“Of course. I’m not heartless.” He looked down at his hands. “It was an ugly time. A time that needed to end. At that point the only way to stop the war was to give in to Sal’s demands. I hated every minute of it.”
I looked at him. For the first time I saw an old, tired man.
He continued. “I’d killed people. I hadn’t done that before and I haven’t done it since. Some of my own people were killed. I had to stop the bloodshed. You were the sacrifice.” Tears fell. “My favorite child. I sacrificed you.”
Suddenly, I felt the weight of the decision. And I felt responsibility, too.
“Will the war really start again if I don’t submit to this agreement?”
“I’m afraid so, cara. Sal is ruthless and without a conscience.”
I went to him and knelt before him. I took his hands, forcing him to look at me, as he had done earlier to me. “I forgive you, Papa.”
At that he sobbed. He’d never done that before, at least not in my presence.
“Let me fix my face, and we can go down.” I went into my bathroom and searched for some make-up. It had been a few years since I’d worn it, but I thought it would be appropriate now. As I tried to apply it correctly, I longed for the plain bathrooms of the old convent, filled with tile and white porcelain. I longed for simplicity where I didn’t have to make decisions that affected people’s lives.
Finally, I said, “I’m ready.”
We walked downstairs, my hand through his arm. As we descended I asked, “Is the marriage really and truly legal?”
“Probably not. I thought we’d have a quick ceremony to seal the deal before you yourself seal the deal.”
He chuckled and I blushed, but I was happy to see he was back to his old self.
It was then I noticed two men standing at the bottom of the stairs. One was grizzled, with a beard, and features that hid his age. His face showed no emotion. The other was handsome and slim. He was grinning from ear to ear.
Under my breath, I prayed, “Please let him be Sal, oh God. Please let him be Sal.”
As we got near them, the handsome one said, “Gee, Sal, you sure got a pretty one.”
I stumbled on the stair. Sal, Jr. was indeed a younger version of his hateful father, in looks anyway. I silently prayed that he was kind.
He was not.
My father introduced us, and I smiled tentatively at the bearded one.
Sal glared. He said, “I heard you wanna talk. Let’s do it.”
Papa ushered us into the study. At my adamant insistence he left us alone.
“So whaddaya want?”
He sounded like a 40s gangster movie. He looked like he belonged in one, too.
“I wanted to meet you.” I indicated a chair for him to sit in. “Did you know about this before now?”
“Sure,” he said. “My pops told me when I was a kid. Pissed me off, I tell ya. Havin’ to marry someone you don’t know. I told him, ‘This is America. You can’t do that here.’ But he told me about the turf war and all that crap. So whaddaya gonna do? I mean, we’re gonna keep people from gettin’ killed off.” He picked something out of a side tooth, then ate it. “At least you’re pretty.”
I didn’t know whether to thank him or throw up. So I said nothing.
He, however, wanted to keep talking. “So I figured we’d have sex a lot, you’d have a kid, and then we could get a divorce. A kid is what they want. Something in common, so they couldn’t fight.” He leered at me. “A lot of sex.”
“Yeah, I don’t know…”
He continued. “It don’t mean we have to stop living our own lives. I figure I’ll still have my girlfriend, and you can do whatever it is you do. We’ll keep up the, whachacallit, pretenses.” He appeared proud of finding the right word. He puffed up his chest a bit, and that’s when I first noticed how young he truly was. Only two years older than me, so still in his twenties. However, I felt much, much older than him.
I suddenly wished wise old Mother Evangela was here. I needed counsel. This was a nightmare. Now I wanted to be a nun more than anything in the world, and I couldn’t be.
“Okay, listen. I don’t want a big wedding tomorrow. I just want our family there to witness the quick re-ceremony, and then we’ll have a fast dinner with them, and off we’ll go to the honeymoon suite.”
He grinned. “You’re pretty anxious to have sex.”
“I’m pretty anxious to get it over with,” I said. “I don’t want to do this, Sal. And it’s got nothing to do with you.” That was my first lie to him. “I’m a nun. I want to stay a nun. I don’t want to be a married woman, have sex, and have a kid. There’s nothing wrong with that,” I assured him. “It’s great. It’s just not for me. I’ve wanted to be a nun since I was a little kid. Do you understand?
“Yeah, not really,” he said. “I can’t understand anyone not wanting to have sex.”
“Well, of course, I would want to have sex if I weren’t a nun,” I said. “It’s just that I can’t have sex and still be a nun. Do you understand now?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” He seemed calmer and less scary now.
“Tell me about your girlfriend,” I said.
“What? Why?”
“Well, you seem to care about her if you want to stay with her even while we go through this sham marriage.”
And so he told me about Delores. They’d been together since high school. They had a son, but couldn’t get married because of the previous agreement between our dads.
“This just sucks,” I said.
“Do nuns talk that way?”
“Sometimes,” I laughed. “Sometimes I say even worse things. I’m human.”
An idea was germinating, but I needed time to cement the plan. “Sal, do me a favor. Go out and have some wine with everyone. They’re probably in the kitchen. Be nice to people. Smile like there’s no problem. Lie if you have to.”
“But…”
“Yeah, I guess nuns lie, too. Sorry. Just do it. I think I have a plan that can get us both out of this mess.”
He did as I said, and his smile was real. Suddenly he looked like the nice guy I’d hoped he’d be.
The first thing I did was kneel down again. I asked for forgiveness for the hoax I was about to perpetrate. I asked forgiveness for lying and asking others to lie. But most of all, I asked for the rest of my plan to come together.
Then, I went to Papa’s desk and fired up the computer. I searched for a few things that didn’t pan out. Then finally, I hit the jackpot.
I yelled for Papa and Sal, Jr. to join me.
When they did, Sal was still smiling, and Papa looked confused.
“Pa, I have a plan that will allow me to go back to the convent and still keep the peace. Want to hear it?”
“Sure, but this sounds crazy,” he said.
“It is.”
So I told both of them what I’d planned. Sal was enthusiastic, but Papa was adamantly against it.
“You might really die,” he said.
“Maybe, but only for a minute. I trust you to make sure I don’t.” Then I changed the subject, “Do you have any doctors on your payroll?” At his nod, I asked, “Do you have any coroners?”
“One,” he said.
“One is all we need.” I clapped my hands and giggled like a schoolgirl. In fact, that’s just how I felt. Like an oppressive weight had been lifted off me, and I could breathe again.
So we set out to put the plan in motion.
The next morning, our immediate families met at St. Teresa’s. A priest I didn’t know stood at the front of the church. There was no Mass, no music, just immediate family and a few of Papa’s close friends. And with that, there were still way too many people there for my taste. It was good to recognize my brothers and sisters-in-law, as well as nieces and nephews. Joey was the only one of the boys who wasn’t married, and he didn’t bring his girlfriend in honor of my protestations.
Papa didn’t give me away. We just all walked in, and I went all the
way to the altar and Sal, Jr. joined me. As I looked at him, I thought, “How could I ever have compared him to his father? There’s nothing ugly about him. He must have been putting on an act when I first met him.”
And then, voila, we were married.
We didn’t kiss, and we didn’t hold hands as we walked down the aisle. In fact, he went in the car with his family, and I went with mine. The reception, if it could be called that, was at the restaurant in the private room. This time the restaurant was filled with people, many of them calling out to Papa, Mama, Joey and me, and some expressing concern about the Mosellis being there. Papa quieted them down with a quick handshake or a pat on the back. He always did know how to work a room.
Both the family heads insisted that Sal, Jr. and I sit at the head of the table, like a real bride and groom. We played our parts well, although without enthusiasm. At one point, we were toasted by our fathers, and they both tried to go first. My papa graciously allowed Sal Moselli to lead the way, then gave his toast.
Then it was time to cut the cake. There was no time for a real wedding cake, so a server just brought one from the kitchen that was on the menu for the restaurant that night. I cut my piece of the cake without looking at it and fed Sal. He licked his lips and then put a piece of the cake in my mouth.
Immediately I put my fingers to my throat, as if that would help me breathe. I felt my body turn into one big hive and my throat close. That’s all I remember of the incident. To almost everyone there, I had died. And I did die, for a fraction of a second.
Dad and Sal took turns filling me in later. Mama was so upset that she couldn’t even listen. First of all, I’d made sure that Cara Mia’s specialty cake was on the menu tonight—Strawberry Surprise. And most everyone was surprised when I collapsed. My parents and brothers knew I was deathly allergic to strawberries, but the server and my new husband supposedly hadn’t known until it was too late.
Papa said he and the doctor immediately ran to me, telling everyone but Sal, Jr. to move away and give the doctor room. The doctor yelled, “I called 9-1-1,” so no one else would do it.
Apparently Mama gave an Oscar-worthy performance pretending to faint and keeping my brothers busy with her.
Sal did a great job of being a worried new husband, while at the same time screaming to everyone to move back and give me some air. While this was happening, the doctor was able to quickly gave me a shot of epinephrine and adrenaline to get my heart started again while reducing the swelling so I could breathe.
Mama wailed so loudly when she woke from her “faint” that no one heard my big intake of breath as the medicine worked its magic. Soon two EMTs arrived and carted me off with the doctor in tow.
I became aware of things in the ambulance, and the doctor assured me I was fine and that the scheme had gone according to plan. He actually looked as if he had enjoyed it.
The ambulance dropped me at a designated corner, and soon my husband was there to get me. I still felt wobbly, and he helped me into the car.
Sal smiled at me as he followed my instructions to drive to the back entrance of the convent. We were safely off the street, and no one could see us.
“That was a great idea to have our fingers crossed when we said our vows.”
I said, “It probably wasn’t legal anyway, because we were coerced.” At his look of uncertainty, I changed it to, “We were forced, so we weren’t really going to be married because we didn’t mean it.”
“Ah,” he said. “Well, I’m sorry I had to kill you so we could get out of this thing.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry, too. But it looked like a total accident, so no one is going to be the wiser. Your dad will stick with the peace plan, because we did get married, and my dad held up his end of the bargain. He won’t seek revenge on the Mosellis even though you killed me… sort of. You’re now my dad’s son-in-law, and there can be no fighting between the families.” I gave a huge sigh. “I only wish we could have told someone besides just my mom and dad, and, of course, the doctor and coroner, but my brothers have big mouths, especially when they’re drinking. I couldn’t trust that they would keep it secret.”
I added, “And I wish I could be at my memorial service when Dad gets mad at me for being cremated when that’s not what he wanted for me.” I laughed at the thought.
“I’ll be there, and I think my tears might be real. You’re really something,” Sal said.
I leaned over and gave him a surprisingly pleasant kiss.
“Hey, you’re gonna make me change my mind here.” He laughed as he said it.
“I do want to tell you something before I go. What I wished for in a husband was that, above all else, he be kind. You are indeed kind.”
His smile was warm as he opened the car door for me. My smile was even warmer.
And that is how I, a dead woman, walked into the convent and into my own happily ever after.
Q&A with Jerilyn Dufresne
This story is lighter than many others in this collection. Would you characterize “Nun of Your Business” as a “cozy” mystery, rather than the typical dark mystery--sometimes referred to as “hardboiled”?
Yes, it is a cozy mystery. I’m happy you noticed. Although I enjoy reading all kinds of mysteries, from hardboiled to cozy to paranormal to whatever, I truly love writing cozies with a hint of humor.
Do you always know where you’re going as you write a mystery, or do you figure it out along with the reader as the story unfolds?
I wish I could say I knew where a story was going when I began it. It would make my writing life easier. However, I start with a basic idea—in this case, a young nun whose father was in the mafia. I thought that was an interesting concept and then I just started writing. I enjoyed Sr. Mary Jordan so much that I’m planning on writing another series with her as the protagonist. When I write, the characters decide what’s going to happen. I usually don’t even know who is going to die or who the murderer is until the characters tell me. This is probably called “flying by the seat of my pants.” But it works for me.
Do you have any works in progress?
Yes, I do. Currently I’m writing book seven in the Sam Darling mystery series. It’s called Who Dies Next? All the books take place in my hometown of Quincy, Illinois. Sam is a busybody who has a psychic connection with her dog. Her husband is the Chief of Detectives in town, and that makes it easier for her to follow her nose—right into trouble. They’re all available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and other providers, both in ebook and paperback.
How can readers be in touch with you and find out about new releases?
I’m on Facebook as Author Jerilyn Dufresne. Please “Like” my page and you’ll be able to see information about my new releases. I also have a website, jerilyndufresne.com, and a mailing list available at smarturl.it/DarlingMysteryNews. Each of these ways to contact me allows you to stay up-to-date on my writing.
The Long Haul
by Josh Hayes
One
Mary Lancaster glared at the clock.
Only 6:29 a.m. Two weeks in a row her husband had been out of bed before 7:00, without so much as a kiss on the forehead or an “I love you.” It was getting ridiculous.
I’m going to say something to him today.
She sat up, then winced at the pain along her spine, reaching back to massage the scar. The surgery that had fused her upper vertebra was supposed to have relieved the ache, but even after a year, it was still very much present.
The shower shut off and a few minutes later David stepped out, a towel around his waist. He grabbed the clothes off the back of the chair and dressed without a word. It seemed as though they’d grown further apart over these last few weeks, but she couldn’t put her finger on why. He’d been on the road without a break for almost three weeks straight. She feared that the gulf they had worked so hard to repair over the last year was slowing reappearing in their lives.
“Another early run today?” Mary asked, trying to keep the frustration out
of her voice.
“Mm-hmm,” he said, bending over to lace up his boots.
“I thought you didn’t pick up till this afternoon?”
“Bill called in,” David said, standing.
Mary frowned. She didn’t remember the phone ringing. “So you have to cover?”
“Yeah. Pulling two today.”
She took a deep breath, biting back her frustration. Her spine pulsed again. It won’t help to get upset. “Going to be late then?”
“Probably.”
“Dan really needs to find someone else for all these extra runs.”
David shrugged. “The extra money’s good.”
“It would be nice to spend some time together, too. We were pretty good about that for a few months, but now…” She trailed off, as he turned to her, eyes tired. Immediately she felt childish. He’d been doing his best, working long hours, trying to keep them above water, keeping the debt collectors off their backs. But even so…
He held her gaze for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry. Work’s been crazy, I know, but it’s going to get better.”
“Okay.”
“Gotta run, I’ll see you later.”
He was through the door and down the stairs a moment later and he hadn’t said, “I love you.”
The deep rumble of the rig sounded in the driveway, air brakes hissing as they disengaged. She crossed to the small window and watched as the bright red cab pulled out of the drive, made a wide turn around her maroon Ford Focus parked at the curb, then disappeared down the street.
She blew out a frustrated breath, slapping the window frame. “God, this is so stupid! It’s been a freaking year!”
The pain in her spine flared and she cursed again, reaching back to massage the scar.
“Phantom pain will be normal for a while,” was what the doctor had said. Of course, he’d said a lot of things, hadn’t he? Made promises, said things that were so believable at the time. Looking back on his words now, she could see them for the come-on lines they were, and scolded herself for being so stupid. He’d told her the surgery was necessary, that it would rid her of the excruciating pain. He’d also told her that he loved her, and could give her more happiness than she’d ever known.
MOSTLY MURDER: Till Death: a mystery anthology Page 15