Mystery Bundle (Saints Preserve Us, Pray For Us Sinners, Murder Most Trivial)

by Leigh Ellwood

  Indecency, however, was the least of the murderer’s problems.

  Nana managed to get the excited priest back into his chair, but Father Joel continued to babble. “You know, this could also mean that Lorena died in the odor of sanctity? If we could just get her back and confirm this, her canonization could be secured immediately!”

  Lew frowned. “And the odor of sanctity is what, now?”

  Father Joel gestured wildly with his hands. “It’s a rare phenomenon among deceased saints. Sometimes when a would-be saint is found to be incorrupt, the body emits a sweet odor instead of the stench of death. For example, Jacinta Marto was one of the children who saw the Virgin at Fatima. Not long after her death, people claimed they could smell roses at her grave where there were no roses!”

  “Eat!” Nana commanded of the priest. “You’ll be no good to Lorena if you get yourself sick over this.” Reluctantly the priest tucked into the sandwich set before him.

  Lew, halfway finished with his own lunch, remained noncommittal about getting the finger back to the parish. “I’ll call the lab and see if anything can be done to expedite the analysis, but I can’t make any promises. I doubt these forensics people know much about the odor of sanctity.”

  In a lower voice, he added, “Also, I’d like to keep any further details about this case quiet. I don’t really want my picture in the paper again.”

  “Neither do I, unless it’s good news,” Nana concurred.

  Nobody’s wish was granted. Early Sunday morning saw a thicker Jacksonville Journal bearing the teaser “Will Ash Lake Police Give Church the Finger?” The accompanying Chet Hoskins article on page B-1 detailed the uncorrupt nature of the finger and even offered an explanation of the phenomenon of incorrupt bodies and Catholic beliefs. Ronnie choked on a bite of Rice Krispies as she read words that sounded verbatim to what had been discussed in Lew’s office.

  There’s a leak, she thought. Maybe somebody in the sheriff’s department had eavesdropped on their conversation and called the reporter.

  Hordes of people filled the sanctuary of Blessed Lorena Alger Catholic Church for the nine o’clock Mass. Ronnie, sitting in the first pew reserved especially for the Alger family, looked behind her and recognized many non-Catholic faces from school.

  “You think they came to convert?” she asked her sister flippantly. Gina threw her a dirty look and concentrated entirely on the service. Father Joel, normally long-winded and elaborate at the lectern, kept his homily short and his voice clipped. There was no mention of any of the articles, only an extensive prayer for the repose of Paul Dix’s soul and for the safe return of Lorena’s body. It was not exactly the explosion and fireworks of anguished prayer the newcomers had hoped to see, Ronnie noticed as many a disappointed expression followed the closing recession.

  Lew, having come from services at his church, was cruising down the parkway toward the square when Ronnie waved him down from the sidewalk. She stepped gingerly across the grass in her block heels and met Lew at the opened driver’s side window. “What happened?”

  She could tell quickly that Lew had indeed glanced at the paper. His cheeks were splotched red with anger. “I’ll soon find out. The leak’s either coming from my end or yours. Have you told anyone about our conversation from yesterday?”

  Ronnie vigorously shook her head. “Not even Gina. She didn’t find out the box contained the finger until she read about it in the paper, and I didn’t even mention what we talked about in your office. She’s still ticked off at me for that.”

  “What about Father? Miss Julie?”

  “I know they kept their word on this, Lew.” Ronnie assured him. “You know, the door to your office was open...”

  “After you left it open when you went to get coffee,” Lew shot back.

  Ronnie swallowed. She had done that. She stepped back as Lew gunned the motor. “I’ll check again with them and see, but I really don’t think—”

  Lew cut into her words with a wave of his hand. “I’m sorry, Ron. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just frustrating to have every step of my investigation publicized like this. Listen, don’t worry about your grandmother. I’m sure it wasn’t her, either. I’ll find the leak.”

  Wrap it with duct tape, too, Ronnie thought. “Okay, then. Well, I’ll see you later.”

  But Lew, apparently preoccupied with the task ahead of him, drove off without acknowledging the goodbye and rounded the corner out of sight, leaving Ronnie standing in the middle of the street.

  Chapter Ten

  Not even Gloria, who was usually fresh and busily working at her desk the second dawn cracked, was to be found when Ronnie arrived at work. Wanting to send the semester’s grades to administration as soon as possible, Ronnie figured she could cut her office hours short. There were no appointments scheduled for today and she had only one class later in the afternoon. Ronnie did not expect any last minute visits from students seeking advice and/or her signature on any override forms for next semester.

  She set up the community coffee machine and retreated to her office to check her e-mail as it brewed, frowning as a stream of unwanted junk messages scrolled down her screen. Many were from Ethan Fontaine, and she set her mouse to work, sending them unread to a virtual trash can.

  “I swore I blocked your e-mail address,” she muttered to the computer. Had Ethan caught on to her? Was he now committed to harassing her with his anti-Catholic sentiments through multiple mail accounts? Ronnie set the current address in her junk mail filter and browsed the rest of her mail, which amounted mainly to school-wide memos that neither concerned nor interested her, before helping herself to a mug of coffee.

  She was about to point the mouse to close her e-mail program when an idea occurred to her. Fishing into her e-trash for Ethan Fontaine’s address, she copied it into a Post-It note and studied it. She recognized the domain as one of those free services that offered World Wide Web mail service to even a dog if it could type. How Ethan would consider resorting to such a service intrigued Ronnie, as she once held a similar alternative e-mail address for non-work related messages. Her inbox was normally stuffed with advertisements for adult services, graphic ads that would have turned Ethan Fontaine’s hair white, if it were not already white. Ronnie imagined it was same for other subscribers. Maybe Ethan Fontaine would open such a message by accident and go bald instead, she though.

  “I could subscribe you to every mailing list in the world,” she told the yellow square of paper with a mischievous grin. What a sight could be had when the old man checked his e-mail to find welcome messages from every subversive, perverted, and just plain bizarre discussion group in cyberspace. He would have to spend hours trying to undo the damage, Ronnie knew, and any amount of time taken away from harassing her family was heartily welcome. In that moment, she wondered also how her prank on the irritating Chet Hoskins had fared.

  All further thoughts of putting the prank on Ethan into action, however, were halted by a soft rap on Ronnie’s door. Jeanette Holley poked her mop of red curls inside and begged a moment of the professor’s time. “I just need a minute.”

  “Sure, Jeanette. Just hand me those and take a seat.” She took the stack of folders Jeanette lifted from the only other chair in the office and plopped them on her desk, concealing the sticky note. Better not to follow through, she thought. Ethan might have instead focused his energy on saving the multitudes of Trekkers, Deadheads, Phish Phanatics, Parrotheads, X-Philes, Marxists, New Agers, and other assorted folk who ended up in his path. What did any of those people do to her to deserve that kind of treatment?

  Jeanette spread out a folded slip of paper that looked as if it had been rubbed raw by a heavy-duty eraser. “I kinda need to change my schedule again,” she said apologetically. “Professor Beeger signed my override for Beginning Drama, and since it’s the same time as Economics I need to bump that class.”

  Ronnie studied the girl’s looped cursive, done in non-regulation orange ink. Tiny circles dotted each �
��i”. “You’ll be taking Economics in the fall, I presume?”

  “Yeah, if I can fit it in.”

  Ronnie sighed and arched a brow in Jeanette’s direction. “You’ll have to, dear, because you need it to graduate. As your advisor it’s my duty to advise you of such things. It’s great that Beeger’s letting you take her class. I hear it fills up quickly, but remember it’s best to get your core courses out the way first. Save your major for when you move up to UNF or Jacksonville University.”

  “I know.” Jeanette sounded guilty. “It’s just that I think the drama class is going to be more beneficial to me than some boring old economics class, you know?” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, appearing intimidated by the shelves of books enveloping them. “I mean, you teach English, right? So you could have spent more time taking classes you liked instead of ones you had to.”

  Ronnie tapped her pen against her chin. The girl did have a point; she took a trigonometry course herself at Florida State University, and sines and cosines had yet to come up in conversation. “Of course, without other math courses I don’t think I could balance my checkbook. You may find an economics class helpful in your future. Are you still planning to go to Hollywood?”

  “Dollywood,” Jeanette corrected her. “They’re always holding auditions for singers and dancers. I figure it would be a good start before moving on to Nashville.” She thought a moment and frowned. “How’s economics gonna help me there?”

  Reluctantly Ronnie signed the approval on the revised schedule form. If she had not signed it, she knew Jeanette would have found another teacher to do so. Like anybody checked the signatures on these things anyway, she thought. “Well, if Dolly’s ever in need of an economist to help her run the park and determine proper supply and demand, you can fill in between numbers, I suppose.”

  Jeanette cackled at this, a high-pitched ugly sound that seemed forced. Perhaps the girl was already rehearsing in the event Hee-Haw returned to television, Ronnie guessed. She certainly would need all the help from Professor Beeger that she could get. “Jeanette, I signed the form. No need for flattery, the joke wasn’t all that funny.”

  “Oh, sure it was, and thanks for doing this.” Jeanette quickly slipped the form into her binder. “If I didn’t have to double my work schedule I would have taken that class this summer,” she added. “Carl could use somebody good with numbers to help keep the bar in the black. Course, he doesn’t need an economist to tell him to stop letting my ex and his asshole brother run up a tab they’ll never pay.”

  “Ah.” Ronnie carefully set her pen down and folded her arms. Unofficial duties as advisor usually included listening to students’ woes, academic and personal. Judging from the anguish now mauling Jeanette’s face, Ronnie knew not to expect to get any work done for a while.

  “Landon, my ex, really is a sweet guy,” Jeanette said. “In fact, he’d still be my boyfriend if he’d just grow a brain. I’ve been giving him a hard time lately because he just doesn’t want to go straight, you know what I mean?”

  Ronnie shrugged. “Depends on what you mean by ‘straight.’ If it means what I think it means, you should probably look elsewhere for a boyfriend.”

  Jeanette had to think about Ronnie’s statement, and when realization dawned she laughed. “Oh, please, no! I don’t mean it like that. Believe me, Landon only grazes on one side of the fence.” She giggled at the literal image along with her advisor and added, “No, it’s just that he’s always getting into trouble. He won’t find a job, he lives in a pigsty...”

  “I take it this asshole brother isn’t much of an influence.”

  Jeanette nodded. “He thinks Lorne walks on water, you know? Their parents are gone, and there’s no other family, so it’s been just the two of them for a long time. I guess it’s hard to let go.” She threw up her hands in surrender. “If I thought I could get Landon away from his brother for just a few days, maybe I could get him to see Lorne’s just going to drag him down.”

  “Landon and Lorne. Those are some interesting names,” Ronnie chuckled.

  “Their mama loved Bonanza. She named them after two of the actors on the show.”

  Ronnie nodded. There were worse names to bestow upon children. It certainly beat being named after Lenny and Squiggy. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you there, hon,” Ronnie said sincerely. “The way you talk, I have a feeling those two might be together for a long time to come.” Maybe in the same cell, she wanted to add, but there was no use upsetting Jeanette. Given her exposure to the seedier side of the Ash Lake area by way of Jim, she noticed that in some cases crime was indeed a family affair. Sometimes the delinquents Jim collared for petty crimes would often be bailed out of jail by their parents. It usually turned out that the parents were the ones giving the orders to commit the crimes in the first place.

  “I wish there was something I could do,” Jeanette whined.

  “You can always pray. It never hurts, anyway.” Sometimes, though, Ronnie wondered if prayer helped, or if God was on the other line every time she prayed for her husband. How attentive was He to recent events, she wondered.

  Goodbyes exchanged, Ronnie saw Jeanette to the main office door and made a quick trip to the ladies’ restroom. She returned to find a light blinking on her multi-line phone. She punched in her code and waited, thinking perhaps the head of the school committee on which she served wanted to schedule one last meeting before semester’s end. She was not expecting the muffled, sinister voice now tickling her ear.

  “Did your grandmother like the gift I sent?” snarled the caller’s voice, which sounded like a mouth stuffed with cotton and covered with a layer of tissue for good measure. Ronnie felt a chill shoot through her arm to her heart as the message demanded a fifty thousand dollar ransom for the rest of Lorena. “I can’t guarantee anyone else’s safety if you don’t deliver. You have until Saturday to get the money, and don’t think I don’t know how much that saint committee has saved up for Lorena’s party.” Click.

  Ronnie hung up, her hands shaking. “Oh, God!”

  She pressed her palms on her desk to steady them. Fifty thousand dollars! The sick bastard who killed Paul Dix and robbed a corpse put a price on his misdeeds. Twenty to life sounded more appropriate. She had to call Lew.

  She was not aware how far her voice carried until Gloria came puffing up the hall to her door. “What? What is it?” Chubby fingers gripped the doorjamb as Gloria gasped for air.

  “Uh—” Ronnie plunged her trembling hands into her lap. Not a word, she promised Lew. “Oh, Gloria, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just closed my finger on this stuck drawer.” She jiggled the top center drawer for effect.

  “Oh, dear. That must hurt. I’ll get you some ice.” The secretary disappeared, off on a mission that would take her into the next building to the cafeteria.

  Ronnie took a deep breath and reached for the phone to call the sheriff’s office when it rang once again. Ronnie initially jumped back with a squeal, and when the receiver did not fly from the cradle and wrap the cord around her throat she lifted it and spoke timidly.

  “Professor Lord.”

  “Did your grandma like that present we left for her?” A different voice taunted her this time, this one twangy and breathing heavy. Ronnie thought she heard Regis Philbin screaming from a television in the background.

  “Uh, who is this?” Some crackpot who had read yesterday’s paper and decided to have some fun, she guessed. She could not imagine a cold-blooded murderer watching daytime television.

  “Let’s just say I’m a businessman willing to make a transaction. Say, your dead relative for a cool million dollars. Cash, in unmarked bills.”

  Ronnie looked at the receiver in disbelief then pressed it back to her ear. “What?”

  “Hey, you heard me, lady,” the voice barked to snickering in the background. Scarface invited over some friends, Ronnie thought. “You can give us the money at an appointed place and time or the dead chick’s kindling in my fireplace. W
hat do you say?”

  “What do I say?” Ronnie felt the heat rise to her face. “How about I say this? How about I hang up and star-69 this call and then get the police to come and arrest your ass.”

  Click.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lorne’s knuckles drained of blood as he tightened his grip on the phone. Letting only a forced gasp escape his lips as Ronnie angrily demanded his name, he hung up the phone and blew past Landon into the living room. He paced the length of the room, punching the air and cursing himself loudly.

  Landon blotted the mustard stain on his shirt pocket, put there when Lorne elbowed the baloney sandwich he held, and glared at his brother. “What?” he asked. “What’d she say? She gonna pay us or what?”