic as Father Sebastian gazed silently out the side window.
    “Kip’s parents live in Newton,” Brother Francis offered, more to break the silence than anything else. “It’s a little bit west of the city, but not very far.”
    Father Sebastian finally turned toward him and smiled slightly, and Francis could see why the students—at least the girls—liked him so much. There was something in his face that was both gentle and intense, giving anyone who talked to him the feeling that he was not only listening to them intently, but empathized with whatever they were saying. Combined with his olive complexion, deep dark eyes, and thick, coal-black hair, he struck most people as being someone who could as easily have been a doctor as a priest. Or even a movie star, though he seemed so completely unaware of his effect on people that Brother Francis was sure he’d never even thought of such a thing.
    “Not a problem,” Father Sebastian said. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to this any more than you are. Any idea what the Adamsons are like?”
    Brother Francis pulled off the turnpike, found Centre Street, and started south. “I haven’t actually met them, but I took a look at Kip’s file before we left.”
    “So did I,” Father Sebastian sighed. “And it didn’t tell me as much about the parents as it did about Kip. On the other hand, there wasn’t anything negative about the family, so it seems to me that our main job is to find out if they’ve heard anything from him without getting them too upset.”
    “It’s their son,” Brother Francis said, turning left on Beacon Street. “He’s missing—they’re bound to be upset.” He turned right onto Greenlawn Avenue and started looking for the address. “Here it is,” he said, pulling the car to a stop in front of an utterly nondescript middle-class home, which told him no more about Kip’s family than the file had. He switched off the engine.
    “God willing,” Sebastian said, “we’ll find out where Kip is.”
    “God willing,” Francis echoed.
    Together they got out of the car, walked up to the front door, and Father Sebastian pressed the bell. A middle-aged man, wearing a white polyester shirt and a slightly stained tie, which was loosened at the neck, opened the door. He stared at them blankly for a moment, but as he took in their clerical garb his eyes clouded and his expression soured.
    “Mr. Adamson?” Father Sebastian asked, though he was already certain they were talking to Kip’s father.
    Gordy Adamson nodded curtly, held the screen door open for the men to enter, and called out to his wife. “Anne! A couple of priests are here! The brat must be in trouble again!”
    Anne Adamson emerged from the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel, her forehead furrowing. “Kip?” she said. “What’s he done? He’s all right, isn’t he?”
    “I’m Father Sebastian, and this is Brother Francis,” Father Sebastian began.
    “Please sit down,” Mrs. Adamson said, ushering them farther into the living room. As the two men lowered themselves to the edge of the living room sofa, she fluttered nervously next to a wing chair, then settled onto its arm.
    Her husband remained standing, leaning against the wall, his arms drawn tight across his chest, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as if he was already certain his son had committed some kind of offense whose repercussions were about to come down on his own head.
    “Is Kip all right?” Anne asked again.
    “We have no reason to think he’s not,” Father Sebastian said a little too quickly.
    “If you didn’t think something was wrong, you wouldn’t be here,” Gordy Adamson announced, not moving even a fraction of