Mary laid her purse and keys down on the kitchen table and knelt to stroke the wiggling, whining black bundle of fur that wound in and out of her legs. ‘My goodness, I was only gone a couple of hours. Are you always this glad to see someone when they come home?’
She glanced at the clock on the opposite wall. One thirty. She had time for a cup of tea and a quick sandwich before she picked up the children. She’d swallow a couple of Tylenol with the tea. She’d put up a brave front for Luke and the women at the beauty shop, but her leg was aching something fierce and the back of her head and neck was beginning to throb. She was definitely too old to be falling off boxes. She suspected she was getting too old for a lot of things.
She opened the back door for the dog, who shot out gleefully. Mary watched for a minute then crossed to put on the teakettle. One eye on the back door, she rummaged in the refrigerator for something to eat that she didn’t have to cook. Leftover chicken and rice soup. It would go beautifully with tea and all she had to do was heat it.
She absently finished the last bite, swallowed another mouthful of tea and leaned back, getting a small protest from Millie, who lay under the table, her head on Mary’s foot. Mary shifted it slightly, wiggled her toes and once more picked up her list which she’d updated, adding every possible name to it, while she ate her soup. Even Alma had a column. Mary thought that was a stretch but she didn’t want to overlook even as remote a possibility as Alma. She had been in the dog breeding business and she’d hated Cliff. Mary entered a ‘w’ against her name. She had placed one next to the name of all those who were or had been in the breeding business. The only one it left out was Father D’Angelo. He was also the only one who didn’t have a dog. He had an old grudge against Cliff, though. The children had seen a man, a tall man, dressed in a robe, wearing sandals. No. That wasn’t right. They hadn’t said a word about footwear. Only that the man they saw wore a robe of some sort and carried a stick. A long, pointed stick? Mary shuddered. That left out Alma. She wasn’t a man, she wasn’t tall and Mary didn’t think she had enough strength to push even the sharpest of sticks through someone’s front. She set her tea down and pushed away the mug. This was getting her nowhere. She shoved back her chair, picked up her dishes and headed for the sink, the dog right behind her.
‘You’re going to get stepped on, or trip me and, if I fall on you, you won’t like it.’
The dog paid her no heed. She sat by Mary’s ankle, watching while she washed out her soup bowl and put it in the dishwasher. Mary turned, dried her hands on a dishtowel and stared down at the dog, who stared right back.
‘I have to leave here in fifteen minutes. What am I going to do with you?’
The dog whined.
‘I can’t take you. I have to pick up the children and deliver them to the winery.’
The dog cocked her head on one side, pricked up her ears and let her tongue roll out the other side.
She looks as if she’s smiling. Only, dogs can’t smile. Can they?
‘Well, I do have a leash and the children love you.’ She drained the last of her tea and put the mug in the dishwasher as well. ‘I guess it wouldn’t hurt if you came. The winery has had dogs visit before, but you have to be good. You can’t … drat.’
The red light on her answering machine was blinking. Why hadn’t she noticed that before? She walked closer and pushed the button. Father D’Angelo.
‘Mary, I just hung up with Sister Margaret Anne. She says you’ll be here this afternoon, picking up the Mendosa children. I have something I want to ask you. Would it be possible for you to come a little early and stop by the rectory? If you’re feeling all right, I mean. I heard about your … accident and don’t want you … If you can. I’d appreciate it. Thank you.’
What was that all about? Mary had never heard him sound so hesitant, so, well, distraught.
She stood for a moment, undecided, wondering what she should do. It settled one thing.
Millie couldn’t go. She didn’t want to leave her in the car, alone, but she wouldn’t be very long at the rectory. What could he possibly want? Was it about the children? He knew they’d seen Cliff in the manger. He’d been there. He’d taken them to St Mark’s. They hadn’t wanted to go with him. Could that be because … they’d said they thought it might be him they saw. Oh, dear lord. Was he trying to find out if they’d seen … if they recognized …
Could that be why he seemed so nervous on the phone? Only, how did the puppy fit in? It couldn’t be him, but still … just the idea he might be involved made her a little queasy. She had no choice. She’d go. One glance at the clock said she’d better get moving if she was going to see the good Father and pick up the kids on time.
Millie whined, ran to the back door and gave a sharp bark, then ran back to Mary.
‘Are you telling me you want to go for a ride or that you have another need?’
The small stub of a tail wagged her whole rear end.
‘OK, we’ll do both.’ Mary picked up her purse, checked to make sure she had her keys then opened the back door. ‘Go on. I’ll be right behind you. I think your leash is on the washer.’
The dog bolted out the back door. Mary followed, carrying her purse, the dog leash and a full load of anxiety. What if he was trying to find out if the children recognized him in the manger? Could he have been the person in the bushes under Ronaldo’s window? Surely he didn’t think she’d tell him …
Should she call Dan? And tell him what? No, she’d see what the Father wanted and go from there.
Hopefully, she’d get answers to a few questions of her own. Maybe she’d even get a glimpse of the devil cat.
Mary went down her back-door stairs a lot more slowly than Millie had and she didn’t get into her car with anything like the enthusiasm the little dog expressed as she jumped into the backseat. She just might be on the way to unravel one more strand in this very tangled mess, and she wasn’t one bit sure she wanted to. She backed slowly out of the garage, hit the garage door opener and, with very mixed emotions, turned toward St Theresa’s.