A Grave Mistake

by Stella Cameron

  Cyrus rubbed her shoulder. “Poor, dear girl,” he murmured, not meaning to speak aloud. “As long as I can get away with it, I carry on—grateful to have you near me as often as possible. It’s not fair. I’m the one makin’ the rules.”

  “You have to be.” She choked on the words and he caught her by the back of the neck.

  “It’s all a trick, don’t you see?” Lord, help me. Give me the strength to do what I must do. “We should never have met because somewhere back there, when we weren’t even born, a mistake was made. They marked us for each other without noticing they’d already…” I can’t say it, Lord. I can’t deny you, but I can’t tell this woman I will abandon her if I must.

  He turned to look down into her face.

  “They didn’t notice they’d already given you to God. Isn’t that what you were going to say?”

  The hopeless love he saw in her eyes shamed him. He could have stopped this. From the day he hired her, he felt laughter in his heart at the sight of her. He’d be a liar if he pretended he hadn’t longed to lie with her. But then he’d learned to discipline his reactions, in the same way he’d learned to discipline his bodily responses, his urges, since he set out on his chosen path.

  “I love you, Madge.”

  He turned his head from her and dropped his arm. My God, hold me, help me. Carry this woman in your hands and heal the wounds I’ve caused.

  “It’s okay,” she told him softly. “I understand. Even if I could, I wouldn’t take you from your rightful place here.”

  “It’s ironic,” he told her, not caring that his voice broke, “but loving you makes me a better man. It makes me a better…priest.”

  “Thank you,” she told him, finding his hand and taking it to her lips. “Loving you makes me… Cyrus, I understand, or I try to, but sometimes I feel I’ve died for wanting you.”

  Appalled by the knowledge that she suffered so much destroyed him.

  “No,” Madge said, releasing his hand. “That’s ridiculous. I’m feeling a bit sorry for myself because I’m tired. Forget—”

  “Neither of us can forget. You’ll move on, but you won’t forget completely, although you will be happy.”

  She could make a life and he’d be glad?

  “I am happy,” Madge said. “We’ve said enough. I stayed because I wanted to be with you when you see something.”

  “I’m going to ask you to leave, Madge.”

  Facing him, her back straight so the top of her head almost reached his chin, she studied his face and her mouth set again. Not in anger this time, but with trembling resolve. “You’re firing me?”

  His body began to dishonor him. He glanced away and took deep breaths. “I can’t fire you.”

  “Then why would I go?”

  “Because I can’t give you what you deserve.”

  Her fingers, stroking the side of his face, tormented him even while he fought to keep his hands at his sides. “Women, some women are all emotion and not a whole lot of common sense,” she said, smiling a little. “You’ve always been honest with me and I accepted the truth of what we can have a long time ago.”

  “If I’d been half a man, I wouldn’t have bound you to me and sentenced you to only half a life.”

  “Cyrus.” With a hand on either side of his face, she came closer and smiled into his eyes, really smiled with the bubbly, disarming merriment he’d never seen in anyone else. “No, get rid of that sad look. I won’t go. It’s as simple as that. If you want me out of here you’ll have to change the locks, and if I manage to sneak in, you’ll have to drag me out again.”

  Moisture along her lower lids only added to the sparkle. So why had his throat jammed shut? “I don’t think I’d be much good at dragging you out.”

  She made a valiant effort to keep her lips steady but she gave up. “What a pair we are. I love you so, I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

  My God!

  Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his mouth softly and immediately withdrew. “Forgive me for that. I think it was pretty chaste.”

  He tried to laugh and failed. Instead he reached for her, pulled her toward him so hard she all but fell. Cyrus gathered her up. For an instant nothing moved. “No.” He knew Madge didn’t hear his silent cry. He brought his lips down on hers, hard but without opening his mouth. Her body shuddered and seemed about to draw back, but she put her arms around his neck and returned his kiss desperately.

  Reason hovered somewhere on the edge of his consciousness, but the consciousness had turned black and tinged with red. Red, or fire? In his belly an agony mounted. The throbbing all but brought him to his knees. He took her in his arms as he had never intended. And it was Madge who parted their lips.

  Cyrus moaned and felt tears squeeze from his closed eyes. A sobbing sound came from somewhere and he knew it wasn’t Madge. He couldn’t let her go, even though she must feel his response to her, he could not make his arms release her.

  “Cyrus,” she said, so very quietly. “What have I done to you?” She found his wrists and held them while she stepped away. How many times had she promised herself she would help him avoid this awakening no matter what it cost her. She’d failed, and if they couldn’t overcome the barrier they’d overstepped, then she would have to leave him.

  With his head bowed and his arms at his sides, he visibly collected himself. He gave a small laugh and sniffed—and blood rose in his face.

  “I look at you and I see love, Cyrus,” she told him. “But it’s a bigger love than anything you could have for me and that’s okay.” It wasn’t okay, oh, no, it would never be okay, but she would keep on taking whatever he had to spare.

  “You didn’t take religious vows, sweet one,” he said. “There is no reason for you to live as if you did.”

  Tears clogged her throat. “We have an understanding,” she said. “I just violated—”

  “You have violated nothing.” He almost shouted. “Nothing, do you understand? This is my cross, to love you when I can’t have you. But you don’t have to bear that cross. How many ways can I beg you to fulfill your real purpose in life?”

  Madge smiled at him and didn’t give a rat’s… She didn’t care that Cyrus saw her openly crying. “I’m smiling and crying. That makes me a nut, hmm? Please, may we go back to our understanding? A passionate, celibate affair? You have given me so much tonight—I’ll never be able to tell you how much. And now I’m going to behave myself.”

  She couldn’t know how badly he wanted to forget vows and promises he’d made a part of his soul, vows to which he’d given his soul. “I can’t let you hurt day in and day out.”

  “Send me away and I’ll hurt every minute I live. There, I think we’re bein’ real honest so you’d better believe me.” She remembered the reason she’d stayed until he got home, the original reason, or at least the one she’d come up with. “Am I fired?”

  “Never.” He shook his head and shots of blue showed in his black curls. “But you are not to stay when you decide you have to go.”

  “Right.” She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “Cyrus, I’ve got something you need to see and make some decisions about—if you’re not too tired.”

  “Show me, cher.”

  On shaky legs, Madge went to the couch and took a thin newspaper from beneath a cushion. She shrugged, embarrassed. “I put it there because I didn’t want to look at it.” Sitting down suddenly, she smoothed her dark blue dress over her knees.

  If he didn’t notice every move she made, it might help his peace. But she could just save them—at least for a little longer—with her sense of humor. And her love. Madge had the prettiest legs. Narrow ankles and softly curving calves and thighs—and hips.

  He went back to the window. “What’s the paper?”

  “The Toussaint Trumpet. ”

  Cyrus swung back to her. “The old Trumpet? The one Lee O’Brien’s trying to get going?”

  “She’s got it going. Cyrus, I think it’s going to be a huge success
.”

  He raised his brows. “You don’t say? Good for Lee. It is good for Lee, isn’t it?”

  “I think her marketing plans are unusual and… Cyrus, you’ll have parishioners lined up outside your door in the morning.”

  He looked heavenward. “Just what I need.”

  “You are never given more than you can bear,” she said, and burst into laughter.

  He caught her around the neck and tapped the end of her nose. “You are a cruel woman.” They smiled at each other, and he let her go. “All right, let’s get to it. The coffee’s cold but we could be really wild and have a glass of wine.”

  You bet, dear friend. Madge took the coffee cups to the sink beneath the bar and emptied them, then opened the small corner cabinet where Cyrus kept his meager supply of drinks. “Red wine is good for us,” she told him sagely. What she knew about wine…she knew nothing about it, but she had read about the positive results of drinking a little now and then.

  She got out two glasses and poured until each was three-quarters full.

  “Here you go,” she told Cyrus, putting the glasses on the table. “Sit down, please. You’ll want to go through this. I took the liberty of highlighting some of the high points.” She giggled.

  “What?” He frowned at her. “Well, thanks, I guess.”

  He would like to congratulate her on her incredible ability to defuse an explosive situation. He would also like to think he wouldn’t revisit this evening’s events when he was alone tonight.

  Once he sat beside her, she lifted a glass and gave it to him.

  He smiled but didn’t remark that she’d used water goblets.

  The paper’s name, printed boldly, included a sketch of a French horn emitting a stream of notes. “She might want to change that to a trumpet,” he said absently and Madge snorted. “Now what?” he asked.

  “That’s the least of our worries. Reb and Marc called tonight and they said the horn was deliberate—another ploy to make people think twice.”

  Cyrus’s scalp grew a little tighter. He looked for the price of the publication, turned from front to back of the single sheet, folded in half, searching.

  “The first week is free to encourage paid circulation.”

  “Does that sort of thing work?”

  She took the paper from his hands and turned it back to the front page. “If you can hang out some juicy worms of gossip, leaving out the punch lines, it might. Depends on the worms, I guess, and in a little town like this, gossip gets personal. Lee hasn’t spared too many people.”

  Cyrus took the rag back again and went directly to the lead article, thoughtfully highlighted in yellow by Madge. “Massive Accident in Toussaint. Police Investigate Potential Reckless Driving.”

  “Shi—shoot,” Cyrus said, looking at Madge. “She can’t do this.”

  “Sure can. Freedom of the press.”

  “To make up lies?”

  “Cyrus, Jilly went right through a stop sign and hit your car. She didn’t mean to, but it happened.”

  “Sure, but this headline…”

  “Boring headlines don’t attract readers.”

  He pointed at her, let his hand drop, then pointed again.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “Jilly and I will have Lee print a correction. That’ll be that.”

  “Good,” Madge said, a bit too evenly. “Lil may be the first in line to see Lee, though.” A sidebar drew attention to “Tryst With the Devil. The Mystery of the Missing Bingo Boards.”

  Cyrus tried to be very serious but failed and fell back on the couch laughing. “You don’t think Lil took the boards and hid them, do you?” he asked when he could speak.

  “It doesn’t say it was Lil,” Madge pointed out.

  “It says how a woman who could gain access to the Parish Hall, a woman so angry with her preoccupied, scheme-a-day husband that she resorts to such things to get his attention was driven to deranged behavior?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Has to be Lil. All hell’s going to break loose here.”

  “I think Lee would have liked to lead with this, but even she has a little anxiety about reprisals,” Madge said. “There we have ‘Mob Connection? Offed at All Tarted Up. Flakiest Forensic Efforts in Town.’ Lee went on in detail to explain how the forensics team had gone about their business, showing their ignorance by making a big deal about paper bags being used for evidence because she ‘guessed they couldn’t get hold of any plastic ones.’ And Lee boldly pointed out that it was obvious the victim knew his killer because he didn’t draw his own gun and walked straight toward the murderer—a fact she’s sure the police missed. And,” Madge added, “Lee will give further insights into her crime-scene findings next week.”

  She frowned at Cyrus. “Is she right about all this? What about the bag thing?”

  “Maybe. She’s goin’ to have to be protected from herself,” Cyrus said. Someone should have checked what the woman was up to. “She’s got most of her facts wrong. Who checks her facts for her?”

  “Not sure. She probably can’t afford anyone. Wally’s the delivery boy and he likes it.”

  “It might not be a good idea for him to work there. I’ll have a word with Gator and Doll.”

  “You can’t stand in the way of free enterprise.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Cyrus massaged the back of his neck. For years he’d put more time into bringing Wally up than his parents had. “I’ll find out what Spike wants to do about all this.”

  “Spike can’t do anything about a person’s First Amendment Rights.”

  “I’m not suggesting he can or would.” He couldn’t bring himself to look at Madge. “Is that all the damage she’s done?”

  “Nope. Just the beginning. By the way, Lee’s put in all kinds of lovely ads for free. There’s one for St. Cécil’s with a wonderful picture. She’s got a picture of you, too.” She put the picture in front of his face.

  “And you,” he reminded her. “We look pretty good.”

  They were pictured walking arm in arm out of St. Cécil’s and Cyrus groaned inwardly. “She says the parish is a friendly place to be where people get to know one another really well.”

  “I think that’s so sweet,” Madge said.

  His bishop had better never see it. “She didn’t ask if she could put in all these ads. Look at them all. ‘Homer Devol’s Guzzle, Gobble, Gas and Gab’? And ‘Joe Gable Gets the Goods.’ My, my, that’s not professional for a lawyer.”

  “But they’re all free,” Madge pointed out.

  He glanced at her lovely, honest face and looked quickly away again.

  “‘No Job Too Small for Sheriff Spike and His Posse.’” His mouth fell open. “Posse?”

  “All of that’s just poetic license,” Madge said. “Mostly I think she’s trying to make it catchy.”

  “Like, ‘Tuck in at Rosebank Resort, Clothes Optional’?”

  “Let me see that,” Madge said, leaning past his shoulders. “Oh dear.”

  “And, ‘Let Wazoo Arouse Your Deepest Potential’? ‘Passionate Packages Our Speciality.’”

  “Okay, it’s too much. I told you it would have to be talked about. If you’re really sweet to her she’ll tone it down.”

  “Me!”

  “You’re the only one who can do it. Here, look in the middle.”

  Dutifully, he spread the sheet across his lap. “What am I looking for?”

  “That.” She tapped the page. “The gossip column.”

  “Like the rest of this isn’t gossip?”

  She ignored that. “‘Lurking With Lavinia.’”

  Cyrus closed his aching eyes. “I thought it was going to be Patti-Lou’s column.”

  “Lee changed her mind. Listen, I’ll read it to you. ‘Who’s lying about their whereabouts last Friday night? Did something happen behind the old laundry after the crash? Who is the redhead with the flashy fingers? Which woman should keep a watch over her man? I know who offered blood money to St. Cécil’s, do you? Next questio
n—who turned it down and why? Who’s angry about not hearing from a friend? Whose marriage is wobbling over a sad loss? Who wants to marry an out-of-town lady only he doesn’t have the guts to ask? Why does a man give expensive gifts to a woman who isn’t his wife? And why does the recipient make such a show of not wanting those gifts? Which establishment has the worst food in town? Who—’”

  “Stop,” Cyrus said. “This is terrible. All she’ll accomplish is a lot of infighting.”

  “‘Who is sleeping with a handsome stranger? Who wants to sleep with a handsome stranger? And do we have a heavenly scandal on our hands?’”

  Cyrus turned cold. He turned to Madge.

  She closed the paper and set it on the table. “Sounds a bit like clues for a crossword puzzle…sorry to be flip. This could start some real problems, couldn’t it?”

  “Real problems if she’s ruffled the wrong feathers and someone wants to shut her up.”

  17

  “There’s a flashlight movin’ around,” Guy said. “Over there. In Lafayette Cemetery.”

  Nat glanced in the direction Guy pointed. “They keep ’em lighted for safety now?”

  “I’m talkin’ about a flashlight and it’s goin’ wild, jumpin’ all over the place. Now it’s out. Shit. If some asshole’s hurt Jilly, I’ll…” He breathed slowly through his nose. “She wouldn’t go into a cemetery, would she?” He looked at Nat, who shrugged.

  “Aw, get on, she wouldn’t.”

  “I’ve got you two figured out,” Nat said. “You fell for her because she’s got guts. And she’s gorgeous and sexy of course.”

  “If she’s in there, she’s mad.” He peered left. “There’s the light again. Let’s go.”

  “Don’t you want to know why I think she’s interested in you?” Nat swerved up onto the sidewalk near an entrance into the graveyard. “I’ll tell you, anyway. She’s got bad taste.”

  Guy grinned. Another unit came toward them, lights flashing, sirens blaring. “Here comes Petit. Can’t he make more noise?”

  “Probably a good idea to make a minor storm,” Nat said. “Should scare the bastard away.”