No Good Deed

by Ali Franklin

  “Can somebody else take her? If Danielle says it’s okay?”

  “You want to take her? She’s a special-needs kid. That’s quite a commitment for someone you don’t know very well.”

  “I’m thinking of asking Nicki. She and Joanna seemed to bond the other night at O’Leary’s.”

  Jack looked incredulous. “That’s a hell of an ask, Ryan.”

  She plopped into a desk chair. “You’re right. I don’t know what to do.” Ryan looked down at her hands. “I’ll take her. It’s only for a couple days, right?”

  “If Danielle can make bail.”

  “Can I talk to her?”

  Jack nodded. “Wait here.” He walked out through a back door. A few minutes later, he came in with a handcuffed Danielle. He ushered her into an interview room, then stuck his head out and waved to Ryan. He remained in the room as she entered.

  Ryan gave Danielle a hug. “I’m so sorry this is happening, but I’m sure it will all be straightened out soon.” Ryan hoped she was right. “Do you want me to take care of Joanna while you’re in here?”

  Danielle burst into tears and covered her face with her hands. “I can’t believe this is happening.” She sobbed for a moment, then wiped her face with the edge of the sleeve. She took a deep breath and looked at Ryan.

  “Thank you for offering. My next-door neighbor is the closest thing we have to family in Haverwood. She keeps Joanna after school and when I work on the weekends. She has a grandson close to Joanna’s age—they’re best friends.” A ghost of a smile passed over Danielle’s face. “I just signed the paperwork so Joanna can stay with her until I get out.”

  Ryan tried not to show her relief. She enjoyed being around Joanna, but she had no idea how to manage a child. She reached across the table and grasped Danielle’s hands.

  The prisoner spoke. “I can’t believe they think I could have killed Veronica. I’ve spent my whole career as a nurse, helping people. I would never be able to kill someone.”

  “Danielle,” said Ryan. “I’m going to do everything I can to help. Is there anything you can tell us, anything at all that points to someone else?”

  Danielle shook her head. “You know as much as I do about the committee. Everyone hated her.”

  Jack cleared his throat.

  Ryan squeezed Danielle’s hands again. “Then I’ve got some work to do. You concentrate on keeping your spirits up. I’m going to go see what I can find out.”

  Jack took the prisoner back to the holding cell while Ryan walked over to sit at his desk. Gus was now at his own desk across from Jack’s.

  “Hello, Ms. McCabe. Did you come to see me?”

  “I came to talk to Danielle Nunez. I can’t believe you’re holding her. She’s such a kind and caring woman.”

  The detective frowned. “Well, Veronica’s a dead woman, and it’s my job to bring someone to justice for her murder.”

  “I’m going to try to prove you wrong,” said Ryan.

  He smirked. “Go right ahead.”

  She left the station, her mind searching for ideas.

  When she was gone, Gus looked at Jack.

  “Hey, partner, did you know Ms. McCabe here is an amateur detective?”

  Jack grinned. “I did know that. She’s solved more than one murder.”

  “You let civilians get involved in murder investigations?”

  “We don’t exactly let her get involved. She just seems to get involved. And my last partner was lucky she did—Ryan might have saved her life.”

  Gus was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was tight.

  “Jack, we need to run this one by the book. This is my first case here, and I don’t need some woman screwing it up.”

  “I get it. But Ryan’s OK. She won’t get in our way—and she has good instincts.”

  “You’d better be right.”

  Chapter 11

  A few miles away, a man entered the confessional booth at St. Andrew’s Church.

  “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been one week since my last confession.”

  “Go on, my son.”

  “I quarreled with one of my parishioners and contemplated taking revenge for a wrong. I cursed in the church. And I have lied…” His voice faltered.

  “Take your time,” said the older priest. “Speak when you are ready.”

  After a deep breath, the words came out in a rush. “I’ve lied to my family, my parishioners, and the church. I’m sorry for these and all of my sins.”

  The man on the other side of the screen shifted in his chair. “Would you like to say more about this lying?”

  Father Paul paused again. “I’ve felt guilty about this for a long time, Father. Maybe confession will help me heal.”

  He started at the beginning, on a bright spring day during his junior year in college. And as he talked, he felt the weight begin to lift. Ten minutes later, he said, “And that’s it.”

  He waited in agony until the other man spoke. As he listened, Father Paul felt a sliver of hope.

  Parishioners at St. Andrew’s always did a double-take when they saw two priests come out of the confessional at the same time. Who was confessing to whom? And what could a priest have to confess? But no one ever asked, just as they hoped no one would ever ask about what they said when they were in the little box.

  The priests sat in different pews while they prayed. Finally, Father Paul moved to the center aisle. He knelt and made the sign of the cross before walking out the main door to the street.

  A gust of air hit Father Paul in the face as he came around the side of the building. It felt good to be out of the church, where he’d been so afraid. But not any more.

  He’d finally told someone.

  Even before today’s confession, Paul was sure God had forgiven him. But he’d spent the last twenty years wondering if the Catholic Church would be as understanding. And today, he’d decided to take the first step.

  Father George had simply listened to Paul’s story and offered absolution. Nothing in the older priest’s words or demeanor made Paul think he’d be punished by the church. In fact, Father George had hinted that Paul’s secret might not be such a terrible thing.

  “We’re all human,” he’d said. “That’s why we need confession and absolution.”

  For the second time that day, Paul recalled his time in college. He’d been so carefree at Notre Dame, with his whole life ahead of him. He enjoyed his classes in Business and planned to go into management. When he received his calling to go into the priesthood, some of his friends worried that Paul would feel trapped by the Church. But Paul saw his calling as expanding his world.

  Ever since that day, Paul knew he was meant to be a priest. In his time with the Church, he’s helped thousands of parishioners grow in their faith and make their neighborhoods and cities better places to live. It was a life of service that fulfilled him like nothing else could. Then, a few days ago, his past had come back to haunt him.

  He reached the corner and crossed the street, enjoying the noontime breeze on his face. He was feeling lighter with each step. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone waving to him from in front of Java Joe’s. It was Ryan McCabe.

  Ryan felt like she’d been making a fool of herself by the time Father Paul noticed her. In fact, she’d begun to wonder if he was ignoring her. But she kept waving until he acknowledged her and smiled. He caught up to her a few moments later.

  “Hi there, Ryan.”

  “You look like you’re having a good day.”

  He grinned. “I certainly am.”

  “I was just about to have some lunch. Would you like to join me?”

  “Sure. I think Father George can hold down the fort for a while.”

  They went inside and placed their orders at the counter. The barista said, “Sit anywhere you like I’ll be out in a sec.”

  Paul selected a booth near the back. When they were seated, he looked at Ryan. His face was serious. “There’s something I
’d like to tell you.”

  “Does it have something to do with that big smile I just saw plastered across your face?”

  “It does, actually.”

  Lonnie appeared with their drinks. Paul stopped talking until the barista left. Then Ryan leaned across the table.

  “Okay, spill it. What’s got you so excited? Are you getting a promotion?”

  Paul laughed. “No, nothing like that.” He fell silent for a moment, then looked up at her again. “Ryan, have you ever had something hanging over you? Something so big that it weighs on your soul?”

  Ryan’s face changed as she remembered the guilt she felt over her father’s murder years earlier. “Yes. It’s become a little less of a burden every day, but I think it will always be there.”

  “Then you know what I mean.” He looked down at the table. “I just realized that something I’ve been hiding for twenty years might not be the terrible secret I thought it was.”

  Ryan raised an eyebrow. She was surprised at this personal disclosure but said nothing, hoping he’d continue.

  “You’re not Catholic, are you, Ryan?”

  “No.”

  “But you’re familiar with the role of a priest in a parish. Some of the things that are expected of us?”

  “I suppose so,” she said.

  “I’ve had a secret for a long time. Somehow, Veronica found out about it. She was holding it over my head, saying she could have me excommunicated.”

  Ryan waited. He took a sip of his drink and continued.

  “Priests have been celibate since Saint Peter founded the Catholic Church. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to be celibate when God called me to the priesthood. But I made a commitment and I’ve never faltered.”

  Ryan’s eyes widened but she remained silent.

  “I was called at the end of my junior year in college. I had a girlfriend then. Breaking up with her—changing our relationship—was the hardest thing I’d ever done in my life. We’d planned our whole lives together, and she felt betrayed.”

  He paused as their food arrived. Lonnie stood there waiting for them to say something, then realized he was interrupting and left.

  Paul continued. “My ex-girlfriend and I talked on the phone that summer, trying to maintain our friendship. But she called me when the school year was about to start. She’d transferred to another college.”

  Ryan nodded and he continued.

  “We lost touch. Almost three years later, she called me out of the blue. She wanted to meet. I felt so guilty about the way we left things that I drove all the way to Nashville to see her.”

  He pushed the food around his plate with a fork. Ryan had a feeling she knew what was coming. He took a deep breath.

  “She walked into the restaurant with a little boy. There was no mistaking it—he was mine. Looks exactly like my dad.”

  Ryan reached across the table to hold his hand.

  “I have a son.” He stared at Ryan’s hand on his. “I have a son,” he said, a little louder. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He looked squarely into Ryan’s eyes.

  “I have a son.”

  “Congratulations, Paul. That’s wonderful news.”

  Saturday morning dawned cold and rainy, matching Ryan’s mood. She’d racked her brain the night before as she tried to think of a way to help Danielle, but she didn’t have any good options.

  She could tell Jack about Father Paul’s fear that Veronica would reveal his child. She could tell Gus about the letter Veronica sent to Emma about the little girl who had died. But spilling either of those secrets didn’t feel right. She’d have to think of something else.

  Ryan knew that when detectives settled on a suspect, they weren’t likely to continue looking for more. If Danielle was innocent, someone else was going to have to bring that evidence to Jack and Gus. Still at a loss about what she could do to help, Ryan got in her car and drove toward Danielle’s apartment complex.

  This year marked the second time Danielle had been a part of the FLH committee. She’d co-managed the cookoff the previous year with a Haverwood professor who had since moved away. When Ryan was assigned to the cookoff this year, they’d met at Danielle’s apartment to talk about the event. Danielle gave Ryan a three-ring binder stuffed with notes about ticket sales, equipment rentals, and food donations. Danielle’s recordkeeping had saved Ryan a lot of footwork this year.

  Ryan thought she remembered Danielle’s neighbor, the one who babysat Joanna. It might be worth Ryan’s time to see what the woman had to say about Danielle’s comings and goings on the night of Veronica’s death.

  Ryan pulled into the parking lot and found a space marked “Visitor.” She walked to the building’s locked front door and looked at the list of tenants. Each line displayed a first initial, last name, and buzzer button.

  Ryan knew Joanna was in Apartment Four, so the next-door neighbor she’d spoken about must be in either Apartment Three or Apartment Five. Unless the even-numbered units were on one side of the hallway and the odd-numbered apartments were on the other. Ryan shook her head and pressed the button for Apartment Three.

  No one answered. She punched the button for Apartment Five with the same result. She hit the button for Apartment Two with the heel of her fist. A voice came through the miniscule speaker at the top of the tenant list.

  “Yes?”

  Ryan thought she remembered the voice. She quickly looked at the list of names. “Mrs. Brown?”

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “My name is Ryan McCabe, and I work at the college. I think we met last month when I was visiting Danielle Nunez. You’re her next-door neighbor, right?”

  “Yes. Are you here about what happened?”

  Ryan nodded, then realized the woman couldn’t see her. “Yes. I’m trying to help Danielle. Mrs. Brown, may I visit with you for a few minutes?”

  “Come in,” said the voice.

  Ryan heard a faint buzz in the area of the door and grabbed the handle. She walked in and down the hall past a public area and a water fountain. Apartment Two was on the left-hand side. Danielle’s apartment was the next one on the left.

  Ryan knocked on the door to Mrs. Brown’s apartment. It opened to show the woman Ryan remembered: a stout, dark-skinned, seventy-something woman with thinning white hair and a gap in her ready smile. She wore a faded housedress and bright fuzzy green slippers that looked brand-new. She motioned for Ryan to come in.

  “Hello, Ryan. It’s nice to see you again, even in this time of trial.”

  “Mrs. Brown, thank you so much for taking the time to talk with me. I’m sure Danielle will appreciate it.”

  Ryan looked around the apartment. The walls were painted a dingy white, but the woman had done her best to make it look cheerful. Framed pictures covered more than half of the available wall space. The small sofa and loveseat, while old and frayed, were augmented with brightly-colored throw pillows. The room had a happy, lived-in air.

  Mrs. Brown gestured Ryan further into the little living room. “I’m going to take care of Jo-Jo until Danielle gets all this straightened out.”

  “Did Danielle tell you why the police arrested her?”

  The woman turned her back to Ryan and shuffled into the kitchen. She called over her shoulder. “She said they think she killed that uppity Veronica Arrington. I’m going to make some tea. Would you like some?”

  Ryan followed her into the kitchen. “That would be nice, thank you.”

  While Mrs. Brown busied herself with the tea kettle, Ryan sat at the little table in the corner. “Mrs. Brown, were you babysitting Joanna on Monday night?”

  “I was. She and my grandson, Tyler, are best friends. His mom works nights. Joanna is no trouble at all, even with her difficulties. And she and Tyler are like peanut butter and jelly.”

  Ryan smiled at the comparison. “What time did Danielle get home that night?”

  “It was about nine-thirty. The children were asleep and I was watching my show. I remember I
had to pause it and record the last half.” The teakettle whistled and she lifted it from the burner.

  Ryan watched as the woman readied two tea cups and saucers.

  “Did Danielle tell you about the meeting that night?”

  “You mean about how that woman was ugly to all the committee members, even her husband?” She carefully lifted a cup and saucer and set it on the table in front of Ryan. “Yes, Danielle told me.”

  “So she came home at nine-thirty. Did she leave Joanna here, or take her next door?”

  “Oh, she picked her up and carried her to her own bed.” The woman chuckled. “That’s getting harder to do, now that Joanna is getting so big.”

  “If Danielle had gone somewhere that night, after she put Joanna to bed, would you have heard her?”

  Mrs. Brown brought her own tea to the table and sat. “I would have known because she would have brought Joanna back here. Danielle has never once left that child alone in her apartment, even when Joann was asleep. She’s seen too many families at the hospital grieving for their children.” She shook her head. “Besides, her front door squeaks like the devil himself when she opens it. I would have known if she’d gone anywhere.”

  Ryan considered the squeaky door a good sign, but didn’t know if the detectives would agree. “Mrs. Brown, I don’t mean to be rude, but there was some mention of rat poison. Have you ever seen rats in this building?”

  The woman looked stunned. “Rats? There have never been rats here. Our landlord has the place sprayed top to bottom at least twice a year. We’ve never had any pests like that.”

  So Danielle had rat poison in an apartment complex that didn’t have rats. Not exactly a point in her favor.

  Mrs. Brown took a sip of her tea and placed the cup back in its saucer. She looked up with a determined expression. “Are they saying Danielle had rat poison?”

  “That’s what the detective told me.”

  “That isn’t right.”

  “What you mean?” asked Ryan. The older woman stood and went to a kitchen drawer. She pulled out a little key ring with one key on it and motioned to Ryan.