“I take it we’re open for business again?” Ronnie nodded toward the cemetery.
“Couldn’t keep the whole place closed,” Lew said soberly. “The cemetery is scrambling to hire a replacement for Paul Dix. Meanwhile at least two burials had to be postponed.”
“Can’t be many more plots left there.” Ronnie suddenly felt a chill in her heart. Many of the empty lots in the old Ash Lake cemetery were reserved for elderly owners, Nana among them. Ronnie envisioned a stockpile of octogenarian corpses at the local morgue, cooling in lockers until a new caretaker was hired. She wondered how many, or how few, people applied, given what had happened to Paul Dix.
“Still, people die, and sometimes they don’t wait for a murder investigation to end.” Ronnie caught the sadness in Lew’s eyes and remembered that his mother too had a spot there reserved next to his late father. “We did seal off your family’s plot, though, so nobody should bother it.”
“Thanks. Will you call me later if you get any more information about the phone numbers?”
“Count on it. Course, I might just call you, regardless.” With that innuendo hanging in the air, Lew slid into the cruiser and pulled out into the street.
~ * ~
Ronnie had a good thirty-minute window of freedom before leaving enough time to prepare for class, so she decided to see for herself how well the Ash Lake Police Department had sealed the Alger plot. Despite her strong curiosity there was still that reluctance to touch the gate for fear of spoiling needed fingerprints.
Arlen and Brenda Sanders, long gone by now according to Gina, already ruined that for the police. She imagined that even the sloppiest of grave thieves would use gloves in a situation like this. Ronnie pushed aside all paranoia and started into the graveyard, momentarily wincing as the gate hinges emitted a painful squeal.
At the Alger site she discovered a gray tarp held to the ground by plastic stakes covered Lorena’s plot. Though the miniature iron-spiked fence surrounding the plot was lined with crime tape and a homemade sign warned visitors away, it was apparent that the more fervent of Lorena’s admirers had ignored all wishes. Bound bouquets of flowers had been tossed on the tarp, and pictures depicting Jesus in the Divine Mercy pose and other holy cards were stuck between the fence rails. A plastic blue rosary dangled from one spoke.
Ronnie pulled away one card and inspected it closely, recognizing it as the official Blessed Lorena Alger prayer card being distributed by the committee. The profile of the young, raven-haired martyr was a copy of a painting completed in the late nineteenth century by a Dominican nun cloistered in an abbey that once stood outside Waycross, Georgia. The painting now hung in the office of the BLACC. The faint halo crowning Lorena’s head was added only to the cards after Lorena’s beatification; the search was already underway for an artist to paint an updated portrait depicting the glory of the girl’s sainthood.
She flipped over the card and scanned the prayer on the back: a plea to Christ for chastity in thought and deed. Lorena’s brief life had been devoted to keeping her body and mind pristine to better serve the Lord through either the Sacrament of Holy Matrimony or in a life spent in the convent, therefore the committee for Lorena’s cause hoped that the girl would be seen as an influential model for teen chastity.
Ronnie saw no problem with that. Eavesdropping on her freshman composition classes revealed that even a quiet, quaint town like Ash Lake was not immune to temptation and lust. Female students, coming straight from high school, chatted openly about their sex lives, describing techniques Ronnie never tried when she was married. When the student government managed to get a condom dispenser installed in the campus store Ronnie was the lone dissenting voice in a sea of approval. “I can’t see how making condoms available to the kids will help reduce instances of sexually-transmitted diseases,” she had said to Gina. “Seems to me if you want to achieve that goal, you put up a picture of Magic Johnson instead.”
Gina naturally agreed with her, but she had worries of her own dealing with a school board intent on promoting safe sex awareness by arming cucumbers with rubber suits rather than promoting abstinence until marriage, then monogamy thereafter. That was when the homeschooling began, and Ian and Elliott’s new classroom was decorated with a portrait of their sainted great-great aunt, somebody whose face would never grace the halls of any Florida public school.
Ronnie clutched the prayer card and stepped gingerly over the yellow tape. Whatever footprints the police sampled in order to get an idea of the person or persons responsible were gone now, blurred into the grass by smooth prints which Ronnie assumed belonged to the gift bearers. A flash of white caught her eyes near the adjacent grave of Lorena’s mother, Mary Magdalene Schmidt—Ronnie’s great-great grandmother. She looked down to find somebody had planted a St. Benedict’s medal in the earth.
“St. Benedict, pray for us.” She squatted on her haunches and idly picked away weeds sprouting up around the stones. “Whomever’s in Heaven with you, ask them to join in, too.” She fell backward on her bottom with a thud, gazing upward at the sun as its rays filtered down through the swaying branches overhead.
“Jimmy?” she whispered, now suddenly hoarse. “If you can hear me, please pray for us, too. Ask God to help us find the people who did this.” She had resisted praying for Jim’s intercession because, despite Jim’s devotion to God, she was never certain of the fate of his soul. True, people had tried to convince her of the their own theories—he was in Heaven, or he was in Purgatory sweating off the dread of life. Ethan Fontaine, she imagined, would have cackled with glee that Jim was in Hell thanks to a life encumbered by Catholicity. She tended to believe whatever happened was between Jim and Jesus; nobody else had the right to send Jim to Hell.
Just plain one-sided conversation, however, was not a problem for Ronnie. “I wish you were here. I need you here, Lew needs you here to help solve this case,” she spoke aloud, rubbing her arms in a sudden gust of wind. “I know Bill would love to see you back, too, if it means getting me out of his basement,” she added with a wry smile. “But you know how he gets about his stuff.
“Gina and Nana are getting on my case again, you know, about moving on with my life,” she continued, feeling a bit silly for whispering since she had the entire cemetery to herself, more so considering Jim was buried in the newer memorial gardens across town. Only the fast rush of passing cars along the street could be heard as she struggled to stand, using Mary Magdalene’s stone for support. “I wouldn’t want you moping over me this long, and I know you’re just not going to come back, so what do I do?” She brushed off the seat of her pants and looked skyward for an answer. Silence.
Ronnie inhaled. “I guess I just go back to work for now, huh?” She caught her bearings and retreated over the smaller fence, careful not to catch her clothing on the spikes, all the while praying silently. Lord, and I mean You, God, not Jim...Ronnie refused to believe that God did not have a sense of humor.
Please help us, help us find Lorena and get her body back where it belongs. You know I’ve never really much cared if Lorena is recognized as a saint, a martyr, whatever. All I know is that she’s family and it isn’t right for her body to be held for ransom. She suffered enough in life, she doesn’t deserve any more crap.
She gathered the prayer cards scattered around the fence. Nana liked to keep the site clean, and often she kept whatever souvenirs were left behind in a large prayer book at the church. “Why do people do this?” Ronnie asked of the Lord. “One would think that holy cards would be more effective when given to the living.”
She sorted through the serene faces, a who’s who of Catholic history, many of whom she recognized instantly. One however, caught her off guard and Ronnie flipped the card over for a point of reference.
St. Louis, King of France, she read. His feast day was August twenty-fifth.
Interesting, she thought. That was Lew’s birthday.
Chapter Thirteen
Dinner at the Hayes house, when company
did not call, was a very casual affair. Elbows rested defiantly on the dinner table as enthusiastic young boys out-shouted each other for top billing on the daily recap of school adventures and Boy Scout activities. Not that Gina and Bill encouraged the atrocious manners, but both seemed more content that the family ate together as a unit at the table and not on trays in front of an active television, mindlessly shoveling their food into gaping mouths and staring zombie-like at Alex Trebek the way most families in the neighborhood did these days.
When her work schedule ran into night classes, Ronnie normally opted to pick up a sub sandwich and chips to eat in her room. However, since that was not the case this semester, Gina set an extra plate at the table, leaving her sister to grudgingly contend for elbow room between her raucous nephews.
“How was work, Aunt Ronnie?” asked the younger of the boys, causing Ronnie to raise an eyebrow at Elliott’s sudden display of manners. Such concern for her welfare could only mean that the boys would be angling to watch her television tonight.
Ronnie sliced away a bite of pork chop. “My class went smoothly, thank you for asking, Elliott,” she answered to the boy’s bright smile, then launched into minute details of the English literature final exam and what she had hoped her students had gotten out of interpreting the symbolism of vision in Chaim Potok’s The Chosen. As she looked up from her plate in conclusion she saw the smile was intact, but all interest in the boy’s eyes was long gone. Even Bill looked flabbergasted; immediately he shifted the topic to sports.
“I wish you wouldn’t vex the boys like that,” Gina told her over the sink as she rinsed and Ronnie dried. “Maybe you should cut down on the coffee at work.”
“What?” Ronnie said with mock hurt. “For your information, coffee is the only reason I haven’t ended up running away from my job screaming. Anyway, your kids are homeschooled, so they should have read The Chosen by now. Hell, they should know more about literature than most of my students. How are their final exams coming?”
“Pretty good.” Gina was confident. “All the papers will be squared away soon so I can start planning the new curriculum. I’d like to get an early start late this summer, will you be around to help with the Latin?”
Ronnie nodded. Though German was her foreign language forte, she agreed to help with the boys’ Latin instruction if only to strengthen her own knowledge of it. “I’m only teaching first summer session this year, and two classes at that, so don’t be surprised if you start seeing smaller checks for my rent in the next few weeks.”
“Don’t worry. Bill doesn’t see that money anyway,” Gina said. Inching closer to her sister, she flicked a clump of soap bubbles in her hair. “Any plans for all that time off?”
Ronnie, slightly annoyed, wiped away the bubbles and concentrated on the same dish. “Yeah, I thought I’d go down to Miami and see Mom and Dad. Rent a car and drive down A1A, stopping only to refresh on gas and beer.”
“Mmm.” Gina smiled at that idea, and Ronnie noted the sudden fatigue on her sister’s face. Hayes family vacations were traditionally chaotic, with a city’s worth of possessions stuffed in the minivan on the way to some Civil War battlefield. Ronnie had half a mind to invite Gina on her odyssey when her sister spoke up first.
“Speaking of plans...” Wink, wink. “I hear you have a date Friday night.”
“When’d you hear that?”
Gina playfully nudged Ronnie into the stove. “After dinner last week. I overheard Lew asking you to that rock concert.” Wink, wink; nudge, nudge. “Way to go.”
“It’s not like that.” Ronnie rolled her eyes. “Lew had an extra ticket, is all. It’s John Caperton’s ticket, he couldn’t get off work.”
Gina nodded sagely, but did not look convinced. “I see,” she said, noncommittal, then craned her head toward the living room where Bill was settled in his recliner watching a baseball game. “Bill,” she called, “didn’t you say you saw Johnny Caperton down at the Famous Amos today?”
A faint belch could be heard in the distance, followed by Bill’s familiar bellow. “Yeah, he was there for lunch, but I didn’t get to talk long ‘cause he was on his way to a job interview at the Chevy dealership by the Regency Mall.”
Gina smiled at Ronnie in triumph, while the latter felt the dish slip from her hands back into the grimy dishwater. What was that, she wanted to ask, and why would Lew lie about John having to work if he didn’t have a job?
“Is John looking to change jobs?” Ronnie asked, trying to mask the shock on her face. “Staying with Gifford Ford until he finds something closer?”
“Gifford was bought out last month, Ron. New owners fired everybody.” Gina handed Ronnie a newly rinsed tea glass to dry. “John never had a ticket. Lew meant to ask you out all along.”
“That’s crazy.” Inside, however, Ronnie was not so cool. Her heart throbbed in her temples. Was Lew interested in her, and treating this outing as a date when he said different? When did this happen, and why was she so oblivious to it?
“How do you know John never had a ticket?” Ronnie challenged her sister. “Maybe he got the ticket and couldn’t go for another reason.”
“Then Lew would have said so, now, wouldn’t he?” Gina teased. “Besides, I think he meant to ask you out because Lew’s kind of shy around women. I would know. Nana thinks so, too, and she thinks you should go with him.”
“I know.” Great, Ronnie remembered. She had forgotten about her grandmother’s call from earlier that morning. “Has Nana mentioned anything to you about setting up a reward for Lorena’s return?”
Gina shook her head. “I haven’t spoken to her today. I did talk to Father Joel after morning Mass, though. The committee has decided to go forward with the festival as planned.”
“Really?” Ronnie set the last of the dishes back in its cabinet. “Regardless of whether or not she’s found?”
“I suppose their rationale is that the body will be found before then, giving them more of a reason to celebrate.” Gina smiled sadly. “A reward would be a good motivation, you think?”
Maybe and maybe not, Ronnie thought to herself. It did not surprise her entirely that the committee would not cancel the upcoming festivities. Trusting wholly in God to fix these problems, why would they worry?
~ * ~
Nana had herbal tea and pound cake set up at the kitchen table when Ronnie arrived to discuss plans for the reward fund. Despite weathering the murder, the grave robbing and the scene in front of her house days before, the old woman carried on gaily as Ronnie spooned sweetener in her cup.
“Larry’s oldest came over and mowed the lawn today. Good thing those bomb squad people didn’t tear it up with their clomping around,” Nana was saying between sips. “Although I did notice a hairline crack on one of my pots on the front patio. It was turned toward the wall, probably so I wouldn’t notice it.”
“We’ll get you another one at the Home Depot if you want. Bill’s going to Jacksonville this weekend anyway. Where’s Uncle Arthur?” Arthur’s decade-old car sat in the driveway, forcing Ronnie to park along the curb in case he had to leave, which Ronnie hoped would happen. Visits were especially nerve-racking with him hovering around the house like a ghost, eyeing her in case she tried to palm a family heirloom he himself had designs on when Nana passed away.
Nana gazed across the country decor into the darkened hallway at the other end of the kitchen. “Oh, I suspect he’s still in his room, talking on the phone.” Her eyes met Ronnie’s with a mischievous twinkle. “Talking to his secret lady friend, I’ll bet. I thought I heard a woman’s voice coming from the receiver as I passed his room. Would be nice to hear wedding bells instead of the phone ringing.”
“Yeah.” It would be nice, also, if this mystery lady friend did not come bursting through the front door with plans to redecorate and put Nana in a retirement home. “Anyway, let’s talk about this reward, and how you want to set up the money.”
“Money?”
Arthur startled them both. Ronni
e jumped slightly in her chair, spilling tea on the white floral print tablecloth. She berated herself for not thinking that Arthur might not be spying. One faint mention of money and the man’s invisible antennae became active.
Arthur switched on the overhead kitchen light; both women winced at the sudden shock of light. “What reward?” Arthur demanded. “Is this about Lorena?”
“Arthur, calm down.” Nana briefly shielded her eyes from the glare and motioned her son closer. “Of course it’s about Lorena, and her safe return. Ronnie is going to help me set up a reward to ensure that.”
“What? No!” Arthur hovered over the table, casting an authoritative glare at his niece. Ronnie sat wide-eyed and mute in his shadow. “Mother, surely you aren’t thinking of putting up your own money for this? Isn’t that the responsibility of the committee?”
“Nana is on the committee, Uncle Arthur,” Ronnie reminded him, “and she feels the committee’s funds are best kept to be used toward the canonization. This is something she wants to do.”
Mystery Bundle (Saints Preserve Us, Pray For Us Sinners, Murder Most Trivial) Page 11