“You like me?” Jason was dumbfounded. “Like like me?”
“Buddy, you better be only playing dumb!”
Jason felt light-headed. Caitlin, thinking him more than as a friend? The thought to reciprocate such feelings never occurred to him...to fall in love with someone he had known nearly his entire life. Granted, he was certain stuff like that happened, but not to anyone he knew. His parents met in college, as did Miss Pratt and her ex-husband. He himself never saw any future in a relationship with a “sandbox sweetheart,” or any woman, for that matter.
He wanted to be a priest! He had only considered a relationship with God. How quickly all thoughts of the priesthood, all those talks with Father Ben, all those prayers for direction vanished tonight. Was this a sign from God to rethink his intentions, or had a darker force thrown him a curve?
He looked at Caitlin, her eyes lowered demurely, her hands fidgeting. No, he decided, this moment could not possibly have been born of malice or evil. “Cait, I’m really sorry, I am,” he said. “I had no idea. It’s just that—”
“That whole scene at the Chinese restaurant, me moaning about not having a prom date,” Caitlin interrupted. “You were supposed to take that as a cue to ask me to go, you dumbass. A smarter guy would have picked up on it, you know.”
“Mitch did,” Jason smiled weakly.
Caitlin folded her arms. “Exactly. What does this say about you, though?” The grin forming on her face was faint, but after a few seconds she could not contain herself any longer and burst out laughing. She took a seat at a nearby park bench, not before smoothing her hand up and down the wooden seat for splinters and then hiking up her skirt slightly.
“Look, Cait, I really am sorry. I haven’t picked up on any, ah, signals,” Jason said as he slid next to her, splinters be damned. The rental company could tweeze them out of his seat. “I’ve had a lot on my mind, and outside of school I’ve had very little focus on things.”
Caitlin did not buy the excuse. “This murder business has only been going on a few weeks. I’ve been dropping prom hints way longer than that.”
“I know,” Jason admitted, when in fact he had not been aware of it. “But what’s on my mind, at least, what was occupying most of my thoughts back then, was something completely different.” Taking a deep breath, he launched into his thoughts and feelings of the past few months, which were compounded by prayer and discussions with Father Ben, before finally revealing to Caitlin his inclination toward the priesthood.
She was silent and expressionless when he stopped speaking. He was relieved in a way, because Caitlin was the first of his friends to know, and he was unsure of how everyone would react to the news. Caitlin would have to be the litmus test.
“Wow,” she breathed at last as a gust of wind blew through them. “You should have brought your coat.”
“Sorry.” Jason shivered as well in his thin white shirt.
“Are you serious about this? About wanting to be a priest?”
Jason nodded. “Given all that’s happened in the last few weeks, now more than ever.” He grinned. “I’ve been praying a lot.”
Caitlin shifted uncomfortably. “You do know once you become a priest you can’t get married.”
Jason gave her a look that said Duh!, while Caitlin’s response was simply an arched brow, as if to imply he would be forfeiting other things involved with marriage, aside from a joint bank account. “I know, I know, but you know what? You can’t miss what you haven’t had.”
“You’ll miss me, won’t you?” Caitlin pointed out.
Jason blushed. “Yeah, but you can come to my church and see me every week.”
“I suppose,” she sighed, absently patting his knee. “I guess it’s a good thing God has you, though, because at least no other girl will.”
They spent a few minutes more gazing out into the blackened sea until the wind and salty aroma proved too much for them. Caitlin bore into his side on the walk back to the car to stay warm, and this time Jason did not flinch.
* * * *
Fifteen minutes after curfew Jason saw Caitlin to her front door with a quick, friendly embrace. “Goodnight, Father Jason,” she teased, and slipped inside giggling. She would tell Mimi, he knew, and within days the entire student body would be addressing him the same way.
Fifteen minutes after that he was pulling up to his own driveway, tired but content, happy not to have left the prom opportunity pass, the Bailey affair notwithstanding. Caitlin, as always, was good company, and he still felt bad that her night was not entirely what she had hoped—not quite her “date with destiny.”
The living room lights were on, and Jason could see his father’s shadow cast on the closed curtains pacing slowly, the image interrupted as Ringo’s head poked between the slits. Willie’s car was nowhere in sight. Had his father been waiting up for him, he wondered. Jason’s heart sank; he had the impression from his father that prom night was the exception to the rules set for him.
Perhaps his mind was on Bailey Stone, Jason thought, testing the kitchen door and finding it unlocked. Was his guilt keeping him awake?
“Yo, Dad!” he called, but Dan did not answer. Ringo, however, came immediately scampering up to him, whimpering and looking up with expectant, soulful eyes.
“Hey, buddy.” Jason bent down to scratch the beagle’s head and rose quickly to get the dog a treat. “How you doing?”
Ringo answered by licking Jason’s hand and devouring the chewy steak-shaped nugget offered to him as if he had not eaten all day, though the bowls by the refrigerator showed only traces of kibble.
“Where’s Daddy, huh? Where’s Daddy?” He cajoled Ringo with a few more scratches and headed for the living room, where he found Dan still pacing the living room, the portable phone affixed to his ear. His face was grave and he repeated “uh-huh, uh-huh” into the receiver every few seconds, but he acknowledged Jason with a nod and a crook toward the couch.
Jason got the signal immediately and perched on the armrest, half expecting an ensuing parental tirade. Dan’s tone bothered him, and Jason could not begin to think why he would need to be on the phone well past midnight.
He waited until Dan muttered a thanks and rang off before he spoke. “Grandma?” he asked. Dan’s mother was not terribly old, but she was not in the best of health, either.
Dan shook his head. “That was Detective Simons. Bailey arrested an hour ago. She’s dead.”
Chapter Fourteen
“That’s it.” Jason threw his coat on the couch and yanked his bowtie from his pants pocket. “I’m hiding out at Grandma’s ‘til the cops catch this guy. They can mail me my diploma for all I care.”
“Jason, calm down—”
“I won’t, Dad,” Jason protested, his voice cracking with fear. “I won’t be a sitting target. If it’s all the same to you, I’d much rather sit in West Virginia watching soap operas and listening to Grandma complain about everything than sit here and wait to be killed.” Adam Wasserman’s words of courage sounded faint now in the reality of this latest death. Ringo was now on the couch sniffing the coat in hopes of finding another treat. What he got instead was a sharp rap on the beak when Jason’s tie, released as if from a slingshot, fell to the coat. A loud canine yelp surprised both men as Ringo leapt from the couch and dashed into the kitchen.
“Ah, jeez. Ringo, it was an accident!” Jason called after his dog.
“Jason, this has nothing to do with those other killings. Bailey wasn’t murdered.”
Jason plied his body over the armrest and sank into the cushions. “Right,” he scoffed. “She was perfectly fine when they wheeled her in, as fine as a crazy person can be, anyway. Did all that fake blood hemorrhage?”
“Actually,” Dan settled into his recliner and rocked back, “her death was an accident. Hospital error. Bailey was administered a drug and she ended up having a seizure. Turns out she was allergic to it, and she died while the doctors tried to save her.” His voice trembled as he spoke, and J
ason too felt a chill. They had only seen Bailey a few hours ago, bubbling over with fire and rage.
“Didn’t she have a chart?” Jason asked. “Surely Bailey was cognizant enough to mention any allergies.” Were that the truth, Jason made a mental note to take his medical emergencies elsewhere.
“Didn’t think to ask, I suppose,” Dan replied, “or maybe Bailey just didn’t say anything. Besides, Detective Simons didn’t sound like he wanted to chat. He said he called because he thought we’d want to know, is all.”
Jason looked at his father’s shaking hands. For all his harsh words for Bailey, he certainly seemed to be taking her death hard. He did not recall his father trembling so much when his mother died. Then again, Jason was too lost in his own grief to notice then.
“It’s not your fault, Dad.”
“I know, I know,” Dan said quietly, nodding but not entirely sure of it. “It’s gonna nag at me forever, though. I could have done something.”
“Done what, Dad? She was an adult, and she made her own choices. You tried to help her by putting her in a cab, and what does she do?” Jason sat up and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “She gets out, sneaks around a corner and scares the hell out of me and Caitlin.”
“If I had seen the cab off with her inside.” Dan pinched the bridge of his nose. “If I hadn’t walked away so quickly...”
“She would have had the guy spin around the block and drop her off,” Jason finished for him. “Don’t say you should have taken her home yourself, either. We don’t know that she might have planned to cover you in your own blood and then come back for Willie. You were right to go back and check on her. She needs you more.”
The two men looked hard at each other, neither blinking for several seconds, their minds teeming with “what ifs” and “should haves” best left unsaid. Every theory appeared to result in a tragic conclusion, and as Dan came to realize this he lowered his eyes and intertwined his fingers, as if in prayer.
Bailey Stone did not want help, he decided, she wanted love. Dan’s love. Who were they to know whether or not the woman spurned would have lived to cause more harm—to himself, Willie, or any of the students at the prom?
“Does Willie know yet?” asked Jason.
Dan looked up at his son. “You realize that’s the third time you said ‘Willie’ instead of ‘Miss Pratt’?”
Third time? Jason thought a moment and frowned. “When was the first time?”
“At the hospital. You called her by her first name there.”
“Really?” Jason tried to pull up the memory but failed. “I don’t remember that. I hope she wasn’t put off by it.”
Dan smiled faintly. “I don’t think she was. I know I’m not.” He rose and stretched. “Anyway, she doesn’t know anything, and it can wait ‘til morning. It’s too late to wake her now, and she’s had enough excitement for one night. We should be off to bed ourselves.”
“I’m not tired at all,” Jason said plainly. A momentary thought of the eerie shadows prowling around the outside lampposts pecked at his mind. Instinctively he reached for the remote control just to hear the comforting sound of white noise. “How can I possibly sleep with all that’s happened?”
“Well, if you like we can pass the time in prayer. Wouldn’t hurt.”
Jason turned off television set and returned the remote to its caddy on the coffee table. “Why not?” They could certainly use all the help they could get.
* * * *
Rather than remain in the solitude of their living room, both Greeveys hiked over to Incarnation for Perpetual Adoration, held in the side chapel. With a leashed Ringo fastened to a table leg in the adjoining hall, Dan and Jason knelt and prayed before the consecrated Host, which was displayed in an elegant cross-shaped monstrance perched atop a pristine white sheet. Dan meditated upon the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary while Jason kept his head buried in his hands, repeating the same words for the entire hour they were there.
Help me, help me, help me...over and over and faster and faster he prayed until the words were a mental blur. He prayed that the killer would soon be apprehended, that Bailey’s soul would soon repose in Heaven despite the hell she seemed to have endured and caused on Earth, and that his mother was with Him and praying, too.
Help me, help me, help me, he continued until he nodded off. He did not remember his father poking him into semi-consciousness and guiding him home. When he rose completely, alert to the world around ten that morning, he could smell coffee brewing downstairs.
“Alright, alright, I’m up. Stop it.” He had hoped for a few minutes more of rest but with Ringo persistently licking his face, it quickly became intolerable. The dog’s foul breath was no more pleasant. It was definitely time to change Ringo’s diet, he thought.
He threw on a Korn t-shirt and a pair of jeans over his boxers and padded barefoot downstairs to the kitchen, where to his surprise Willie greeted him with a sad smile and a stack of dollar pancakes. He returned the smile and sat down to eat, thankful that he dressed first.
Willie was dressed for mountain biking in a long ash sweatshirt, white tube socks and thick-seated Spandex bicycle shorts which, the bulky padding aside, looked good on her. Jason presumed she had arrived around nine as usual per her and his father’s now weekly ritual, with her bike hanging from a rack on the back of her car.
“Dad told you?” Jason speared a pancake and doubled it over before stuffing it into his mouth.
Willie nodded and helped herself to a coffee refill before spooning more batter into the hot griddle to make a second batch. “Good thing I brought a change of clothing,” she said. “Don’t think we’ll be in the mood to do anything today.”
“Where’s Dad?”
Willie flipped a few pancakes and turned her head toward the doorway. “He was getting the paper, but I know it doesn’t take that long to walk fifty feet. Maybe he’s talking to one of your neighbors. Oh, hon, did you want some butter with your pancakes?”
“S’fine,” he mumbled between bites. The pancakes were thick and moist on the inside, just the way he liked them. “I got syrup. Hold on a sec.” He scooted out of his chair and bolted for the living room picture window; Ringo was already perched at his station, rapt at the scene of Dan Greevey, morning paper tucked under his arm, chatting with Detective Simons.
“Criminy!” Jason muttered. Did the guy ever log any time toward investigating the murders?
He noticed the detective hand a small brown paper bag to his father, say a few more words and shake his hand. Dan turned away and started back into the house as Simons retreated to his unmarked car. Not wanting to be discovered, Jason raced back to breakfast.
“C’mon, Ringo!” he shouted, and the beagle shot past him. Willie, meanwhile, arranged six cooked pancakes on a platter and poured batter for six more.
Dan loped into the kitchen and took the chair opposite his son as Willie set down breakfast before him. He muttered his thanks and drowned the little cakes with a healthy squeeze from the syrup bottle. “I’d have been in sooner, but Detective Simons pulled up the driveway just as I was getting the paper. You’d think with all the energy he’s put on us, he’d have all his cases solved,” Dan echoed his son’s sentiments and brought the rolled-up newspaper and mystery bag from his lap to the tabletop. “You won’t believe what transpired.”
Willie, now settled with her own breakfast in the third chair, cast the dog a stern glare that told him there would be no pancakes for his breakfast. “The contents of that bag are involved, I presume?”
Dan set down his fork and produced a beaded clutch purse from the wrinkled brown bag. “Bailey left this in the cab last night,” he explained, “and the driver said he did not discover it until his shift was over, because apparently the bag tumbled down to the floor. This was around five this morning.
“Anyway, the guy roots around looking for an ID so he can return it when he finds this.” Dan undid the clasp and searched among the purse’s contents until he found
a folded note, which he handed to Willie.
“‘In the event of my untimely death, please give my belongings to Daniel Greevey.’“ Willie looked up from the note, mouth agape. “She printed your address and phone number.”
Dan nodded, as if the entire situation were expected to happen. “So the cab driver gets spooked, and instead of calling me he drops the purse off at the police station. He must have thought it odd that somebody would leave a note like that behind.”
“I know I would,” Jason agreed. It sounded as if Bailey, too, thought she were about to be murdered, but by whom? Or perhaps she was planning a suicide if her plan at the prom failed. Nobody would ever know what was going on in her head now.
Mystery Bundle (Saints Preserve Us, Pray For Us Sinners, Murder Most Trivial) Page 61