“It’s Ronnie, and I’m not really sure. You’re familiar with the story of Saint Maria Goretti?”
Chet acknowledged that he knew the story of the young Italian girl who died resisting a rape over a century earlier, and of her consequent canonization. “I intend to use that information as a parallel in Lorena’s story.”
“Then you’re aware Lorena died in very much the same fashion as Maria Goretti,” Ronnie said. “Both girls rebuffed sexual advances, knowing right from wrong, and paid the consequences. The only difference here was that Lorena was American and died immediately of a gunshot wound after resisting her attacker, rather than being stabbed and lingering for days.
“From my own research, I know there was quite a bit of opposition to Maria’s canonization,” Ronnie added. “Initially people questioned whether or not dying to preserve one’s virginity meant the same as dying for Jesus and the Faith. We’ve had our share of naysayers.”
“So you don’t believe Lorena died as a martyr, then?”
Ronnie rubbed her chin. “I believe Lorena knew pre-marital sex was not right in God’s eyes, and I believe her death was very noble. I don’t think I would have been that brave or that unwilling to give in had I been the one propositioned. As for whether or not she should be made a saint for her sacrifice, I guess I never gave it much—”
A noise diverted Ronnie’s attention to the door. Gloria entered the office armed with a steaming coffeepot. Silently the secretary filled Ronnie’s mug and departed just as quickly, but not before Ronnie asked her to hold any incoming calls until after the interview. Tossing a quick wink in Chet’s direction, Gloria nodded and disappeared.
As the office door softly closed, Ronnie leaned forward on her desk and reached for the creamer. “This is for the record?” When Chet nodded, she continued, “One reason I really can’t decide on Lorena’s worthiness is because for one thing, all of the people involved in her alleged martyrdom are long deceased. The man who killed her, we’re told, went to the gallows swearing that Lorena had complied. Of course, nobody seemed to give his testimony any weight.
“The story of my great-great aunt has been passed on from her brother to his children and so forth,” Ronnie added as she spooned two rounded heaps of white powder into her mug. “Right now the only source of information regarding these events is a woman born over fifty years after the fact. Her own stories came second-hand, too. I’ll admit the story is heroic, yes, but who knows how much of Lorena’s life and death has been embellished?”
Chet, his head down, flipped more tiny pages in his notebook. “You’re talking about Julia Meyers Alger, who would be your...”
“Grandmother,” Ronnie finished his sentence, pausing momentarily at the thought of her dear Nana. Julia Alger alone accounted for ninety percent of the historical and biographical data Lorena’s committee gathered for their proposal to the Vatican. “Have you spoken to my grandmother?”
“I tried to call last night, but didn’t get an answer.”
“Well, you would do better to contact her, since she’s on the committee. My grandmother was the second wife of my grandfather, Stephen Alger, Sr.,” Ronnie added as Chet scribbled, “and much of what she knows was learned from her late husband, his sisters, and her two step-daughters. Even though his family was significantly older than my grandmother because there was quite an age difference between my grandparents, none of them were around when Lorena was alive. I imagine as Lorena’s story was passed over from her brother to his children, the more heroic and positive details of her life were discussed.
“Then again,” Ronnie added, “like Maria Goretti, Lorena wasn’t yet thirteen when she was... martyred... if you will, so perhaps she may not have lived long enough to have a bad side.”
Chet paused to rub his writing hand. “Do you believe this cause may be motivated by reasons other than cementing a family legacy? I mean, it would make sense to me, considering that nobody in your family other than your grandmother is actively involved in this.”
“I think there are several factors involved, the most obvious being publicity.” Ronnie twiddled an unsharpened pencil between her fingers. “One can count the number of American saints on one hand, and having ‘St. Lorena’ resting in peace in a church named for her in Ash Lake, Florida is guaranteed to bring tourism here. Take away some of the tourists from Disney, I suppose. I don’t know. If anything, Ash Lake would be known for something besides being a pit stop on the way to somewhere else.”
Chet laughed as he continued to scribble and flip pages. “Is anyone in your family involved in the construction of the new church as well?”
Ronnie shook her head. “No, but that’s the only thing I agree with one hundred percent. Blessed Lorena’s is the only Catholic Church in Ash Lake now that the St. Francis parish has dissolved, and with the increase in membership and people coming over from Yulee and even Fernandina Beach we need more room. Plus, the committee has planned for Lorena’s body to be moved underneath the altar once construction is finished. Perhaps after that happens the family plot won’t be overrun with people.”
“Do you think there may be many more pilgrimages here in hopes of intercessory miracles if Lorena is canonized?”
“I can’t really say, though I wouldn’t be surprised, “Ronnie said. “I wouldn’t make a pilgrimage myself, unless maybe there was some historical interest. If people really do believe my great-great aunt is capable of bending the good Lord’s ear for them, though, more power to them.”
“Must be nice to have someone in Heaven putting in a good word for you,” Chet muttered.
“‘And when he had taken it, the four living creatures and the twenty-four elders fell down before the Lamb. Each one had a harp and they were holding golden bowls full of incense, which are the prayers of the saints’,” Ronnie quoted the Book of Revelation with a smile, pleased with her ability to quote Scripture at opportune moments.
“Now about that girl in Kingsland, Georgia, the one who was healed,” Ronnie added. “That report is very focal in sealing Lorena’s sainthood, so Nana says. If the cause is successful, I could see more people like that coming into Ash Lake and spending money. Come for the saint, stay for the quaint bed and breakfasts and easy access to the beach. I can even see many non-Catholic business owners using this as an opportunity to make money.”
Chet stopped to study what he had written. “It almost seems crass, taking advantage of a young girl’s violent death like that.”
“Such is life.” Ronnie shrugged. “Look at all the memorabilia that came out after Princess Diana was killed.”
“Touché,” Chet smiled.
“Exactly,” said Ronnie. “So I think you can see why I try to distance myself. If somebody wants to distribute prayer cards bearing Lorena’s portrait, then fine, but I don’t necessarily want to see a hoagie named for her. And I’ll tell you one thing more—”
Ronnie was not allowed the chance to finish her train of thought, for Gloria’s bold entrance interrupted her. The words dissolved in Ronnie’s mouth.
Gloria nervously wrung her hands. “Ron, sweetie, you have a call.”
Ronnie sighed loudly. “Gloria, we’re almost finished here. Could you just take a message—”
“I think you should take this one, now.” Gloria’s paled face announced a sense of urgency.
Ronnie sighed again. What in her life could be so important to warrant a phone call so early in the morning, she wondered. Suddenly, a pang of fear gripped her heart. Had something happened to Nana?
Her face slowly drained white as well. “Is this a family emergency?” she asked.
Gloria nodded. “You could say that.”
Chapter Two
Because the cable company saw fit to disconnect basic service and Playboy Channel access due to a six-month delinquency in payments, Landon Dennis was content to sulk in his faux leather armchair and stare at onscreen snow bearing a passing resemblance to Sesame Street. He propped his feet up on a 150-year-old mud
-covered coffin. The dampened wooden structure creaked slightly as Landon ground in the heels of his boots in an attempt to get comfortable.
Lorena Alger’s coffin rested lengthwise in the living room of the singlewide trailer, making an otherwise tiny area seem even smaller. Rather than clean away the dirt still clinging to the box after its exhumation, Landon and his older brother Lorne elected to keep it wrapped in the slate gray car cover they had used to hide the coffin during the ride home.
Landon stared lazily at the ancient console acquired five years ago, their prize item in a trade with a family elsewhere in the Golden Acres Trailer Park for his late mother’s pristine Hotpoint gas stove. The space created in the trade allowed for a second bedroom to be created in the kitchen, which after their mother’s death had really only been used to store beer. Landon did not mind sleeping in the kitchen; he enjoyed bunking with the refrigerator. He could easily fetch a beer without having to leave bed, and sleeping with the exhaust fan running full blast guarded his ears from endless nights of Lorne’s rather vocal lovemaking with whichever waitress from the Wild Rooster was willing to join him.
A rippled Big Bird recited the alphabet to xylophone music and heavy feedback, but soon the music was drowned out by a rumbling diesel pickup truck. Lorne was back.
Landon lifted his boots off the casket and sat up straight, keeping his gaze fixed on the television. He had balked earlier that morning when Lorne suggested keeping it in the house, and he did not want to even look at the box. The thought of having a dead body that close to his own bed creeped him out to no end, so much that he spent the wee hours of the morning sitting up in his cot and watching the covered coffin in the dark living room while his brother’s roaring snores echoed in the opposite hallway.
When the body did not burst forth from the box and glare accusingly at him with dark, molded eye sockets, Landon decided he had indeed seen too many scary movies and eventually faded into sleep. If God had intended to incur His incredible wrath upon them for stealing what everyone thought was the body of a devoted Christian servant, He would have done so at the cemetery. This was Landon’s reasoning, anyway, and he had pondered this as he closed his eyes. He knew, however, that he would not know relief until their dormant guest eventually departed with the mystery person who offered to pay them to dig her up in the first place.
Lorne pushed through the door with his elbows, laden with two grease-spotted paper bags and the morning paper. Smudges of dirt from last night’s adventure still speckled the young man’s blond buzz cut. “I got breakfast.”
Landon put the heels of his hands together as if to catch a football, and instead collected the steaming Egg McMuffin Lorne tossed in his direction. “When’s that guy gonna call?” he asked. “I’m getting tired of bumping my shins on this thing.” He tapped the top of the coffin with the scuffed heel of his boot.
“It’s only been here a few hours, you haven’t had time to bump into it,” Lorne shot back, stepping into the kitchen for a drink.
“I just don’t like having it in the house. Why couldn’t we leave it in the truck?”
Lorne emerged from the kitchen with an unwrapped biscuit and a beer and sat on one corner of the casket, stretching his long, lanky legs. “We went over that last night, Landon. What if somebody came sneaking around the house? This place is a goldmine for B&E, and we can’t take any chances, especially since we’re gonna be paid a lot of money for this.”
Landon huffed and took a long drag from his own beer bottle. The taste mingled well with the overcooked cheese and Canadian bacon of his sandwich. “Take a chance, geez. It’s not like we could lose something like a dead body...” He looked up at his brother. “Hey, when are we gonna get paid? You said this guy’s gonna give us ten thousand dollars? Really?”
“That’s what I said.” Lorne scoured the front page of the paper he bought with their breakfast. “Good news, we didn’t make the morning edition.”
“Why should we, unless some reporter worked the graveyard shift to get the story in.” Landon snickered at his own joke, but his brother only rolled his eyes and sighed.
“Yeah, well, our guy should be calling any minute now.” Lorne’s gaunt face stretched into a suggestive leer and his blue eyes twinkled. “I am going to have me some fun come payday. You know, with your share of the money you might be able to win Jeanette back.”
Landon snorted. “With that kind of money I could buy five Jeanette Holleys, and still trade ‘em in for something better.”
“Still,” Lorne winked, “she does look fine in them Daisy Duke shorts.”
“Those Daisy Dukes ain’t gonna get her a contract in Nashville, bud,” Landon said. “Looks’ll only get her so far, but the second she opens that big mouth of hers, forget it. Like nails against a chalkboard.”
Lorne finished his sandwich and licked the grease from his fingers. “Ah, you don’t need talent anymore to be country star. They’ll just wring her voice through some machine and make her sound like Faith Hill.” He tossed the balled-up wrapper into a corner wastebasket and celebrated his three-point victory. “Hey, we could start up our own music label with the money we get,” he added. “People record CDs over the Internet now, all you need is a computer and a microphone.”
“A computer would be nice,” Landon said as he scanned the breadth of the disheveled trailer. Where it would go was anybody’s guess. “Course, we won’t get any money, unless that guy calls,” he added with increasing agitation.
“Chill, okay? He’ll call.”
Landon rolled his neck, trying to work out the kinks brought on the night’s heavy lifting. “What do you think this mystery dude wants with a dead body, anyway?” He frowned at his brother. “Is he one of them weird Goth dudes trying to impress some tattooed chick with a ring in her nose?”
“Hell if I know,” Lorne said with a shrug. “All’s he did was come up to me at the Rooster and offer us the money to dig her up. We didn’t swap life stories or nothing. He didn’t look like a necro, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Landon scratched an itch on the back of his close-shorn head and turned back to the television set. “Just as well we don’t know, anyway. Lessen the chances of getting caught.”
“We ain’t getting caught, so shut up about it.” Lorne motioned to chuck his bottle at his brother but stopped. “The guy’s going to call, we’re going to get our money and then we’re getting out of this shithole trailer. This box,” he gestured to Lorena’s coffin, “is our ticket out of here.”
The two brothers sat quietly and finished their beers, with Lorne pausing momentarily to switch channels. Each shifted nervously, waiting for the phone the ring.
Landon interrupted his thoughts with a loud snort. “You had a girl here the other night?”
“No, why?”
“You don’t smell that? Smells like perfume around here.”
Lorne tilted his head back and sniffed the air. “Kinda faint. Probably from when Deb was here on Saturday.”
“No,” Landon shook his head. “Deb’s served me at the bar before, and what she wears ain’t nothing like this. This,” he inhaled deeply, “is sweeter. Like roses.”
“Well, unless you started a flower garden in the living room, I don’t know what to tell you.”
Landon opened his mouth to further press the issue of the mysterious sweet scent overpowering the permanent stench of beer and grease in their tiny home, but the phone in the kitchen shrieked. All other thoughts vanished as Lorne sprang from the coffin and grabbed the receiver with a shaking hand before the second chime.
“Lorne Dennis.” He paused for the other party to speak as Landon, still slumped in his chair, leaned toward the kitchen to listen. Hearing nothing but “uh-huhs” and “yeahs” on their end, he turned back to the set and let his mind wander.
“Hold on a sec.” Lorne pressed the receiver to his chest. “Lan, we doing anything this Saturday?”
“I’d have to check my social calendar. That the guy?”<
br />
“No, it’s Gary. You know, he’s working out of Jacksonville now. He needs two guys to help set up a show.”
“What show?”
“The Nuge, man. Five hundred each to set up. Not bad for a legit gig.”
“I’m there.” Landon shrugged as his brother returned to the phone to seal the job.
“Cool, Gary. Saturday at seven. Thanks.” Lorne sighed happily. “Well, it ain’t the ten grand we’re getting for this box, but hell, I’ll see Ted Nugent for free.”
No sooner did Lorne replace the receiver that it shook again, and he picked it up midway through the ring. Landon held his breath.
“This is Lorne. Yeah... yeah, we got her right here.” This time Landon found the strength to rise and within seconds was by his brother’s side.
“No, no problems at all,” Lorne said uncomfortably. “The gate lock opened smoothly with our pick and we were in and out of there within the hour. Now how are we gonna work out an exchange?” He gestured wildly for Landon to fetch a pen and pad.
Mystery Bundle (Saints Preserve Us, Pray For Us Sinners, Murder Most Trivial) Page 2