The next morning, Penny showed up on my doorstep.
“Why aren’t you at the Prickly Pear?” I asked, stepping aside so she could come in. “Is something wrong?”
“I left Ann in charge, so I could run some errands.”
“If you’ve come by to bow out of the séance, Auntie’s in the shower.” I headed for the kitchen. “We can have coffee while you wait.”
She put a hand on my arm to stop me. “I wouldn’t dream of canceling. Your aunt promised it would be exciting.”
“Exciting.” I squished my face up in a pained expression, wondering how Auntie planned to manipulate the audience. A CD of weird sound effects? Was she going to dress in a black, ragged dress and a turban? Would there be a crystal ball? I shuddered.
“I actually have a favor to ask.” She raised her eyebrows and gave me a toothy smile, the one people give you when they’re about to ask you to do something they know you’d rather not do.
That’s how I found myself in a very unlikely place—St. Mel’s Catholic Church. I didn’t even know there was a St. Mel. His name sounded too casual, like a nickname, but Penny insisted Mel was simply Mel.
“It’s stupid to put all this worry into where we’re getting married. We both live in Wolf Creek, and we attend St. Mel’s. We should just get married there. I’m going to talk to Monsignor Robert, and I want moral support.”
“Shouldn’t Kemper be with you?” It wasn’t that I was criticizing him; he just seemed a more suitable choice.
“He should, but he has a client meeting he couldn’t get out of. Besides, this is just a preliminary meeting to set up our pre-Cana classes.”
St. Mel’s sat on top of a hill, a brown stone rectangle with a slim bell tower at one end. We parked the car in an empty lot and passed through an arched entry that led to a small patio surrounded by flowering shrubs. The front glass doors swung into a carpeted vestibule where a colorful poster announced the upcoming parish summer festival.
Turning left, Penny headed down a long hallway. At the end stood a door, but from its position, I couldn’t think what waited behind it.
“It’s the rectory,” Penny explained.
In answer to her knock, a small man in clerical garb answered the door. His fine, white hair drifted across the top of his head in waves that didn’t quite cover in spots.
“Right on time, my dear.” Monsignor Robert expressed his approval with an Irish lilt, but when his gaze landed on me, he frowned. “And who have we got here?”
Penny introduced me, and the priest advised her that the meeting wouldn’t be open to spectators. No offense. He motioned toward the entrance to the main worship area and invited me to wander while I waited.
I paused next to the holy water font, dipped my fingers and made the sign of the cross. Bowers was wrong. I didn’t burst into flames—not then, nor when I dropped a kneeler and took my place in a pew. I should have taken a picture and sent it to my mother.
The air inside was cool, and as I stared at the crucifix over the altar, I thought this might be a good time to put in a few prayers for Auntie.
“I know I haven’t kept in contact,” I began. How long had it been since I’d been to Mass? How long had it been since I’d been in a church? In a chapel? There’d been baptisms and weddings, but those were social events to me. I cleared my throat.
“The thing is, I’m not asking for anything for myself. Just keep an eye on my aunt, okay? She’s in a spot of trouble, and it might take divine intervention to keep her out of jail. Um, thanks.”
I felt a peace I hadn’t experienced since childhood, but then I looked away, embarrassed and guilty. My journey away from the religion of my childhood was less a decisive move and more of a meandering drift. It had nothing to do with the Catholic Church, per se. I’d just gotten…busy. Other things seemed more important, but I couldn’t put my finger on what those things were now.
And then there was Jeff. I’d known my decision to move in with him was not in line with the Church’s teachings, and it seemed easier on my conscience to just ignore their rules and make my own. Unfortunately, they’d been right.
Bowers’ words came back to me. His uncertainty about my psychic abilities. His suggestion that they might not be a gift from God. Well, what did that make them? It wasn’t as if I’d consorted with witches and sought out ways to read pet’s minds. The ability showed up, uninvited.
My mind slipped back to childhood Bible studies and a passage that warned against fortune-tellers. I couldn’t tell fortunes. But were there other psychic phenomena on the list that I was supposed to stay away from?
I shuddered. What if my involvement with psychic phenomenon had been responsible for my recent bad luck? What if I’d invited something creepy into my life? I had another thought that made my stomach flip. If I’d never communicated with animals, would Margarita Morales and Elvira Jenkins be alive today?
I’d never questioned where my ability came from. Should I have given it more thought, as in any?
My head spun to look back when I heard a click and I caught sight of a door closing. It was one of two booths. Confessionals. A light shone from above one to indicate the priest was in for business.
On impulse, I grabbed my purse and entered the side for the penitent. The two halves of the booth were divided by a screen, and though my side was in darkness, a small light shone in the priest. I could see a form moving inside.
I didn’t wait for him to speak.
“I have a question about—about right and wrong. Not stuff like fighting with family or stealing, or anything black-and-white like that. I was just wondering—”
“Yeah?”
The priest already sounded bored, so I cut my question short.
“Well, if a person were to have psychic abilities, couldn’t that come from God?”
Nothing could have prepared me for the vitriolic response.
“Heathen! Pagan! Messin’ with the dark forces of Satan. I’ve a mind to dunk you in the ’tismal font.”
I felt the words like a slap in the face. I grabbed my purse off the floor, shoved the door open, and stumbled into the arms of a young man.
“Careful!”
It was a priest with sandy brown hair and a freckled nose. He set me back on my feet and patted my shoulder just as the second door creaked open and a twisted old man hobbled out. He was dressed in the uniform of a janitor, and he cackled when he saw my shocked expression.
“Jones,” the priest said, his young voice filled with stern authority.
Jones pointed a crooked finger my way. “She did all the talking. Couldn’t shut her up if I’d tried!” He turned a wounded expression on me. “I was just dustin’ and mindin’ my own business.”
“Really.” The priest sounded skeptical.
Jones gave a harrumph and wandered away. The priest pulled out a set of keys. “I’ve got to start locking this door,” he said, and he suited actions to words.
The priest held out his hand. “Father Damien.”
I gave a nervous chuckle. “Like The Omen?”
He joined in, laughing. “I prefer to think of Father Damien of Molokai.” He looked at his keys. “I jumped the gun. Were you here for Reconciliation?”
“No. Not at all. I just had a question, but let’s forget it. It was a stupid question.”
“I love stupid questions.” He motioned toward the pew. “Why don’t we sit?”
His friendly manner made it easy to talk to him. Before I knew it, I’d poured out the whole story, from Margarita Morales and Sandy the Golden Retriever to Elvira Jenkins and Petey the Cockatoo. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t pull out a crucifix or douse me with holy water. He just sat, still and pensive, until his face creased into a smile.
“Well, we don’t know exactly how St. Francis communicated with animals, do we?”
“No,” I said, encouraged. “We don’t. But Francis was a saint and, well, I’m not. Should I worry?”
“The question to ask yourself, no matter what you’re doing is, does it lead me closer to Jesus, or away from Him?”
I’d been hoping to get away with free advice and no strings attached. “Um, I don’t really think about it.”
“That would be a good first step, don’t you think?”
“Sure,” I said, with no intention to follow through. “Thanks.” I moved to leave on a good note, but Father Damian took hold of my arm.
“Not so fast.”
I sunk back down in the pew.
“About this tarot card business.”
I brushed that aside with a wave of my hand. “That’s all my aunt. I don’t have anything to do with it.”
“Can I assume she hasn’t chatted with her parish priest?”
“I believe my mother has reserved permanent spots for both of us on the prayer chain. But Auntie just messes with it. She doesn’t actually believe in it.” It occurred to me that scamming people was probably on the thou shalt not list.
He turned to face me, and his brown eyes lost some of their humor. “Divination is not a healthy practice.”
“Divination. Isn’t that where you try to find water with a stick?”
He nodded slowly as if trying to give the little one a gold star for trying. “Dowsing is a form of divination, but I’m talking about fortune telling. Most of the time, it’s a sham, but it’s also an invitation, one you don’t want accepted. Pass that on to your aunt, will you?”
“Yes, Father.”
I started to rise. “Just to be clear, I’m not possessed or doing anything, well, evil.”
“I think you’re referring to Deuteronomy.” He ticked off on his fingers. “Are you burning your children as offerings to other gods?”
“Nope.”
“Telling fortunes?”
“Nope.”
“Engaging in necromancy or communing with the dead?”
“That’s a big no.” I remembered Bonzo. “Do dogs count? And does it make a difference if I didn’t start the conversation?”
Father Damien rubbed his hand over his mouth. “That’s a good question.” His brow wrinkled with uncertainty. “A really good question. I’ll have to ask the monsignor.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “The point is that you either rely on God for guidance or you rely on other forces, and if it’s not from God, it’s from the enemy. It’s all part of that not having other gods before the God. And from a practical standpoint, why would you want to rely on a tip from the Father of Lies?”
“Good point.”
“You’re sure you don’t want to receive Reconciliation?” He grinned. “Free sacramental grace.” The smile left. “It sounds like you could use some.”
Penny waved to me from the door.
“Another time,” I said, and I made my escape.
“What were you talking to Father Damien about? You looked so serious.”
“Necromancy,” I said.
“Frances! Isn’t that where you have sex with dead people?”
“No. You just chat.”
“And are you…?”
“Definitely not. Not with people, at least.” I mumbled the last part under my breath.
Penny looked over her shoulder to where Father Damien still sat. “He didn’t put the kibosh on the séance, did he?”
“N-o-o-o-o.” I hadn’t brought it up.
“It’s probably fine because it’s for a good cause, right? To find Elvira’s killer.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” I said, though I believed if I had asked Father Damien, the answer would have been a big no.
I pushed open the front door and met with a wave of heat. “Everything okey-dokey between you and the monsignor?”
“Our first appointment is next Monday.” She grabbed my hand. “It’s really happening. I mean, I’m talking to the priest and looking for dresses and meeting wedding planners, which reminds me. I have one coming to my house tomorrow. Would you be there, please, please, please?”
“Sure,” I promised. “What are friends for?”
“You can always rely on friends.” Penny stopped walking and blurted out, “By the way, Kemper isn’t coming to the séance.” She rolled her eyes. “He says he’s not into it, whatever that means.” She clenched her hands. “You would think he would come just for me, but no.”
“Penny,” I said, squeezing her shoulder. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
She stared at me, and then she burst out laughing. “I think I’m starting to freak out.”
“Ice cream,” I said, falling back on our favorite prescription medicine.
“Make mine a double.”