The thunder from each lightning bolt rumbled as if giant horses were galloping through the skies in a race into the horizon. The formations of dark misty clouds drifting eastward were all flirting with activity until blue-tinged light danced to life within each. Every so often, a bolt of electricity revealed itself, piercing the sky to find its target on the ocean off in the distance. Michael thought it was strange for a storm to be coming in this time of year and possibly somewhat ominous. Rather than finishing his normal jogging route, he darted between a couple of the smaller homes bordering the beach near a rock jetty. Closing windows, shutting garage doors, securing patio umbrellas, residents in the area prepared for the unannounced tempest. The approaching squall contradicted the weather forecast in the newspaper, which was sunny skies and temperatures in the seventies.
As he approached his small front porch, he saw Father Hernandez and Sister Justine standing and waiting. What are these two doing here on a Sunday; you would think they would be in mass. He helped the best he could, based on the information they found. Michael was also solaced; his latent feelings for Sister Justine hadn’t reemerged.
“You two again? What brings the progeny of Grielle here?” Michael asked, breathing somewhat heavily. A crackling thunderbolt ripped through the sky, startling all three.
“Should we get inside?” Father Hernandez asked, noticing the winds becoming more aggressive.
“We're fine out here, or are you afraid your creator is going to strike you down?” Michael mocked.
“Michael, we want you to come down to Mexico with us,” Sister Justine asked.
“And what have you been smokin’? I'm not leaving mid-semester on some sort of angel hunt. I have classes to teach. And why the hell all the way down to Mexico?”
Father Hernandez answered this time. “Detective Matthews took the words back to the FBI to see if they made any sense. They tried something we could have tried ourselves. It's an anagram.”
“An anagram? An anagram for what? I'm sure there's tens of words if you were to put the phrase in an anagram solver.”
“Yes, and when they gave us the list, one phrase stood out, ‘Hot Waters.’”
“And what the hell does that have to do wi-...wait... that's awfully thin.”
“Maybe, but the Church feels we should go back down there, especially with what happened this morning. Bishop Grielle has even been authorized to offer you a stipend.”
Michael grinned. “A stipend, now you're talk-...wait a minute, what happened this morning?”