The room was decorated in a mixture of Southwest and Mexican styles — oak lodge-pole bed, painted talavera pottery and punched-tin lighting fixtures and decorative items. One of these was a large cross that hung on the wall by the French doors which opened on the courtyard.
The cross was hanging upside down. It hadn’t been like that when he entered the room twenty minutes ago. He was sure of it.
As he watched, the cross slowly described a half circle on the wall and then stopped, hanging once again in its normal position.
Now the hair on the back of his neck was standing up. Michael slowly shut the laptop, then went over to the cross. When he reached out to touch it, he had to pull his hand back, because the metal was scorchingly hot under his fingertips, as though someone had stuck it
