Chapter 10

The phone number I got for the address in Washington Township rings and rings. Finally a generic, computerized voice says, “No one can answer your call right now. Please leave a message.” So I do.

“This is Cate Harlow. My number is 212.555.2992. This is in reference to Francis Murphy. Please call me as soon as possible.”

My next call is to the Paterson Diocese main office. If the diocese owned the apartment where Father Murphy lived that could mean that he was a priest in one of the many churches in the area. The fact that the info Giles gave me has Murphy living in an apartment and not a rectory isn’t necessarily a problem, but it bears checking out. I’m going to say that I’ve lost touch with Father Murphy and want to contact him. It’s possible that they don’t know that he’s dead yet.

Voicemail picks up and of course I get a menu. I listen to the extensions for various business or church needs until I come to the one for clergy, then press the digit and hear, “One moment please.”

A man’s voice answers “Rectory. This is Father Richard Boyd, how may I help you?”

He sounds so boyish. I have a hard time calling him Father.

“Good afternoon, Father. My name is Cate Harlow and I wonder if you can help me. I’m looking for a priest from your diocese, Father Francis Murphy.”

“Who?”

“Father Murphy, Francis Xavier Murphy. Do you know how I can reach him? It’s important.”

“I’m afraid you’ve gotten the name wrong. You probably mean Father Farrell Xavier Murphy of St. Ann’s. I can get his number if you can hang on for a couple of minutes.”

“No, wait, Father. The person I’m looking for is named Father Francis Xavier Murphy. He’s about seventy-two. I’d like to speak with him if you can tell me what church he’s serving.” Murphy is a very common name for Irish-Catholic priests.

I hear pages from a book being rapidly turned.

“You know, I don’t see his name in the diocese listings. Murphy is a common name. Also, I’m in the process of installing a new accounting program in the computer system so I might not have all the names and parishes. I’ve only been here five years so it is possible that I wouldn’t know of him.

“But, listen; if you give me a minute I’ll get Father Bill, one of the other priests, to help you. He knows all the “old men of the cloth” as we affectionately call them. If this other Father Murphy is still on active service he’ll know and if he’s retired he may be at our retirement home in Ocean County. Hold on.”

Elevator music plays statically as I hold. You’d think that in a church office they would have some type of religious music playing, but I’m being entertained by Fleetwood Mac on one of those easy listening stations favored by Myrtle.

Finally I hear, “This is Father Bill Mulcahy. May I help you?” Older, pleasant voice, maybe he knows Murphy. I hear laughter and talking in the background. It sounds busy.

“Yes, good afternoon, Father. I was told by the priest who answered that you might be able to help me find a clergyman I knew years ago, a man in his early seventies. I’ve lost contact with him over the years.” Then, to enlist his help I charmingly add, “I heard that you know all the old men of the cloth.”

He laughs and says jovially, “When you've been around as long as I have, you do tend to know just about everyone in the diocese. I’m pretty sure I can help you. Who are you looking to find?”

“Oh I hope so, Father. I’m looking for a Father Francis Xavier Murphy. Do you know where I might be able to contact him? I would so love to speak with him.” I make myself sound as sweet and innocent as I can but there’s dead silence on the other end. “Father Mulcahy? Hello?”

“Who is this?” The pleasant voice has suddenly gone cold and has a cutting, straight edge to it. Something’s not right, I can feel it.

“My name is Cate Harlow and I’m trying to find Father Francis Xavier Murphy.” Then I add a concerned, “Is he alright?”

More silence, then, “Are you with SNAP?”

SNAP? I have no idea what he means but I quickly jot down the acronym, s-n-a-p.

“No I’m not. I don’t even know what that is,” I say truthfully.

There’s a long pause at the other end. I hear a whispered conversation but I can only make out the words, “no knowledge”, “we can’t”, “don’t say anything…”

“Look,” I say, “I don’t know about any snap but I do know that I need to contact Father Francis Xavier Murphy. Can you help me or not?”

“No, I can’t help you. There’s no Father Francis Murphy here and no one knows anything about this, this Francis Murphy. Don’t call again. Good day.”

“Wait. Just tell me…” A sharp click lets me know the call has ended.

Two seconds after the priest ends our brief conversation, Myrtle puts a call through from Will.

“Cate? Are you busy with that cold case or can you take a minute and grab a Timothy’s macchiato coffee with me? I’m two minutes from your office.”

“I’ve got time. I’ll go right down and wait for you.”

I hang up and tell Myrtle I’m going out for coffee with Will and ask her if she wants me to bring anything back for her.

“No, I’ve got my iced tea.” She smiles at me approvingly. “You look very pretty today. You should dress up more often. It looks professional and attractive.”

I smile back. “Yeah, well, maybe. I do feel pretty.” I sigh and shake my head. “But I’d hate to go finding a dead body dressed like this and in these shoes!”

****

“What’s up?” I say as I settle into the nice leather seat of Will’s unmarked car. He looks at me. “You look great. I like your hair like that.” He’s got that look on his face that I know so well from the past.

“Thanks.” I buckle my seat belt and look down so we don’t make eye contact.

Timothy’s Coffee Emporium is about ten minutes from my office, but with afternoon traffic it takes thirty. Will puts his police light on the roof of his car and parks by a No Parking sign. Of course, I think; he’s allowed to park wherever he wants. We decide to sit outside and I grab an empty table while Will goes to get our coffees. He returns with two steaming large cups topped with whipped cream and drizzled with caramel, and we sit and inhale the aroma. Then he looks over at me and says, “I probably shouldn’t be doing this but I said I’d think about letting you know what’s going on with the murder case, that priest collar one you’re so interested in. I’ve decided to give you the info from the M.E.’s office.”

Oh goody! I think. Tell me what I already know.

“Thanks Will. What did you find out?”

“Well, he is, was, a real priest. Father Francis X. Murphy. Lived in New Jersey. There’s an address, so I’ll be going out there tomorrow. I think he was somehow connected to the Paterson Diocese. Anyway, the diocese owned the place where he lived so there’s some type of connection there.”

“That’s all?” I could tell you more darlin’ Will, but hauling your charming butt out to New Jersey tomorrow just might be good for you. New Jersey makes you appreciate NYC all the more, yes it does.

“Yeah, but it’s enough to go on for now. What about you and that missing kid case?”

“Oh you know, working the case. Might have a lead. I have a key from evidence that the sister doesn’t recognize. It’s not a locker key as the evidence people first surmised. Looks like it might be a key to some box or something. I’m going out to the McElroy property tomorrow to snoop around. With,” I add, “the sister’s full permission.”

“Alright. If I can help in any way, let me know.”

“Fix my ticket.”

“What ticket? What the hell are you talking about?”

“The one I got for illegally parking in front of a loading dock. I told the cop we were related.”

“Related how?” he asks suspiciously.

“I told him the truth. I said I was your ex-wife but that we’re still friends. He didn’t buy the friends part though.”

Will laughs. “Damn right he didn’t buy it. You of all people should know that cop divorces are never friendly.”

“That's what the officer said.” I look at him and say teasingly, “You mean you’re not my friend?”

“Oh I am,” he says watching me spoon whipped cream into my mouth. “But I’d like to be more than just a friend, Cate.”

I think about that statement.

“You just feel that way because Francesca’s coming to town and you want to put on a good front for her.”

“Maybe, but it’s not only Francesca. Her coming here did get me thinking, but I do miss you. Don’t you ever miss what we had?”

“Will, what we had was chaos, you know that. I will grant you that the sex was phenomenal, but that’s only one part of what makes a marriage work. Face it, I’m not what you want in a partner. And truthfully, you’re a good man but you’re not good for me.”

“It’s possible we were too young to appreciate our differences, you ever think about that? We’re older now. Maybe we could learn to see the true value of being different and work through it.”

“Stop right there. I can’t see us working through any differences. All I can see is that we’d be just fine in the sex department, but that we’d be at each other’s throats the rest of the time. It wouldn’t be good for either of us.”

He sips his coffee and looks out at the streets. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

“I am right.” I touch his hand and his fingers closed hopefully over mine. “Besides I’m with someone else now.”

He flashes a sarcastic look and pulls his hand away. “Oh, right. I forgot; Doctor Death.”

“Not fair Will.” I say gently but firmly. “So not fair.”

“Sorry. It just pisses me off that’s all. Whatever it is with him and you, I just can’t see it. But who am I to say anything, huh?” He looks at me then out to the street again. “Anyway, it’s your life such as it is.”

I concentrate on finishing my coffee. It has to be a male thing seriously; he knows I’m with Giles and he has this sudden urge to get me permanently back into his life? Until I started dating Giles a few months ago that wasn’t the case at all. Oh, he always joked around about us getting together, and made numerous sexual innuendoes about our fun times. In fact I have been seduced into bed, by his charm twice since our divorce, although technically we weren't in an actual bed. But he never said what he’s said today: We were too young to appreciate each other’s differences … maybe now that we’re older we could learn to see the true value of our differences. What crap! I feel as if my life has suddenly turned into a soap opera.

“How’s Debbie?” I ask remembering how she poured wine into my pricey crystal glasses.

“Married and pregnant with her second. It’s been more than five years, Cate.”

I have nothing to say. I guess she didn’t wait around for our divorce to be finalized so she could have Will as her own.

“Oh, well good for her,” I sniff. I know I sound bitchy, but I don’t care.

We don’t talk for a few minutes then Will's phone breaks the silence.

“Benigni. Yeah, I got it. I’ll be there.” He turns to me. “I’ve got to get back to the station. Finish your coffee then I’ll drive you back to your office.”

“Is it urgent?”

“No, just something about a call I made to the Diocese of Paterson. Someone there returned my call. The dispatcher says the guy sounded pretty pissed. He’s saying they don’t know this priest and then asked what organization was looking for him. Says we’re the second call they got today about this so-called non-existent priest. He didn’t elaborate, but it sounds weird. I have to go over a few things at my desk and then call them back.”

I don’t say anything about the word snap, but I make another mental note to Google it back at my office. There’s something not quite kosher, for want of a better word, about no one having any knowledge of the murdered priest.

After I get out of his car in front of my office building Will gets out of the driver’s side, walks around to the sidewalk, and leans against the passenger side door. He was not too talkative on the drive back and now just says, “I need to start going to the gym again. My legs feel cramped from sitting in the car. Tomorrow’s going to be a real joy going to Paterson, New Jersey.”

“I know,” I answer him, “It will probably take almost your entire day.”

“Hell, yeah, well, those are the perks of being in my business. Hope there’s a good diner out there.”

“In New Jersey? The state has more diners per capita than any other,” I laugh. “You’ll find one.”

“If I get any more info today on the murdered priest, I’ll call you, okay?”

“Sure. Me too. If I hear anything that is.”

“Promise?”

I nod my head and turn to say goodbye. His arms go around me as he catches me in a full mouth kiss. I’m surprised but don't resist. His mouth is sweet and warmly familiar and it feels really good to be in his arms. The kiss is passionate and long. I hear someone walking on the street whistle and call out, “Atta boy! Go for it!”

When he pulls me against his chest, I rest there inhaling his delicious scent, listening to his heartbeat, and feeling the heat from his body. His male equipment” is rising to the occasion and I feel a little dizzy. My body automatically presses into his and I remember that hot, need I always have for him. Damn! He feels so good.

“I better go,” I whisper into his shirt, but I don’t move. After a long few minutes of pressing together, he pulls back and lets me go.

“Yeah, um, okay.” I see him do a quick adjustment of his pants and I smile. “I’ll call you if there’s anything new tomorrow.” His voice sounds husky and low.

“Great. Thanks. ‘Bye Will.”

He doesn’t say anything more, just gives me a half wave as he walks around to the driver’s door and gets in his car. Then he’s gone.

****

Upstairs in my office Myrtle is talking on the phone and she hands it to me as I walk in.

“Hello, this is Cate Harlow.”

“Cate?” I hear a breathless Marie on the other end.

“Hi Marie. What’s up?”

“I just called you to tell you that I did what you said I should do. That man I told you about? His name is David. Anyway, I asked him to come for dinner Saturday and guess what?”

“He said yes?”

“Oh, I’m sorry; you must think I’m an idiot to call about this. I mean this is your place of business, but well, you were so nice to give me advice at lunch and I wanted to let you know that I took it and it worked! He did say yes.”

“I’m happy for you Marie, really. And don’t ever feel that you can’t call here just to talk. It may be a place of business but I’m always available for more than that.”

“Oh gosh, thank you. I…I…thanks again.” I hear her sigh and then she says, “Oh and I do have a bit of business to tell you. I asked Mr. O’Leary to hold the key for you so just go over there tomorrow morning. It’s the house to the left of mine, you know, as you’re facing my front door, the one on your left side. He’ll be there.”

“Thanks Marie. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Thank you Cate,” she says softly before hanging up.

“It's so nice to just drive for awhile. Where are we going Joey.”