The assembled crowd stared in shock at the man leaning against the fireplace mantle. Michael Stanton chuckled and sipped the last of his drink. He rubbed his bruised neck before turning towards me.

"I'm impressed," he said. "Never in my wildest dreams would I have guessed a nun would figure me out."

"Michael Stanton, Sinclair Martin," I said confidently. "You have been accused of multiple murders and kidnapping how do you plead?"

"Innocent," he said. "You said yourself. There is no evidence. You can't even tell me how it all happened. You have nothing to convict me."

"I know more than you think, Michael!" I raised my umbrella. "So let me enlighten you." I rolled up my sleeves and began.

"When I arrived in St. Francisville I was met with an unexpected surprise. First, I would have to take a boat which I was opposed to. Second, my lovely Doubting Thomas had rolled from my lap while I was sleeping and underneath the seats. It was mistakenly picked up by Denise. She must have seen the letters DT on the base and without considering the fact thought they were hers. Denise Thompson was her original name before she married Wilfred. DT for short. Understandable, yes, but unfortunate for you, Michael, as that act spurred me to climb the fence to reach the manor and get back my umbrella. That's when I met you, a strapping young man, who kindly offered me a sucker. You said you had quite the sweet tooth.

I observed much upon nearing the home. Such as Gloria and her paint covered hands, and Mrs. Stanton's uncanny disposition to her children. In my excitement to have my umbrella back, I smashed a priceless vase on accident only to learn from Janet it was not the first broken object to be found by her recently.

That night at dinner I was given much information on the family. The most important information being Mrs. Annette's untouchable flowerbed and the sheer venomous degree of Brandon's pet snakes. As most everyone is aware, the toast of the late Wilfred Stanton was interrupted by Gloria's screams. We ran out to find her tormentor but instead discovered a message written in blood on the front door. I knew instantly it was an empty threat. The blood was obviously fake and when we went out to see if Gloria was alright, she was already smoking a half used cigarette. I concluded then that Gloria had written those words on the door. What I didn't know was why or what the words meant. I did understood then was Gloria was an utter twat. "

"What did you call me?" asked Gloria.

"Don't worry about it. But it's true, isn't it. No one else could have done it. Michael set you up, told you when and how to do it and what words to write. You thought you were just getting back at your mother. No, this was all part of Michael's plan to frame others for his crimes. I bet he even had you call your mother on the phone earlier that day and threaten her. I know you hated your mother. You made that quite clear during our first encounter."

Gloria made a face and rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, sure, I did it. And yeah, Michael told me to say on the phone and what to write on the door. I thought it would be fun. I didn't think it would lead to her dying."

"Yes, every word and every action was part of a clever ploy to make Denise anxious and upset. The words, SIN CLEARS WHEN STANTON DIES, is a curious combination don't you think. I remember when I entered the priest house and found the words written on Father Blanchard's calendar. He had circled the first seven letters, SIN CLEAR. An obscure reference to SINCLAIR."

"That's too insane to believe," said Gloria in shock. "How would she get that reference? Wait would mom have known Michael was trying to kill her."

"No, Denise did not know who Sinclair Martin was. That secret was kept even from her. The hidden message was intended for Giles as a warning to keep his mouth shut. A simple play on words, but effective on both regards." I pointed to the bottle of alcohol on the table. "The words did their job. Denise became stressed and unhinged not to mention fearful that someone from her past wanted her dead. She asked for a drink, one that Michael was happy to supply. It must have been drugged. Why else would she have slept so soundly as her bedroom was rigged for murder."

"Rigged for murder?" asked Brandon. "What does that mean?"

"I too would like an explanation," said Janet.

"In order to create confusion, alter his alibi, and throw suspicion elsewhere, Michael rigged a clever use of weights and balances to succeed."

I explained how it happened just as I did an hour before to Sergeant Leblanc and Investigator Dorsey. First I brought them to Denise's room and showed them the two doors on either side. One led to Michael's room and the other to Pearl's room. With the help of two officers I demonstrated how the trick was performed. 

"First, the drugged Mrs. Stanton would lay in bed her weight shifted to one side. Second, a rope in this case the curtain tie cord was looped around the handles of the mattress. From there the rope would be looped around the canopy bed's top rung and fed under the door into Pearl's room. The rope was placed just underneath the base of Pearl's bed while she slept. A completed product would look bizarre. Mrs. Stanton would be sleeping on a mattress with one side hoisted in the air connected to a black rope under Pearl's bed. This way when Pearl awoke the the next morning, her shift in weight would release the rope under her bed, it would slither out under her door appearing like a black snake, and finally gravity would take over, and Mrs. Stanton's mattress would come crashing down shaking the ceiling with a loud BANG.

This explained why small objects near the beds had been found broken by Janet and why in my bedroom, the top rung on the canopy was worn away and the mattress was askew. Michael had been practicing this trick on more than one bed until he got it right. It was a perfect plan. To us downstairs eating breakfast we would hear first Pearl scream about seeing a black snake followed by an almost instant floor shaking thump. Michael would then play the hero. Open the locked door, rush to his mother's aid, administer the poison, and in the heat of the moment toss the syringe through the window to the Annette's flowerbed below. An escaped snake from Brandon's collection would be blamed because no one could say a human did it, if the room was locked. Sadly such a perfect plan did not expect me to see through the illusion. Mrs. Stanton's death was never meant to be declared a murder, only an unfortunate accident. Am I right, MIchael? I disrupted your plans and you had to quickly change your tactics for the next murder?"

"Hmpth," he responded folding his arms displeasingly.

"I thought so. After I unveiled you petty attempt at covering up murder you need to think of a different method, and what you did next was brilliant. Last night at dinner you mocked Father Blanchard into pushing him to hurt you, an effort you believed would throw off any suspicion that you could be the murderer. When Father approached you in the bathroom at the rodeo, I'm sure he shared some choice words. You were prepared. As Father came at you to choke you, you sliced his hand and proceeded to play the victim. Your move not only made us pitty you, but you also got rid of the one man who knew your secret and was bold enough to try and stop you. All that was left to take care of was a few loose ends.

Next you took the snake that you had stolen from Brandon's collection and covered it in chocolate pudding, a tempting offer to the dogs that you so purposefully let loose. You even gave them a bone for good measure, knowing their excited nature would bring them inside with their toys.

For years you have kidnapped young children and lured them to their deaths. What better way to tempt children than with a sweet surprise. A sucker may be. For someone who claims to possess a rather big sweet tooth you were quick to deny any and all dessert during dinner and sugar in your morning coffee. It made me wonder why you kept candy in your pocket if you hate it so much."

"And what, Sister Mary, does that have to do with the dogs and the other murders?" asked Michael. "How can everything be connected to me?"

"I'm glad you asked." I rummaged through the box of evidence again. I pulled out the dossier labeled, DISAPPEARANCES. "Altogether, there is ten missing children, and a journalist named Benjamin Dupont. I am no expert at bones, but I overhead and saw with my own eyes the bones that were being pulled out of the ground. One adult and enough for nine children, they said. I read in Mrs. Stanton's journal of a couple of instances that shocked her. The first was the death of Ms. Annette's husband. Mrs. Stanton describes it as a bright sunny day with no wind. She remembers walking in the garden and coming up to her favorite tree. Underneath she found a dead man, Ms. Annette's husband. He was killed by a fallen tree limb. Odd to say the least. Was it foul play? Well from my experience recently, and Pearl can attest to this, absolutely. Possibly he discovered something he shouldn't have.

Such a loss drove Ms. Annette to want to leave town and go live with her mother in Mississippi. This was not to be of course. A young journalist who had investigated the tragic death of Wilfred Stanton only days earlier went to investigate the Stanton Manor. His car was found off the road nearby, but his body never turned up. Mrs. Stanton wrote about in her journal as well.

She said she heard a crash in the backyard by Annette's flowerbed. She rushed out to the balcony to see what it was only to see Annette standing over the balcony railing greatly upset. When she went to comfort her and see what had broken, Annette quickly pushed her back into the house and said in a worried tone that she had knocked over one of the large plant pots off the edge. Mrs. Stanton goes on to say Annette spent the rest of the day digging and from then on was strangely attached to the garden on the east side.

I am guessing but if I was to give a reason I would say this journalist was sneaking around the house and he surprised Annette. She panicked and in her fear knocked over the pot from the balcony and killed the journalist. To hide her act she buried the man in the flowerbed. This is why she stayed behind and continued for years to watch over that flowerbed so no one could uncover her secret.

Of course, Michael, you knew this. If anything I bet you played a part in the journalist's death. You used Annette's fear of bones being discovered to hide your own murders. That's why the flowerbed was filled with bones. Ms. Annette would find bones all over the garden. Thinking something had compromised her secret she would bury each one she found without question. Now you had it all, a method of murder that worked and people who would unknowingly conceal your secret. You could kill endlessly. So to seal your secret you killed Annette. Poisoning her diabetic kit and sending Susan trained as a nurse to administer it. It was so easy, so simple. All those who could possibly convict you are now either dead or framed. And the children... what did you do to those children? Did you torture them, assault them?"

"I said it before. You have no proof to convict me for any of these murders."

"Hmm, that is where you are mistaken, Michael. I have a witness, a loose end you have forgotten about."

"And what might that be?"

"There are ten missing children. Nine bodies discovered. That leaves one left. One that went missing over a few days ago, Nancy Bourgeois. She is still alive, isn't she? I'm sure she will testify against you in a court of law. She knows your face, your voice. That is my proof. And I know just where you're keeping her."

"You, bitch!" screamed Michael.

A crash of thunder and lightning filled the air outside. A powerful storm had arrived. Rain pelted the windows. The whole room stood there in utter silence. No one could believe it, but I, Merry Sister Mary, had cracked the case.

"She did it," said Dorsey looking faint. "I don't believe it. Everything fits. Everything works. She's undeniably right."

"Michael Stanton, for the slaughter and abductions of multiple children and the murders of Denise Stanton and Annette Barrnette, I arrest you. Grab him boys."

What happened next is hard to say, but it was entirely the work of a dramatic God. Lightning cracked across the sky and the power to the home shut off. In the dark chaos, people dashed over chairs and knocked over tables, some in order to catch Michael, some to escape into the hallway, but for me I waited in the darkness for my opportunity. Almost like I had planned it, Leblanc passed by seat distracted. I could see just enough in the dark to snatch his gun out of the hoister. I was ready.

I felt a gust to wind pass me and heard the scurry of desperate feet. I knew it could be only one person. Michael had escaped.