Marty’s bruise glared at me like an accusation, the deep purple a stark contrast to his naturally tanned skin. “You sure you’re feeling okay?” I tried to face yet another failure to protect those around me without looking away.
“I told you, I’m fine and, again, it wasn’t your fault.” He pressed the ice-filled towel against his head, hiding the ugly purple mark. A drop of water rolled down his sunglasses.
“I’d feel better if you’d get checked out.”
“And get medical advice that says I can’t have another of these?” He lifted the slushy, fluorescent drink with his other hand. “Hell naw.”
The sun warmed my shoulders in the most enticing way. Everything I wanted was here. A little shade under the potted palms and the shadows of nearby buildings, a little breeze, a roof-top pool and alcohol on demand delivered by hotel staff. I shifted on the plastic lounge chair and shaded my eyes. The sooner I figured out how to catch this damned dog, the sooner I could spend my afternoons here.
“You could relax, you know. There isn’t much you can do until nightfall.”
I shook my head. “I’ve got legwork to do while you research. Maybe Robicheau knows who’s got keys to the gate at Saint Louis Number One. Or why someone would’ve been there last night.”
“Do you trust him?”
“Nope. Something’s off with him. I can’t tell what, though.” It’d kept me up far too long last night, but come to nothing.
“You’re always saying things like that—”
“And how many times have I been wrong?”
“If you’d’ve let me finish, I would’ve said I agree with you.” After a moment, he said, “But I’m gonna start writing it down just so I have an answer when you ask.”
“Until then, will you check him out, please? And if you find anything interesting, send a copy to Sister Betty?”
He saluted me with his free hand. The wrong one, not that it mattered. “You got it, boss. But isn’t it cliché for the religious guy to be bad?”
“Totally. And yet?” Was I seeing things where they didn’t exist simply because cliché taught me to expect it? I’d thought it over for so long the night before that I didn’t know what I thought anymore. Nothing had changed except I hadn’t slept. There had to be more. Such a persistent gut feeling had to have something behind it.
He nodded. “Something’s hinky.”
“Agreed. As much as I don’t like it, he’s our only local resource. Sister Betty said the high-ranking clergy’s out of town to handle Albuquerque. If I can’t get anything out of him, I’ll ask her to intervene.”
Sun glinted off his sunglasses as he nodded. “So you go lone wolf. That’ll end well.”
I flipped him off. “If you didn’t have a head injury, I’d smack you.”
With a laugh, he put the towel of ice on the table beside him. “It’d still be worth it.”
“Call or text me if you need anything, or if you find anything to help us pin down the Black Dog. Or a pattern of ‘sudden deaths’ like the airport guy. Or anything you can dig up about Father Robicheau or Helen.” Quite the vacation. I envied my nerd friend, even with the goose-egg on his forehead. At least he could work by the pool and drink.
“You got it. Be careful, lone wolf.”
“Aren’t I always?”
Though I’d hoped to surprise Father Robicheau by showing up unannounced at Saint Louis Cathedral, my ambition only led to punishment. To my thighs, specifically. By wooden pews. After spending half my childhood in church following Shannon’s death, wooden pews never failed to evoke loathing whether during Mass, waiting for my turn at confession, or waiting for my parents to finish a counseling session. The unforgiving seats doled out more punishment than any priest in the confessional or parochial school nun.
And here I was, again, my hamstrings doing penance while I waited. The nervous young deacon who offered to call when Father Robicheau returned from visiting congregation members only ventured out to check on me once, though I saw him peek out at me from a door behind the altar twice. I tried to relax, to appreciate the stained glass and architecture of the nave. History had a heartbeat here, though not the same as other places I’d visited. More unsettling.
When my legs cramped the first time, I’d walked around. An old woman passed me as we approached the candle rails. She lowered herself carefully to the kneeler, bowed her head, and clasped her hands. I stepped away to let her remember and pray in peace.
The deacon approached, wringing his hands as I resumed my uncomfortable seat. “I’m sorry, Miss Kelley, Father Robicheau called to say he won’t return until much later. I’ll be glad to call you when he returns.”
“No, that’s not necessary. I’ll wait.” I tried to feign a relaxed posture.
The deacon, who’s name I’d already forgotten, glanced over his shoulder at the sacristy door. “It would be b-best if you, uh…”
“He’s in the sacristy and told you to get rid of me.”
Nothing could have been more confirmation than the way the deacon’s head whipped around, or the way his blue eyes bugged out of his head. “Wha… I don’t—no, that’s not, he’s visiting—”
“Infirm and unwell congregants,” I said. “Right. Got it. How about you take me to his office. He has something for me. I’ll take care of two errands at once.”
His forehead wrinkles deepened as he looked over his shoulder again. The lack of hair above the laurel wreath of spare strands crowning his ears made sense. Poor guy probably worried off every strand. “It’s against the rules to admit you to the sacristy or private offices.”
I stood to his almost comical relief. “Rules are meant to be broken,” I said. “That’s what parochial school taught me.” With a wink, I walked around him and his astonishment to the sacristy door behind the altar.
The commotion of hurried footsteps on creaky wooden floors greeted me before I opened the door. I grinned. If he was running, discovering what the good Father had to hide might actually be fun.
Sister Betty would be the first to warn me not to do it.
The door opened on silent hinges. I hesitated, my foot hovering over the threshold.
She’d warn me that nothing good came from lone wolf hunts. That “a Scooby-Doo crew of at least two means back up and safety for you.” She’d even made me recite the stupid rhyme from memory. But Marty knew where I was, and this wasn’t a monster hunt.
“Miss Kelley, I assure you, I will call you when Father Robicheau returns.” The deacon tugged at my shoulder, but the taller man had no chance of moving me without my consent or participation. Superior muscle mass for the win.
“That’s fine.” I shook off his grip and continuing down the hall. “I’ll just get what I need from his office while I wait.”
He argued.
I ignored.
The office door was closed, but unlocked. When I opened it, a red-faced Father Robicheau sat behind his desk, his hands primly folded on the calendar. “Miss Kelley,” he said, a little breathless.
“Tsk tsk,” I said to the stammering deacon behind me. “‘Thou shalt not lie’ is a commandment, isn’t it? Seems like the Father has been here all along.”
The deacon cringed.
“No, Miss Kelley, Deacon Paul wasn’t aware I’d returned from my visits.” Father Robicheau stood, gesturing to the seat in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat.”
“Father, I’m s—”
“Thank you, Paul. Please leave us now.” The strange harshness in his voice silenced the other man. Every nerve in my body tingled, though I couldn’t figure out why this felt so wrong. “Bad cleric” was such a cliché that it couldn’t possibly be what was going on, yet the “hinky” was undeniable. Once the door closed, Robicheau turned his rigid smile back to me and sat. “How can I help you today?”
“How were your visits?” I sat back and watched him.
The brittle smile wavered with the unexpected question. “Fine, fine. Our devoted members who cannot make it to Mass still require spiritual support. Like Mrs. McGillicutty. Devout woman in her nineties. She’s fortunate enough to still get around, but getting here is challenging most of the time.” He picked something from his sleeve, his shoulders relaxing. “That and her toy poodle requires more attention as it ages.”
I nodded. “Sounds like tending to your flock’s a full-time job.”
He bristled. “Of course.”
“Then we’ve got something in common.”
“Perhaps.” Sitting back in the chair, he clasped his hands, elbows resting on the arms of the chairs. “Though I nurture the spiritual well-being of the faithful, not to enable their sinful behaviors. As a matter of fact, I still have things to take care of, so while I hate to rush you, I must ask again, how can I help you?”
Oh, this would be fun after all. I “enabled sinful behavior”? This might run deep and require some assistance from Marty, but what fun it would be to unravel. I might even consider this part of my vacation. Watching him struggle with calm, I tried to hide my amusement. “Of course. I’d like another chance to go through Sister Evangeline’s cache. We encountered the Black Dog last night and need to adjust our plan. As well as address another challenge we encountered.”
“Oh?” He shifted, his face a kaleidoscope of emotion.
Bait taken. “You may be able to help. Do you know who has access to the keys for the Saint Louis Cemetery Number One? Anyone who might have been there last night?”
He shook his head, lips pursed. “Not that I can think of. The Archdiocese controls access, both for tourists and family of the departed. No one should be there without authorization. How do you know someone was there?”
“Would you be able to get a list of those with access?”
“Why should I do that, Miss Kelley?” A red flush crept up his neck and colored the tips of his ears. “That’s not relevant to your assignment.”
“As of last night, it is.” I shrugged, trying to keep a casual posture as he bristled. “Part of that challenge I mentioned.”
He opened his right-hand desk drawer and took out the key without getting up. “Of course, I’ll provide support, but I don’t see the need for you to have an access list.”
“If I can’t get it from you, I’ll reach out to the Archdiocese.”
Something flashed in his eyes too fast to catch. “Do as you feel you must. I’ll protect my flock as I see fit.” He dropped the key in the drawer. “And all of God’s creations, as well.”
Interesting.
I stood, my hand out. “How about I look through the stash and get out of your hair?”
“No, I think you’ve taken all you need for now.” With a smile, he slammed the drawer and folded his hands on the desk. “I’ll discuss appointing a more appropriate local liaison with the Archbishop.”
Curiouser and curiouser. “What do you mean, Father?”
“My job is to protect God’s creations. You destroy them. I see us at odds.”
I laughed. “Monsters. I hunt monsters responsible for harming your congregation.”
“That’s how you see them. I don’t.”
“And how do you see them?”
“As the perfect, righteous justice of God, of course. If He created them, they have a purpose. Perhaps that purpose is culling the sinful. Perhaps they’re more holy than all of us.” He stilled, his composure returning. “We’re not meant to know all, only to obey and submit to His will.”
Before I could ask a question, there was a knock at the door.
“Come in.” Father Robicheau didn’t hesitate.
“Father, Sister Bridgit from the Holy Order of the Sisters of Mercy of Saint Brendan to see you.”
My heart jack-rabbited. Both Father Robicheau and I straightened.
In the doorway, she loomed behind Deacon Paul slightly taller than the thin man. The stark white of her coif and the rich black of her veil intensified the sharpness of her dark eyes. Even without makeup, those eyes pierced me to my very soul.
I swallowed the lump in my throat with as much grace as I could.
Father Robicheau’s poise flittered away. “Sister Bridgit,” he said as she stepped around the deacon and crossed the room, her hand extended. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Where there’s a crisis, I follow.” With a perfunctory smile, she shook the limp fingers Robicheau offered. “A pleasure.”
“This is Miss—”
Sister Betty pulled me against her for a quick hug and muttered, “Play along,” before returning her attention to the man in the black frock. “Caitlin and I are well acquainted. She’s my protégé and will eventually assume my role in the Order.”
We’d been working toward it for years, but hearing her say it to another person made it real. Anxiety over Rome welled in my stomach, but I managed a smile. Time to doubt my ability to take over for her later. I had time to get better. Stronger. Never again would someone die if I could stop it. No matter what it took.
Robicheau blinked, his mouth agape. “I…didn’t expect…”
“God works in mysterious ways.” Sister Betty flashed an innocent grin. I almost choked as heat poured through me. That woman. “Now,” she said, “let’s talk business.”