1, 2, 3,  4,

“Follow my lead, Detective. We’ll solve two problems at once.”

The detective couldn’t tell whether she was referring to the two shoes or to the shoes and the abbess’s disappearance.

She briskly led him through the hallways to the cloister.

“Pick one and make yourself at home,” she said, pointing at several straw bales scattered across the floor. “I’ll be right back.”

He nodded and sat down on one. The nun smiled and walked away while he scanned the small cloister curiously. The building looked even older from the inside than from the outside: cracked walls, large swaths of peeling paint, and a couple of lintels braced/propped up with logs. It looked like a relic from a distant age, about to collapse.

“I’m back,” she said, carrying a washbasin filled with a murky amber liquid.

The detective, realizing the nun’s intentions, jumped to his feet as if someone had lit a fire under him.

“Oh, no, no. Thank you. I’m fine. You don’t need to bother,” he said, stepping backward, but the hay bale blocked his retreat.

She placed the basin on the floor in front of him and set a white towel beside it.

“This works miracles, Detective. Your feet will never be the same again.”

“What’s in it?” he asked apprehensively.

“Just some herbs and a bunch of salt," she said, dipping/swirling her fingers into the water to test the temperature. "Come on, before it gets cold. Put your feet in, and we can talk about the abbess while your feet soak."

“Too obvious,” the voice said.

“What’s too obvious?” Samuel asked, confused.

“The whole scene. It’s a blatant allusion to Mary Magdalene and Jesus. Her washing his feet... You know.”

“She’s not washing his feet!”

“Oh, really?”

“She’s just being kind! She made herbal tea for his feet!”

“Are you listening to yourself? Who in their right mind would do that?”

“A British nun?”

“Trust me. Think it over.”

“I don’t need to think anything over. I’m going back to writing. Mary Magdalene... What a stupid idea.”