Fine Blue Steele (Daggers & Steele Book 4) Read Online Free PDF

the church as having shrubbery growing on its roof was grossly inaccurate. The shrubbery was the roof. Centenarian trees sprouted from the floor of the church, stretching their boughs up, up, up toward the sky. Dense clusters of leaves, some of them orange and yellow but many still green despite the oncoming cold, blocked our view of the sun and spilled over the church’s exterior walls.
    Heavy vines, also thick with leaves, wrapped themselves around the tree trunks and boughs. They wandered across cables that had been hung from the top branches of the trees and crept onto the thick, unfinished wood columns lining the sides of the common area, adding a muted brushstroke of bluish-green to the space.
    The floor was of packed dirt rather than tile or stone, and although a cluster of two dozen rough, wooden benches surrounded an open area on the far side of the church, the majority of the building’s interior was pockmarked with much smaller gathering spaces—circles of brick, recessed into the earth, where people might sit and dangle their legs. If only they’d had a fire pit in the center, I could’ve envisioned myself rubbing shoulders with Shay at one, drinking a beer and toasting marshmallows.
    “This place seems right up your alley,” I said to Steele.
    She gave me a furrowed brow sort of look. “I’m no more religiously inclined than you are, Daggers.”
    “Yeah, but this place is so open,” I said. “So airy and natural. So very… elven.”
    Shay’s look deviated not one whit. “I grew up in a small apartment in midtown. The nearest park was four blocks away.”
    “So you’re telling me you don’t feel any connection to the trees?”
    “We had a bonsai in our living room,” said Shay. “I liked it. It was cute.”
    A stone path meandered around the church interior, eventually making its way to the cluster of benches at the backside, though it did so with no sense of haste whatsoever. I strolled across it as I continued to gaze upon the interior. A number of worshipers sat at the organically distributed stone circles, though upon further inspection, many of them appeared to be curled in balls, sleeping. More hobos, based on their attire. Churches always attracted them in droves, but given this particular chapel’s lack of a solid roof, I wasn’t sure I understood the appeal.
    Before we’d made it halfway along the path, a couple of men materialized from a doorway set in the wall not far from the benches and approached us. I pegged the first of the pair as in his mid-fifties. Wavy, salt-and-pepper hair swept across his temple and over his ears, pairing nicely with the pale grey frock that reached to the tops of his shoes. He walked with a slight limp, but his cornflower blue eyes seemed as bright and healthy as those of a man twenty years younger.
    Behind the older gentleman followed a tall and thin adolescent. Exceptionally tall. I’d wager he had me beat by at least a foot. His long arms hung at his sides, capped with hands the size of frying pans, and his sandal-clad feet would’ve fit comfortably in clown shoes. Angry, red acne dotted his face. Between that, his gangly build, and an outdated bowl cut, I gathered he probably wasn’t beating young ladies off with a stick.
    “Good morning, pilgrims,” said the elder statesman as he neared, “and welcome to the warm embrace of the divine. May the strength of nature course through your veins and fill you with the spirit of the everlasting.”
    Oh boy. Here we go…
    I waved a dismissive hand at the pastor. “I’m sorry, but we’re not here for your insights into life, death, and the grand purpose of the cosmos.”
    “Oh?” The man lifted a brow. “Do you need a place to rest your weary heads? Or a hot meal, perchance?”
    Ah. Food. That would explain the hobos.
    “No, thank you,” said Steele with more grace than I could’ve mustered. “We’re here for information, actually. I’m Detective Steele, and this is Detective Daggers.