Carlo tugged at the metal handles of the church door, drawing it open just enough to slip inside. It was mid-morning and most of the early prayers had been said, and the parishioners had departed.
He wanted to savor the deep quiet of the stone structure. The cool air welcomed him, the dim light cast by the candles on the altar lured him into a contented hypnotic state, and the stillness of the air rewarded him with a nonintrusive, uninterrupted peace.
He walked with soft footsteps down the stone aisle toward the altar, rested his hand on the endpost of the second pew, and settled into a seat there.
He looked up at the crucifix and realized that it was made in the same image as the one in St. Ambrose Church in St. Louis. Carlo turned his head left, then right, and smiled at the concordan
