Circumstantial at best.
Nearly twelve hours after she screwed up her nerve and took the chance of calling Nick to tell him what she’d seen, his comment still rang through Jazz’s head, as deep as the sound clanging from St. Gwendolyn’s bell tower just up ahead.
“Circumstantial.” When she grumbled the word, Wally, who was walking at her side like the good boy he was, looked up at her and woofed with delight. But then, Wally wasn’t the one who was absolutely sure the fact that Marcus Gerchek had a tool exactly like the one she’d found in Kim’s backyard proved Gerchek was there the night Dan Mansfield was killed. Wally wasn’t the one who told Nick it meant Gerchek must be the killer. He also wasn’t the one who got lambasted for going to Gerchek’s again.
Wally wasn’t the one who, in spite of all that, had his theory shot down.
At the same time Jazz told herself she’d prove Nick wrong, she thought about the other thing he’d told her in a call early that morning. At his request, Goddard and Horvath, the two detectives who’d gone to Kim’s house to question her when Dan Mansfield’s body was discovered, had paid a visit to Marcus Gerchek a little more than an hour ago to ask a few questions and found he’d flown the coop.
“If that doesn’t prove it”—she looked down at Wally and grinned—“then nothing does. He doesn’t even know we’re on to him and he’s already on the run. We’ve got him, buddy. I can feel it in my bones. Nick might not agree, but I know we’ve got him.”
Jazz pulled in a deep, calming breath of morning air. She couldn’t start this day—of all days—in a bad mood, and she did her best to banish all thoughts of Gerchek, and all worry about Kim, and just about all the uneasiness she felt at having to corner Father Jim as soon as she could and ask why he’d lied to her when she asked if he’d seen Mansfield after he was released from prison.
Before the thought had a chance to sour Jazz’s mood completely, a woman with a cocker spaniel fell into step beside her.
“Come on, Honeybear.” The woman tugged her dog’s leash, urging Honeybear along. “We’re going to be late. Father Jim doesn’t like it when we’re late.”
To Wally, who was used to being with his fellow canines at training, seeing another dog this up close meant it was time to romp, and he barked a greeting.
Honeybear, apparently, was not a morning creature.
The cocker gave Wally the stink eye along with a lifted lip.
“Good morning.” Jazz ignored the slight, but she made sure to keep Wally close when she offered the woman a smile. “Have you been to the blessing of the animals before?”
“Oh, yes.” Honeybear danced at the woman’s left side, walked in front of her, darted to the right. “I keep hoping…” She yanked the dog’s leash. “I keep thinking a blessing might settle her down.”
“Some training would take care of that.” Jazz had meant it as a suggestion, not a criticism, but when the woman grumbled and lifted her lip Jazz knew where Honeybear got her attitude. Rather than deal, she quickened her pace and hoped Honeybear’s owner noticed that yes, a dog could heel, as long as the person at the other end of the leash was in control.
They weren’t the only ones moving toward St. Gwendolyn’s with their pets. It was October 4, the feast day of Saint Francis of Assisi, and Father Jim was doing a blessing of the animals. In spite of her suspicions and her worries, Jazz couldn’t help but find comfort in being surrounded by animals. The dogs were all on leashes except one in a baby stroller and many people in the crowd lugged their cats in carriers. One young guy with long hair and a scraggly beard gently held a cage to his chest. There was a big white rat in it.
Not Jazz’s idea of a furry companion, but hey, the guy’s smile radiated so much affection, she couldn’t help but smile back.
Until her mind skipped back to Father Jim.
As much as Jazz tried to concentrate on the celebration, on the sacredness of the occasion, she couldn’t knock the thought out of her head.
Why had he lied?
And could it have anything at all to do with Marcus Gerchek? She intended to find out.
After the blessing was over.
The blessing of the animals was a special event, and Jazz had missed it once Manny was gone and before she had Wally. Now she was more than ready. So was Wally. Like everyone else, they gathered outside around the front steps of the church, eager for the ceremony to start.
Father Jim didn’t make them wait long.
The front door of the church popped open and Father Jim stepped outside and into a pool of sunshine. In his brown robe with its white rope belt, his feet in sandals, he looked much like the pictures Jazz had seen of Saint Francis. Always with animals.
“Good morning!” Father Jim called out, and automatically Jazz and the people around her answered, “Good morning, Father.”
“It’s good to see so many of you here with your animal companions.” He scanned the crowd and Jazz guessed he didn’t see her and Wally standing just a couple rows from the front. His gaze moved right past them; he didn’t offer a special smile. “You all know the story of Saint Francis and how he loved animals. In fact, he and his brothers once left the place they were staying so a donkey could take up residence!” He grinned. “No donkeys here today!”
“I’ve got a dog as big as a donkey!” a man called out. He was right. The Great Dane with him was huge and gorgeous.
Father Jim gave the man the thumbs-up. “Saint Francis,” he said, “wrote something called the Canticle of Creatures, and in it, he says: ‘All praise to you, Oh Lord, for all these brother and sister creatures.’ They are our brothers and sisters, aren’t they? They make our lives better. They offer us their friendship, their devotion, and their admiration, even when we don’t much deserve it. Well…” He made a face. “I guess the cats only offer devotion and admiration when they feel like it.”
When the laughter died down, Father Jim continued. “Our bonds with our animal companions are strong and this morning, with Brother Sun shining down on us, we ask God to bless our friends with these words.”
He paused and a man walked up the steps with a bowl and an instrument anyone who wasn’t Catholic would think was odd—a wooden-handled object, maybe twelve inches long, with a silver ball on top. Jazz knew it was called an aspergillum and that Father Jim would dip it in the bowl of holy water, then use it to splash the water on the crowd.
Even the animals seemed to recognize the solemnity of the moment. People bowed their heads; their animals got quiet.
“‘Blessed are You, Lord God, creator of all creatures.’” Father Jim dipped the aspergillum and sprinkled water to his right. The dogs didn’t seem to mind. The cats, on the other hand, some of them out of their carriers now and in their owners’ arms, flattened their ears and hissed.
“‘You created fish in the oceans, birds in the sky, and animals on the land. You inspired Saint Francis to call them his brothers and sisters.’” He dipped and sprinkled again, this time to his left.
“We ask You to bless these wonderful animals gathered here today along with the people who care for them and love them. May we never forget to thank You for the company of our animal friends and praise You for the beauty of Your creation.” One last time, he dipped the aspergillum and sprinkled the people and animals directly in front of him. Never one to miss out, Wally caught a drop of holy water on his nose and slurped it off with his tongue.
Holy inside and out, Jazz thought. Father Jim concluded the prayer with, “‘Blessed are You, Lord our God, in all Your creatures! Amen,’” and like everyone else, she responded, “Amen,” in return. As if they knew it was their cue, dogs barked and hopped, cats meowed, and from somewhere behind her Jazz heard a parrot squawk a word he shouldn’t have said so close to a church.
People broke into small clusters, chatting, admiring each other’s critters, and Father Jim waded into the crowd to greet people and add an extra little blessing on each animal with a pat on the head. He was chatting with a white-haired woman with an orange cat and Jazz and Wally made their way closer, but when Father Jim was done with the woman he moved on to a man with an overweight Pekinese.
Jazz waited patiently, trying to catch Father Jim’s eye.
After the Pekinese, he moved on to a Boxer and, from there, a ferret in a shoe box, a cat curled on a woman’s shoulder, a blue parakeet in a cage.
Through it all, Wally did not complain. Jazz, though, was getting impatient. She stepped up behind Father Jim, and when he turned away from the parakeet she was ready for him.
“Jazz!” He looked honestly surprised to see her. “And…?”
“Wally.” Jazz supplied the name while Father Jim put a gentle hand on Wally’s head. “You didn’t think I’d miss the blessing, did you?”
“I’m glad you’re here. We had a great turnout this year and it’s always good to see you.”
“I need to talk to you.”
“You could stop by later,” he told her.
“I’d rather do it now.”
“But now I’m sort of…” Father Jim looked around and, catching someone’s eye, called out, waving, “George! We still need to get our acts together about that delivery for the food pantry.” He’d already stepped away when he said, “I really need to get a move on.”
She didn’t give him the chance. “Why did you lie to me? About Dan Mansfield? Why did you tell me you didn’t see him when he got out of prison? He was here. He stayed at the rectory.”
Father Jim pulled back his shoulders. “I don’t know who told you that, but—”
“Someone was following Dan and saw him here.”
His gaze shot to hers. “The murderer?”
“No, I don’t think so. But I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me—”
“What difference does it make?” Father Jim, always so kind, always so tolerant, snapped out the question. “Yes, Dan stayed here. He had nowhere else to go.”
“Why not just tell me the truth in the first place?”
“Because it didn’t matter.” His words were clipped, but then, Jazz could hardly blame him. They were on his turf, and she was questioning his motives. And his ethics. “It didn’t matter then and it doesn’t matter now. Because what I do with my friends is my business and not yours.”
His words pinged against the stone facade of the church. He grumbled under his breath, shuffled his sandals against the sidewalk, fought to hold his temper. “I told you. He was an old pal. It was just for a couple of nights. You know the whole second floor of the rectory is torn to pieces and being remodeled.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the rectory next door, a solid stone house with a slate roof and a wide front porch where Father Jim was known to hand out lemonade to the neighborhood kids. “I don’t even go up there these days. I’ve been sleeping on the couch in the living room. I offered the couch to Dan, but he said he’d be fine curled up on that ratty old sofa on the back sun porch. Dan told me he was leaving town, looking to make a fresh start. Kind of hard for a man who’s got no job and no prospects. I wrote him a letter of recommendation.” He raised his arms and slapped them to his sides. “For all I knew, Dan left here, got on a Greyhound, and went I don’t know where. Somewhere else. That Sunday morning, that’s the last I ever saw of him. There’s nothing else to the story. Stop asking questions, Jazz. Leave that to the police.”
Embarrassment flooded through Jazz. She’d dared to treat Father Jim, one of the dearest, kindest men on the planet, like he had some kind of horrible secret. She knew her cheeks were flaming just like she knew any excuse she could make wouldn’t be enough. “I’m sorry, Father,” she said instead. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just trying to put the pieces together.”
“And I’m sorry I was short with you.” He set a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I get it. I know you’re looking for answers, and I know you’re worried about Kim, too. That’s a lot of stress. Just so you know, I keep an eye out for her when I walk around the neighborhood.”
“Thanks for caring, Father.”
“Thank you for being kind to a woman who never seems to want to accept that kindness.”
“We’re good?” Jazz dared to ask him.
“Of course!” Father Jim’s smile was as bright as the sunshine overhead. “Now if you and sweet Wally will excuse me…” He backed away.
Jazz gritted her teeth. “Can I just ask you one more question?”
He raised his eyes heavenward before he darted her a look. “Praying,” he said.
Jazz’s smile told him she understood. “I just wondered … when he was here, did Dan say anything about a man named Marcus Gerchek?”
“Gerchek?” Father Jim thought this over. “Yes, I remember the name. Something about prison. Something about seeing him before he left town. Does it mean anything?”
“I hope so.”
“You mean, you think…” Father Jim’s eyes went wide. “This Gerchek fellow, he killed Dan?”
“I think so. If the police come to talk to you—”
“I’ll tell them what Dan said. Yes.” Father Jim put a hand on her elbow. “You know I’ll do anything I can to help.”
“Thanks, Father!” Since he’d already turned away to talk to a group of three young guys and their dogs, Jazz wasn’t sure he heard her.
“I guess he told me.” Still feeling guilty for coming off as heavy-handed, she looked down at Wally. “I couldn’t help myself. It’s been a tough few weeks.” She didn’t need to spell it out. Wally knew everything she’d been through, how worried she was about Kim, how her wrist still ached and her brain still spun around the possibility of some sort of treasure in Kim’s house. They didn’t need to rehash it. Instead, she walked him back to where she had parked her car in the shade, gave him a drink of water, and let him hop into his crate.
While he got settled, Jazz closed up the back of the car. She was all set to open the driver’s door and get in when something from the direction of the church rectory caught her eye.
Eager for a better look, she locked the car and stepped onto the sidewalk.
She saw it again.
And it was coming from the second floor, the part of the rectory Father Jim said was unlivable.
A flash.
Like sunlight glinting against a mirror.