We found Father Bernard right where Mary thought he’d be, at the retirement home, Regina Cleri, in Shrewsbury. He was snoozing after dinner, sitting in a small common room in a wheelchair, watching Wheel of Fortune. There were several other priests there. Most were awake and chipper and pleased to see us.
“Hello, girls,” called out one. “Come to visit anyone in particular?”
“Yes, Father,” said the attendant who brought us in. “They’re here for Father Bernard.”
The old men chuckled.
“Good luck with that,” said one of the younger priests, who said his name was Father Jerome. “We had roast beef for supper. He’ll snooze for another hour.”
“Well, they can’t wait an hour,” said the attendant cheerfully and she patted Father Bernard’s shoulder. He struggled to wake up. It took a few minutes and Fats was getting antsy with all the priests looking at her. I don’t know what her problem was. She was Catholic and not scared of Aunt Miriam, which was unusual.
“What in the world,” said Father Bernard. “I was having a nap.”
“We know,” said one of the priests. “You’re always having a nap.”
“I’m tired.”
“We’re all tired.”
That sparked a little competition over who was the most tired. Bernard won, on account of all the napping, which he did pretty much anytime and anywhere, including mass.
The attendant rolled him out of the common room so we could talk in the hall and I sat down on a bench next to the door. Father Bernard had already gone back to sleep and I had to shake him awake. “Sorry to disturb you, Father Bernard.”
He blinked at me, once again bleary-eyed. “Do I know you?”
“No. We’ve never met.”
He squinted at me. “Am I dead?”
“Um…no. Why do you ask?”
“Because you’re Marilyn Monroe and I think she’s dead,” said Father Bernard.
Fats put a hand on her hip. “I predict that this will not be helpful.”
“You’ve got a big man with you, Marilyn. I don’t think he likes me.”
“That’s a woman, Father,” I said.
“No.” He squinted up at Fats. “I don’t think so.”
Fats walked away in a huff and he reiterated, “That’s a man, dear.”
“It’s not,” I said. “You’ll just have to take my word on it.”
“Alright, Marilyn.” He looked around. “So I’m dead. I have to say this isn’t the improvement I was expecting.”
I took his hand and patted it. “Father, you are not dead. My name is Mercy Watts and I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“I’d like to ask you a few questions. How’s Joe? Do you see him? I think he loved you very much.”
Oh, my God.
“I’m not Marilyn Monroe. I’m Mercy Watts and I want to ask you some questions about some people you knew in the sixties.”
“The sixties? When you died?”
Breathe. He’s old, not obnoxious.
I took his face in my hands. “Marilyn died. I’m alive. She had blue eyes. What color are my eyes?”
“I want to say blue.”
“Try again.”
Another priest walked out. “For crying out loud, you old codger. Her eyes are green and she’s not Marilyn Monroe.”
Father Bernard squinted at me again. “I don’t know. That’s a face you don’t forget.”
“I’ll give you that,” I said. “But I’m still not her.”
He gave a little shrug. “If you say so.”
The other priest sighed. “He’s hopeless. I’m going to get an after-dinner drink. Would you two ladies care for something? Whiskey sour, perhaps?”
“I don’t drink,” said Fats.
“And you?” he asked.
“No, thanks.”
“Suit yourself, but I think you’re going to regret it.” The priest walked away and I quickly got down to questioning the Father once he was out of earshot.
“Father Bernard.” I tapped his knee, but he was looking at Fats again.
“Men can wear anything these days, but those boots don’t look comfortable,” he said.
Fats came over and squatted in front of him. “Look here, Father. I’m a woman and I want you to look in my eyes.”
“You’ve got those glasses on.”
A muscle twitched in her cheek and she whipped off the Wayfarers. “Better?”
“You are a woman. Well, does that just beat the band. You must’ve been corn fed.”
A whole parade of muscles twitched in Fats’ cheek. “Yes. I was corn fed. Listen to Mercy. She wants to ask you about that murdered nun you knew.”
“Murdered nun?” His hands started trembling. “What happened? Who did that?”
I took his hand and pressed it between mine. “It was a long time ago. Sister Margaret Mullanphy.”
“Who?”
“Sister Maggie, Father Dominic’s friend.”
He remembered and it took several minutes to get his emotions under control. When he could speak he wasn’t happy with me at all. “Why would you come here and bring that up? He was my good friend. He died.” Then he whispered, “He killed himself. Didn’t you know that?”
“You think Dominic killed himself?” I asked.
“Well, yes. Everyone said so. The police said so.” He wiped his eyes and Fats got him a tissue. “It was my fault. I never told anyone that, but it was.”
“How was it your fault?”
“I let him take my car. He drove it to the bridge and he jumped off. If I didn’t give him the car maybe he wouldn’t have jumped.” He blew his nose and needed a few more tissues.
Father Bernard had been carrying that guilt for over fifty years and it all came out in a torrent. After Dominic died his name was never spoken again. It was like he never existed. His things were packed and disappeared. He had a coin collection from his father. Bernard didn’t know where that went.
“Why do you think Dominic killed himself?” I asked.
He straightened up and looked me in the eye. “It’s not because he killed Maggie. If you think that, you can leave right now.”
“I don’t think that at all,” I said. “I’m trying to clear his name and find out who did kill her.”
Father Bernard didn’t really know Maggie all that well and he didn’t know who would’ve wanted to kill her. He didn’t remember Dominic having any ideas either, only that he was upset. His memory was vague from the time, but I got the feeling there were things he didn’t want to say. He didn’t want to talk about the scene in the Bled Mansion and didn’t seem to think the bishop had anything to do with Maggie not being reported missing.
“He liked Maggie,” he said. “I remember that. They had a lot of meetings.”
“Why was he meeting with Maggie?” I asked.
“Church business, I suppose.”
I glanced up at Fats and she pursed her lips.
“How did he feel about Dominic?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said.
I tilted my chin down and batted my eyes. “Come on, Father. You can tell me.”
The priest smiled. “You are the spitting image of her.”
“Tell me what Bishop Fowler thought of Dominic,” I said.
“He didn’t care for him truth be told. He thought he was too handsome to be a priest. He called Dominic a smooth-talker. It got worse after Maggie disappeared.”
“What happened?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m tired.” He looked away.
“Father, please,” I said. “Tell me what happened after.”
Father Bernard remembered Dominic going after the bishop over Maggie and the bishop having him barred from his office. Bishop said that Maggie had run off and Dominic said she hadn’t. After she was found dead, the bishop said that Dominic and Maggie were inappropriate with each other and that couldn’t get out. The bishop was having a lot of meetings at the time and was stressed and upset.
“He was stressed about Maggie?” I asked.
“No. It had nothing to do with that.” Father Bernard clammed up tight. I couldn’t get him to say another thing about the bishop.
“I just have a couple more questions,” I said.
He pulled his hand away. “You want to make us look bad. You should see the good we do not the bad.”
“I’m talking about Maggie’s murder. What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. Wheel me back in.”
I took his hand again. “I want to clear Dominic. Really I do. Just another few questions.”
Father Bernard looked away. “I wish you were Marilyn. She’d be more polite.”
That was an interesting view of Marilyn. I usually got drug-addled sexpot, not polite.
“Well, Marilyn couldn’t clear Dominic. I can. Do you ever remember Dominic or Maggie talking about St. Sebastian?”
He focused back on me. “St. Seb? That’s a lovely little parish.”
“Did Maggie or Dominic go out there for any reason or talk about it?”
“I don’t remember. I’ve only been there a couple of times. Why do you ask?”
“Maggie’s body was found there.”
“Yes. I remember. She went there and someone killed her.”
“Do you know how she would’ve gotten there?” I asked. “Did she borrow your car?”
“Of course not. I wouldn’t let a woman drive my car.”
I could hear Fats gritting her teeth, but I said, “What about Dominic? You said he borrowed your car the night he died, did he borrow it a lot?”
“No. He rode his bicycle and took the buses. I only had a car because I was driving the bishop.”
“Did the bishop drive?”
“He did, but he didn’t like to. What’s this all about?”
“Do you remember Dominic borrowing your car the day Maggie disappeared?”
Father Bernard looked down. “I’m tired. Take me back in.”
“Please, did he borrow it?”
“I don’t know. That was a lifetime ago.”
Fats came in close. “Father, he was your friend. Could he have had your car that day?”
He put his head in his hands. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
“About nine o’clock in the morning on December third,” I said.
He looked up, his eyes red-rimmed. “Morning?”
“Yes.”
“No matter what they said,” Father Bernard’s voice shook. “I didn’t think he killed her.”
“Father, did he have your car?” asked Fats.
Father Bernard squeezed my hand. “It had to be the morning? You’re sure? They told us they didn’t know what time she’d gone.”
“It was the morning after eight o’clock and before ten.” I squeezed his hand. “I’m absolutely positive that’s when Maggie was taken.”
He smiled, his blue eyes running over. “He didn’t have it then. He didn’t. I couldn’t let anyone borrow it during the day. It was for church business. If the bishop needed to go somewhere or a parishioner needed a ride, I had to have it.”
“Why were you so upset when I asked you?” I asked.
“He borrowed it the night she disappeared. He said he was going to pick up the wreaths for the rectory, but he never picked up any wreaths.” Tears rolled down his cheeks.
“You thought maybe…”
“No, I never thought that.” His eyes said he did, that it was a possibility.
I stood up and thanked him. “You’ve helped a lot.”
“Do you think you can do something?” he asked. “I let him down when I gave him that car. He asked and I gave him the keys.”
“I’ll do my best,” I said.
“Good. Someone should. I don’t think we did then, but I don’t remember why.”
I started to wheel him back in, but Fats said, “Hold it. What about everybody else’s cars?”
Father Bernard chuckled softly. “We were priests. Not everyone had a car.”
“But there were other cars registered,” I said.
He reached up and I took his hand. “Don’t you worry about that, Marilyn. Dom could only drive my car. That’s why he waited so late to go to the river that last night. I was out late working with the ladies’ choir.”
“How come he could only drive your car?” asked Fats.
“Dominic was the son of a wealthy man, not a dirt poor farmer like me. He could only drive an automatic.”
I leaned over and kissed him on his incredibly soft cheek. “Thank you. That’s super helpful.”
He patted my cheek. “I’m glad.”
“Can I ask you one more thing?” I asked. “It might be painful.”
“It’s all painful, Marilyn. Go ahead.”
“Why did Dominic say he needed the car? Where was he going?”
Father Bernard sighed. “I’ve thought about that so many times, but the truth is that I don’t think I asked. I don’t know why I didn’t.”
“Was he upset?”
“Not that I remember. When the police came and said they’d found my car by the bridge and a man had jumped, I was sure it couldn’t have been Dom, but they said it was. He never came back so it must’ve been him.”
I gave Father Bernard my dad’s card, wheeled him in, and thanked him again before Fats and I left, walking down the hall slowly. I don’t know about her, but my mind was racing. Was it Dominic that went into the river? Nobody found a body. Who was on the bridge? If he wasn’t suicidal where was he going?
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” asked Fats.
“I never know what you’re thinking,” I said.
“The bishop had a thing for Sister Maggie.”
“That wasn’t what I was thinking, but you’re right.”
“But he didn’t kill her,” said Fats. “That would be too easy.”
“The question is why didn’t he want to save her and what was he so stressed about if it wasn’t a missing nun.”
We got outside and it was dark. Fats stretched and did a little jog in place. “I have got to get to the gym and work off some of this crap. Thinking about that Maggie has me down.”
“When was the last time you went?” I asked.
“This morning.”
“You’re really slacking off.” I got in and buckled up. “I can’t remember going to the gym and that’s how I like it.”
“You’re gonna regret that someday.”
“I doubt it.”
“Where to next?” asked Fats.
“Don’t you have something else to do?” I asked.
She arched an eyebrow at me. “Like plan a wedding?”
“Never mind. Let’s see if Maggie’s family is in.”
“Then we can talk wedding.”
Swell.