Cece had a strong feeling the detective’s hang-ups about church went way back and involved a certain head nun, but that was another topic. Right now, she intended to focus on the senator’s murder. She turned to the detective. “Just so you know, Alistair, my cooperating doesn’t involve telling you what the senator said in the confessional.”
He stopped fidgeting and his gaze locked on hers. “The name’s Ace. Detective Jackson to you.” He narrowed his eyes to slits. “Just so you know I filed that court order.”
A twinge of alarm skittered along the length of Cece’s spine, but she tamped it down and plastered on her confident, calm, I-can-handle-anything smile. She looked up at him. If only she had a step stool. She’d love to be on equal footing with him just once. “And?” she asked.
“And I know the DA very well. It’s only a matter of time before a judge rules in my favor.”
Aha. Gotcha, smarty pants. “I happen to know the DA is out of town this week, but nice try.”
Ace mumbled and scrubbed his blond hair, then pointed his finger. “Just because some low-level newbie attorney bought that your conversation with Sloan was privileged doesn’t mean the DA won’t hear me out once he gets back.”
She brushed his finger aside as though shooing away a bothersome gnat. “That’s just a technicality. I can stall, and believe me, I will.” She’d seen how many people had shown up at the senator’s wake, how respected he’d been. Whatever he was involved in was obviously illegal, but that didn’t mean his reputation should die with him. Her guilt for playing a role in his death weighed on her conscience.
She’d find his killer, one way or another.
Ace clamped his jaw and spoke through his teeth. “Doing something about it had better not mean you playing detective.”
That part meant walking a fine line, and she knew it. The detective would only put up with so much before he took action. “I wouldn’t dream of ‘playing’ anything. Murder is a serious business.” She hadn’t lied. She wasn’t playing, after all.
She was quite serious about solving this case.
“Good. So long as we’re both on the same page.” He dropped his hands to his hips and the edges of his sports coat gaped open, revealing his badge and gun clipped to his belt.
“Ahhh.” So he wanted to play hardball. Well, she could play too. In fact, she’d been pretty good at center field in high school gym class. Verbal sports shouldn’t be much harder. “Apparently, the Feds are also on the same page.” She scanned the packed room. “What were their names again?”
Ace peered over the top of her head and searched the room until he found the two men dressed in their usual black. He grimaced. “Wallace and Rogers.”
“That’s right, Wallace and Rogers. Hmmm. They seemed surprised to see me alone earlier. Something about nun-sitting?” She lifted her hands, palms up, and shrugged.
Ace scowled. “I’m sure they were.”
“Well, I’m not a nun, and you’re not sitting.” She patted his arm. “But don’t you worry. I’m sure your day will pick up. Speaking of the Feds, they’re right over there, talking to Mrs. Sloan.” She waggled her fingers at them and smiled wide.
Ace stared at her like he could read her perfectly, like he didn’t buy her innocent act one bit. This “fitting in” thing might be harder than she thought. She squirmed.
At last he turned away and took a long moment to scan the room. “I don’t think I’ve seen this many politicians in one place since the last election, and half of them were slinging mud at Sloan just a couple weeks ago. Goddamn hypocrites.”
She cleared her throat, determined to break him of at least some of his less than virtuous habits by the end of this case.
“Oh, sorry,” he uttered, half distracted, still looking about the room.
“The senator was well liked by many, despite the craziness an election year brings out,” Cece said.
“Well, darlin’, the mayor sure as shit didn’t like him,” said a man with sin in his eyes and a swagger racier than Elvis’s as he hip-gyrated over to join Cece and Ace. “Yo, Jackson. Introduce me to this fine young thing.”
How was she supposed to break the detective of his bad habits with a devil like this around? Cece pursed her lips.
Ace leveled the guy with a hard look and smacked him on the shoulder. “Sister Mary Cecelia, this is my speak-first-before-I-think partner, Detective Antonelli.”
Ah, well that explained a few things, Cece thought, as she smiled pleasantly at the man.
Antonelli’s eyes sprang wide, his dark brows hitting the pomade in his hair. “You’re the nun? Get the fu—”
“I wouldn’t go there.” Detective Jackson held up a hand.
What was it with nobody recognizing her without her habit? She wondered with a frown.
“Call me Rocco, Sister.” Don Juan’s smile oozed across his face. “Or is it Ms. Monroe?” He lifted her fingers and kissed the back of her hand, lingering longer than necessary.
Cece tugged her hand free and stiffened her smile until it felt like her lips had morphed into petrified wood. “Sister will be fine, thank you.”
Rocco blinked, Ace broke into a huge grin, and Cece just rolled her eyes. Men!
As the detectives began speculating about the case, she scanned the room and noticed Mayor Evans talking to the senator’s wife. If the senator and the mayor didn’t get along, why was the senator’s wife even speaking to him?
“I thought Mayor Evans was supporting the senator’s opponent?” Cece heard Ace ask Rocco.
Looks like they were on the same page after all, Cece mused, feeling smug and deciding she didn’t make a half-bad investigator, no matter what Ace thought. At least she had the “observant” part down.
“He is,” Rocco said, in total cop mode now. Don Juan had all but vanished as Rocco crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side, studying the mayor. “Apparently Mrs. Sloan doesn’t share her husband’s dislike of the mayor. Maybe her husband wasn’t the only one with a few secrets to hide.”
“Yeah, I’m beginning to wonder if this murder is connected to a political issue.” Ace wrote something in his notebook.
Cece smiled at someone across the room, pretending to be disinterested in the conversation. Add being a good listener to her skills. She mentally grinned. Her years of counseling had given her a jump-start in that department.
Letting the two men talk on and on with their backs to her, she inched over to the mayor and Mrs. Sloan. If she wanted to find out who killed the senator, she had to start asking her own questions.
The cops thought the murder had resulted from a crime of passion. Thought someone had found out about Sloan’s affair and hired a hit man to kill him or was knowledgeable enough to pull the job off himself. Apparently, Detective Jackson now suspected someone with a political agenda was involved. Only Cece knew the senator had been involved in something illegal.
That someone had betrayed him.
She doubted the senator’s wife or Eleanor Meriwether had the means or the capability to be involved in something illegal. Betraying him and committing a crime of passion—most definitely. But breaking the law? Not so much.
However, Mumfry Walker—ex-military guy who had served time for illegal possession of drugs—was a different story. He and the senator didn’t get along either. Mumfry would have the connections and the know-how to fire a gun like the gunman had used, and he’d already been involved in illegal matters in the past. Even the mayor was not above suspicion. What could the senator have been involved in that was so bad it would ruin him, like he’d said in the confessional?
Only one way to find out.
She glanced behind her. Ace and Rocco were still deep in conversation, and the room hadn’t emptied much. People from all over occupied every square inch of space, paying their respects. For the time being, they would do as cover.
A group of politicians huddled together, blocking Cece’s way from hearing the mayor and Mrs. Sloan. For the first time, being short had an advantage. She slouched down and leaned in closer to peer between their arms but still couldn’t hear very well. Although what these men were saying was quite interesting.
“What could have gone wrong?” one politician asked.
“I don’t know, but a lot of guys were counting on the senator to show,” a second politician said.
“I never wanted him to organize the secret meeting in the first place, but he was the one with the connections and the location,” a third politician said.
Father Flannigan joined their group. “Gentlemen, so glad you came. I know you all were close with the senator. This must be very hard on you.” He pasted on his I’m-here-for-you smile, which Cece had pretty much perfected herself. “I just feel terrible about what happened to the senator,” he continued. “I can’t imagine why anyone would want him dead. You all worked closely with him for years. Did he have any enemies?”
The first politician shook his head. “The man’s biggest downfall was he couldn’t keep it in his pants. I wouldn’t be surprised if half the county wanted him dead. No offense.”
Cece leaned in further. This was getting good.
“None taken,” Father said. “You were saying?”
She bit back a smile. Father Flannigan had taught her well. Don’t talk more than necessary. People liked to talk, and if you let them, they usually told you more than they planned. She only hoped they would hurry up. It was a matter of time before Sherlock Jackson and his sidekick Watson discovered what she was up to.
“It’s just frustrating. The man had a loving wife and great kids,” the second politician added. “But it never seemed to be enough for him. His death was such a waste.”
“Losing an old friend is never easy.” The priest smiled, kindness and compassion filling his eyes.
“Stupid fool.” The third politician stared down at the ground, mumbling to himself as though he’d forgotten the priest was there. “If he smelled there was trouble, he should have come to us first?”
“Trouble? How so?”
The man flinched, his eyes whipping up to the priest’s and then the other two politicians. “I—I—”
“You can talk to me in confidence, son. I won’t tell. You should know that by now.” Father reached out and touched the man’s arm, smiling in a way that had never failed to coax Our Lady of Glory parishioners into talking. “I only want to help.”
The man looked like he was dying to get something off his chest. Cece leaned in even further, but then someone bumped her hard from behind. Lurching forward, she grabbed onto the politician’s waist to keep from falling. He glanced over his shoulder, looking startled, and then frowned down at her until she straightened.
Fixing a goofy smile on her face, she said, “Um... hi?” then waggled her fingers.
The man ignored her as he looked above her head. His face took on a blank mask, and he squared his shoulders in a statement that said clearly: conversation over.
“Gentlemen, I’m Detective Jackson, and this is my partner Detective Antonelli. He’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind, while I have a word with Sister Mary Cecelia.”
Uh-oh, Cece thought.
Without waiting for a response, Ace wrapped his big fingers around her arm and led her over to the far corner by a massive picture of the senator’s face perched on an easel.
Those politicians had been so close to telling Father Flannigan something important—she could feel it. Like what that secret meeting was all about and what connections the senator had that the others didn’t. And if the senator really did smell trouble—whatever that smells like—why would he go to them instead of the police or his priest? She knew somehow the answer to that question would guide her in the right direction.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Ace hissed.
“Nothing now,” she grumbled.
“It better stay that way. You’re not, under any circumstances, to question anyone. Do I make myself clear?”
She stood as tall as she could but didn’t even come to the pigheaded detective’s collarbone. Again she wished for a step stool. Short people had rights too. Like not having to put up with macho big guys acting like bullies. Maybe platform shoes were the answer, but knowing her, she’d break an ankle chasing some bad guy. She groaned and rubbed her neck. It already ached from looking up so much.
“I was simply having a conversation with some grieving men.” If you could call “Um... hi?” a conversation, but she had to say something to hide her eavesdropping.
“Well, don’t. You’re not a detective, and you’re putting yourself at risk if anyone even suspects you’re playing detective. Do you have a death wish?”
“The only wish I have is that you’d come to church with me and let me help you down from that high horse you’re on. You obviously have a few issues of your own, Alistair.”
Ace smirked. “Cute, but we’re not talking about me.”
“Maybe we should.” She tried Father’s “look” on Ace.
He frowned. “Something in your eye?”
She sighed. “No.” Guess she hadn’t perfected the look as much as she thought. Yet another thing she hadn’t gotten right as a nun.
“I still think you should leave.” He glanced at the mayor, who was now talking to those same politicians, and then back to her. “It’s not safe. Why don’t you let me take you home?”
She had a clue, she had a plan, and that was a start. “Whatever you say.”
Blond brows formed a deep vee. “I say, you agreeing so easily worries the hell out of me. What exactly are you up to, Cece?”
A little zing zipped through her at the sound of her name on his lips. She pushed the feeling aside, determined not to lose focus. “Not a thing, Detective.” Not a thing she would voice out loud, anyway.
She’d learned that little lesson the hard way.
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been one day since my last confession. Pathetic, I know, but I can’t help it. Seeking truth and justice for all is not an easy task, mind you. And it’s not like I actually did the breaking; I simply did the entering. Trust me, I wasn’t the only one. Someone else needs to have a talk with you as well. Maybe you could send him a sign and tell him, because he doesn’t seem to be listening to me.
Cece ate lunch with Candy that afternoon at Millie’s Diner on Salvation Lane. Well, Cece ate. Candy had been chatting for ten minutes on her cell phone. Candy pulled the phone away from her ear. “Gran wants to know if Jackass has a tail?”
The diner was remarkably empty, given the town was swarming with people. Probably, because Mrs. Sloan had opened her house to all for a reception following the service. To all except Cece, that is. She’d made it quite clear that particular nun was not invited.
Apparently, neither was Eleanor Meriwether, because she was the only other patron in the diner. Come to think of it, she hadn’t been at the wake either, yet supposedly she had a thing for the senator. Several people suspected she was the one the senator had been having an affair with, but nothing had ever been confirmed. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to cause a scene by showing up at the wake and making Mrs. Sloan uncomfortable.
Just then a man Cece had never seen before came into the diner and sat down at Eleanor’s table. He looked to be around her age—mid-forties—with salt and pepper hair and glasses. He wore kakis and a sweater vest over a button-down shirt. Basically, your everyday average Joe. Eleanor looked up and the sad expression on her face was instantly replaced with a beaming smile. The question was: What did it all mean?
“Earth to Cece. I said Gran wants to know if Jackass has a tail,” Candy repeated.
“Huh? Oh, sorry. Just a sec.” Cece pulled out her prayer book and used the monogrammed pen Granny and Candy had given her to jot down on one of the pages a note to herself to follow up on Eleanor. Cece had to have some place to put the information she gathered, and she figured no one would think to look in her prayer book, especially Detective Jackson. She stuck her pen in the loose bun at the back of her head and tucked the book back in her tote bag, then focused on her sister’s question. “Yes, a donkey has a tail. Why?”
“Not a donkey, ya goof.” Candy jerked her head to the man eating a sub in the truck parked out front on the street. “Detective Jackass.”
“Would you stop calling him names, Charity?”
“Would you stop calling me Charity?”
Cece pursed her lips, deciding to choose her battles. “About the tail. What is Granny talking about?”
“Hang on.” Candy asked Gran, and after a moment, burst out laughing. “She cast a spell and wants to know if it worked.”
Cece glanced out the window and caught Ace staring at her. The man was determined, she’d give him that. It appeared now he was following her every move. She chose to be the bigger person and ignore his smirk as she turned her attention back to her sister. “The last I checked, Detective Jackson’s hindquarters looked just fine to me.”
Candy’s eyelids lowered halfway. “Sorry, Gran. Maybe you need more gunpowder or a bigger squirrel. But please, for my sake, keep trying.” She hung up and zeroed in on Cece, making her squirm in her seat and lose her appetite. And she’d really wanted the rest of that burger, darn it. “Oh. My. God.” Candy gaped at her. “You like him, don’t you?”
“Well, of course I like him. Everyone has good in them; you just have to dig deeper to find it in some people.” Cece leveled her sister with a pointed look.
“Don’t give me that load of crap. Unlike you, I haven’t been sheltered, babe. I know lust when I see it.” Cece looked at her sister in disgust, but Candy just kept steamrolling ahead. “I just can’t believe it’s over... him.” She flung her hand to the side and made a stabbing motion toward the window.
Ace saluted Candy as he ripped off a hunk of sub with his teeth, making her bare her own canines back at him. His shoulders shook as though he were chuckling, most likely having the time of his life, making her miserable. If only they could work out their differences, Cece thought, but she had a feeling he and Candy were too much alike.
“You’re nuts, you know that?” Cece said, facing away from the annoying detective. That brief insane moment where she’d thought he might be her dream man must have been a trick of the light and the result of post-traumatic stress disorder.
“Riiight. You always turn the color of beets, break out in a sweat, and ‘Hello, little sisters’”—she waved to Cece’s breasts. “Nip out after just one look from the guy. He’s hot, I’ll give you that, but he’s such a pain in the ass. Why does it have to be him?”
“Charity, please, enough with the language,” Cece said, thinking her sister had lost her mind.
“Sorry, babe, but I’d even prefer you getting all hot and bothered over his partner, Rockstar.”
“It’s Rocco.”
“Whatever.” She shoved her hands through her hair. “Detective Hardass is not the right man for a woman like you. As your big sister, I’m just looking out for you.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about that. I didn’t leave the church to find a man. Especially not one like the detective.”
“Why did you leave the church?” Candy tipped her head to the side and squinted as she studied Cece.
Cece hadn’t told anyone other than Father Flannigan about her sexy dreams, and something told her telling her sister was not a good idea. Besides, she refused to believe her dreams had anything to do with the detective, and she had bigger things to worry about. “Let’s just say I’ve always been different from the other nuns. I felt like something was missing, like maybe I wasn’t doing something right. I just thought I could help more people from outside the church, that’s all.”
Candy snickered. “Right. And that’s why you blush every time you so much as mention Big Boy’s name.” Cece started to protest, but Candy held up a hand. “Enough about Jackass. I’d like to get through lunch without indigestion, and I wanted to give you a housewarming present.” Her blue eyes sparkled as she reached in her enormous purse and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels. “To us, baby! How ’bout a threesome with Jack back at your place? We can celebrate renewing our bond.”
Cece choked, feeling as though she were about to hyperventilate. She snatched the bottle and stuffed it in her canvas tote bag, glancing around to make sure no one saw as she caught her breath. “Wow, um, thank you for the gift, but honestly, Charity, you’re going to give me a heart attack yet.”
She didn’t want to hurt her sister’s feelings, but they were vastly different people. She couldn’t throw the gift away, but she knew exactly where she’d put this little token. It would warm the house, all right. Right inside the cupboard high above her kitchen sink, where no one would find it.
Candy chuckled. “You really need to loosen up.”
“And you need to come to church.”
Her sister studied her. “I’ll make you a deal.”
“I draw the line at threesomes of any kind.”
“I get that, even though you don’t know what you’re missing.” Candy laughed. “You let me give you a makeover, and I’ll go to church with you.”
“Yayyyy!” Cece squealed and clapped her hands. She would do anything—okay, almost anything—to save her sister from the path she was on. “It’s a deal.”
“By the way, did you find out anything more about who might have killed the senator?” Candy asked, digging into her Caesar salad at last.
“Just that the police are leaning toward a disgruntled husband or boyfriend. They think the senator was having an affair since he does have a reputation for being rather fond of the ladies. It always surprised me that Mrs. Sloan put up with her husband’s indiscretions.”
Candy snorted. “I don’t think his wife had to worry.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s just say the senator frequented the club a lot.”
“That’s not surprising.”
Candy leaned forward with a sly grin. “What is surprising is that for such a ladies’ man, I heard he couldn’t get it up.”
“You’re kidding!” Cece sat back, stunned. “Maybe his wife never left him because she knew she didn’t have to worry. I don’t think the senator was having an affair; I think he was impotent and trying like the Devil to cure himself.”
“Hmph. I never thought about it that way. You just might be right.” Candy shrugged, then went back to eating her salad.
“Hey, I just thought of something I have to do. Can you cover for me? I only need about twenty minutes.”
Candy’s smile disappeared. “What are you up to? You’re not thinking of looking into this case yourself, are you?”
“Don’t be silly. I just need some space to clear my head, and well, darn, you’re right. That ole Jacko is a pain in the keister.” Cece snapped her fingers.
“You are so full of bull, it’s not even funny—but whatever. Any chance to pull the wool over Jackass’s flattop, I’m game.”
“Great. I owe you.”
“I know.” Candy’s eyes sparkled, and Cece decided she’d worry about that look later.
“So how are we going to pull this off?”
“Wait—I have a plan. I know the owner, and she has long brown hair too. Not hair like yours, but long enough to pass, especially since you have yours up in that god-awful librarian bun. Sit tight.” Candy slipped into the kitchen and spoke with a woman behind the counter for a moment, then reappeared with a big, floppy straw hat. “Here, put this on.”
“Why?”
“Just trust me for once, would you? You asked for my help, so let me help.”
Their eyes met, and Cece felt a pang of hope. “Okay.” She put the hat on. “Now what?”
“Now wave to Jackass so he sees you with it on.”
“Oh-kay.” Cece did, and Ace studied her, with a goofy half-smile looking out of place on that chiseled face of his.
“Now go to the bathroom,” Candy broke into her thoughts.
“But... I don’t have to.”
“Duh. And we are sisters how?” Candy wrinkled her nose. “Never mind. Just pretend to go to the bathroom, then slip into the kitchen and give Millie her hat back.”
“And that is going to help me… how?” Cece said in the same tone her sister had used.
“Simple. Jackson will see Millie come back out and think it’s you, which will keep his ass planted in his truck for a while. I can’t guarantee how long, so you’d better work fast.”
Cece’s smile stretched clear across her face. “You’re brilliant, you know that?”
Candy shrugged. “I have my moments.” But her eyes still showed her refusal to believe she was smart. Cece wouldn’t stop trying until she found a way to change that. Candy interrupted her thoughts with, “Well, go on if you’re goin’.”
“Roger dodger.” Cece giggled, and Candy rolled her eyes. There was a reason opposites attracted, and at the moment Cece wouldn’t have traded her sister for anyone else in the world.