“You’ve feared for your life ever since what happened?” Pat asked again.
Father Sieger was playing with the tip of his spoon, making lines in the tablecloth. He looked up. “Has either of you ever been so terrified you thought you would truly die? By that I mean physically die, not just as a figure of speech. Ever been so utterly frightened that you would choose death rather than ever go through anything like it again in the future? Well, I did.
“I shall remember it as long as I live. It was a week ago today, last Wednesday evening. I had been alone in the rectory, trying to catch up on some letter writing I had been putting off for some time. The building, as I’ve told you, is old, quite old. The church was built just about two hundred years ago and the rectory is short that by no more than ten or twelve years. My study, dining room, kitchen, and pantry are on the first floor. Directly above on the second floor is my suite of rooms, consisting of a large sitting room, bedroom, bath, and a small private chapel. I am fortunate. My sitting room is easily twenty some feet wide and about thirty-five feet long. The architects in those days were extremely generous. I was in that sitting room writing my letters and it got to be much later than I realized, and I had to be up extra early the next morning. Anyway, I quickly got ready for bed. I put out the lights and prayed silently that I would soon be asleep. Each night, I had been going to bed truly afraid of what the night might bring with it. Fortunately, my eyes were heavy and I soon dozed off. But I wasn’t destined for a full night’s sleep.”
“More noises?” Phillis asked.
He shook his head. “Would to God there had been. No, my dear, nothing that pleasant, I’m afraid. I was awakened by silence. Yes, silence, silence so heavy I could feel it. I think my own breathing must have awakened me. I lay there for what seemed an eternity, fighting to get my breath. I wanted to sit upright so I could breath easier, but I was too terrified to move. I realized my imagination was getting the better of me and that indeed I was having an anxiety attack. Finally, I managed to move and prop myself up with my pillows leaning against the headboard. I am ashamed to tell you something, but I must. I, a grown man, had not yet opened my eyes. I was too afraid to open them. Even at the time, I knew I was being childish. I wish to this very day that I had remained childish and had not listened to my so-called adult common sense telling me to open my eyes because there could not be anything in the room. If only I had kept them closed. But I did not. I opened them and that was when I saw him.”
“Him?” Pat and Phillis asked in unison.
“Yes, he was standing at the foot of my bed, a tall figure of a man, at least six feet tall, in black, a cloak over his shoulders which went to the floor. I couldn’t make out his features. The room was dark, only a slit of light coming from the hall outside. The door to my room was partially open, although I had closed it before getting into bed. It was then that he moved and came around to the side of my bed. I tried to get away, cringed if you will, but I seemed unable to move, as though I was hypnotized by him. In retrospect, I can say he held a fascination for me. He reached down and placed his hands around my neck, gently at first, then began to squeeze, harder and harder, until I could breathe no longer and everything disappeared. I must have passed out. It was daylight when I awoke, stretched diagonally across the bed.”
“A bad dream,” Pat suggested. “With what had been going on, your imagination was working full blast and it’s perfectly understandable that you had an unsettling dream, that’s all.”
“But there were marks on his neck the next morning,” Phillis pointed out.
“How did you know that?” Father Sieger asked her.
She shrugged and smiled. “Father, where did you get that gun? Do you have a permit for it?”
“One of my parishioners got it for me. I told him there had been several attempts at breakage into the rectory and that I would feel better if I had a gun there. As for a permit, I am afraid.…”
“Phillis and I were planning on going back to the city in a few days,” Pat said. “We could be there the day after tomorrow. Would that be convenient?”
“Yes, yes, it most certainly would. Does that mean you will take this… this case?”
“We’ll see,” Pat said. “We can’t make any promises right now but we would like to see the locale where all these things took place, if that’s all right with you. One reason we’re here in Atlantic City, besides getting a vacation, is that we’re having work done on our house. Would it be possible…?”
“Of course! I would be delighted if you would stay with me at the rectory.” Father Sieger seemed genuinely sincere in his invitation.
They drove the priest back to Mathilde’s guesthouse. He decided to spend the night there. He also agreed to let Pat have the gun.
“Since when were we supposed to go to Philadelphia this week?” Phillis asked as they drove back to their hotel. “We still have a week left of this vacation.”
Pat smiled. “Don’t you want to find out what this is all about? Not what you’d call a routine case, right?”
“I suppose so.”
“And, while we’re at it, how did you know he had marks on his throat the next morning?”
“Oh, my dear, dear brother,” she laughed. “Can you possibly imagine that story without marks on the throat? True or not, there had to be marks on the throat. Without marks, the whole story would be pointless, not worth the telling. Didn’t you ever tell ghost stories around a campfire?”
They were parking their car in the underground garage of the hotel.
“I think someone is playing jokes on that priest,” she said as they headed for the elevator.
“That’s what you think?”
“Don’t you?”
The elevator door closed.
“Well?” she repeated.
The doors opened and they came out and walked along the hall.
“Playing jokes?” he echoed. “Oh no, not jokes. Wish it were. Wish that was all that was going on.” He opened the door to Phillis’ room.
“But I meant sick jokes” she explained. “I wasn’t talking about anything funny--ha, ha, funny. Really sick. Someone who has or thinks he has some reason to harm Father Sieger. A man in his position surely must have people--mentally sick people--who think he has done them some wrong and they feel they should get even.”
He opened the connecting door. “You’re wrong, sis. I hate to always sound like a broken record, but you should know me well enough by now to know when I have the feeling, when I know something is wrong, evil, threatening. I can sense it all around that priest. There’s evil there, like some kind of mantle, over and around him, ready to fall on his shoulders. Oh, I don’t think he’s necessarily evil. No, but someone--something--is incredibly evil and that person, that thing, is ready to strike, and unless I am wrong, strike soon. That’s why I want to get up to the city as quickly as we can. It could happen soon and, God help us all, I don’t think it will be very pretty when it does.”
“You mean Father Sieger is in some kind of danger?”
“This thing is so evil, I think danger is certain.” Pat was standing in the doorway. “I only hope we will find everything well with him when we call on him. By the way, what’s your schedule tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow? I was thinking of buying my own personal casino. In fact, I think I’ve already bought one. Why?”
“I have to see someone in the a.m. Can we meet by late afternoon?”
“Of course. Pat?”
He waited for her to go on.
“Earlier, when I said, ‘Here we go again,’ I was only joking. I know how much this life has come to mean to you.”
“How about you? It’s not the usual kind of life for a young, beautiful woman--with money--this getting involved in other people’s problems. It’s not fair to you.”
“Don’t worry about me. I enjoy it. When the day comes it bothers me, I’ll let you know.”
“Sleep well,” he said as he closed the door.
�
�Pat? Thanks.”
“Say that one more time, and I’ll get Aunt Molly to disinherit you.” He smiled as he went into his room and closed the door.
Phillis began to get ready for bed, a warm glow all around her, knowing her big brother was in the next room.
CHAPTER V
Early the next morning, Pat slipped a note under Phillis’ door.
Phil,
Gone to Mattie’s to see Father Sieger off. Will try to clear up everything by late this afternoon & cancel anything for tomorrow. Can you be ready to leave for Philly sixish today rather than wait till tomorrow? Have uneasy feeling about what’s going on with Fr. S.
Love,
Me.
Phillis had no real schedule that day. She wandered casually through the casino, played a few slot machines half-heartedly, and the humor of the situation struck her as she walked away. Strangers stopped to see this attractive young woman walking alone and laughing aloud. She was thinking back to a short while ago, to a time when the idea of winning even a small jackpot would have been so exciting to her. Now, she did not really care if she won or not. Winning money meant nothing now that she was truly wealthy. She remembered when she had to plan and save and do without in order to buy a new outfit. Now, all she had to do was walk into a store and simply say, “Charge it,” and whatever she wanted was hers. And to think, she reminded herself, it all started with renting an apartment and finding a dead body.
Outside, she walked along the boardwalk and breathed in the salt air. She returned to her room and packed a bag. By six-thirty, Pat and she were on the Atlantic City Expressway headed for Philadelphia.
“What time did Father Sieger leave this morning?” she asked.
“Little after break of day, according to Mattie.”
“And how’s the mad concierge of Ventnor? Still upset about having a gun in her house yesterday?”
Pat chuckled. “Not Mattie. She’s the most sensible, down-to-earth person I’ve ever known. She said Father Sieger wouldn’t eat anything this morning, he was so anxious to get back to Philly. She also said she had the feeling something was bothering him and that he couldn’t wait to get back to the city.”
“Wonder what was so important he had to hurry?”
“Maybe he had an appointment.”
They were on the approach to the Walt Whitman Bridge.
“Did you call Father Sieger and tell him we’d be there this evening?” she asked.
Pat shook his head.
“But he won’t be expecting us,” she protested.
“You’re right, he won’t be expecting us. And what’s even more important, neither will anyone else. If I had told Father Sieger we were coming tonight, he might have mentioned it to someone, and I’d rather no one knew we were going to be in that rectory tonight.”
“You think these things are the handiwork of someone in the rectory or on the staff of St. Alban’s?”
“Who knows? Could be the curate, the secretary, the sexton. Or other-worldly powers.”
He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw her shiver. “Scared?”
“I don’t scare easily. By this time you ought to know that.”
“I forget at times that my little sister has guts.”
“You always say the most complimentary things.”
They were in Philadelphia, driving along Spruce Street in Society Hill.
“Father Sieger says there’s a parking garage right behind the church,” Pat said.
“And right next to it is Big Ben’s. Many’s the meal I had there when I had to watch every penny. Cheap, but not bad at all. Want to try it?”
They both ordered one of Big Ben’s specials. They were enjoying their second cups of coffee when Phillis said, “Coffee’s still the best in the city. Wish I knew their--” She suddenly stopped speaking. “What’s wrong?”
Pat waved his hand to signal silence.
She tried to speak again.
He put a finger to his lips and shook his head. Finally, he relaxed. “I was listening to the conversation behind me. They were talking about some priest being found dead. I wonder.…” He stretched his neck to see their waitress. He caught her attention.
“Get youse anything else?” she asked as she approached their booth. “How about some nice dessert?”
“Was a priest found dead near here recently?” Pat asked her.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. I think so. Want some fresh apple pie? Just came in.”
“Who was he?”
“Who was who?”
“The priest,” Phillis said.
“Priest? What priest?” She looked around the restaurant. “Don’t see no priest in here. Ain’t been no priest in here all evenin’. You sick? In trouble? I think that there fella at the end of the counter is a minister or rabbi. Or is he the one who works in the florist shop on the Square? If you need help, Ruby, the cashier, has a brother who does things with hypnotism or somethin’ like that. Want me to ask her?”
“No!” Pat almost shouted.
“Sounds as though you need more’n a priest, if you ask me,” she diagnosed him.
“Did a priest die near here or not?” Pat asked, slowly enunciating each syllable.
She stared at him. “I don’t live near here. I’ll get your pie.” She took off before either of them could stop her.
“Just lean over and ask the people in the booth behind you?” Phillis suggested.
“Can’t. That would admit I can hear what they’re saying.”
“So?”
“So, if you could hear what they’re talking about now, you’d understand I could get my nose pushed in. I’m going outside and get a newspaper.
He returned to their booth as their waitress left after placing two plates on their table. “It’s on the front page. PRIEST FOUND DEAD IN CHURCH, the headline says.” He mumbled a few words as his eyes ran down the column. “Saint Alban’s, all right. But, guess what? He wasn’t just found dead. He was found shot.”
“Poor Father Sieger,” Phillis said. “I was getting to like him.”
Pat shook his head. “No, sister dear, it wasn’t Father Sieger who was shot. It was his curate, Father Paul Mowbray. Small world, isn’t it?”
“The same Father Mowbray you met…?”
“I’m sure it’s the same. The Father Mowbray who was at that meeting of Gay Issues I attended a few months ago in Margate. How many priests by that name do you think there are in Philadelphia?”
“So, we’ll walk right into a police investigation. Still think we should stay at the rectory?”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way, unless of course Father Sieger says we can’t. C’mon, let’s go.”
“Not till I finish my apple pie,” she protested.
“Hurry. It’s getting late.”
They left Big Ben’s, walked to the corner of Sycamine Street, and turned towards Saint Alban’s.
“I wonder how Father Sieger is taking this?” Phillis asked. “He must be quite shook up.”
“He may be more shook up soon.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because Father Mowbray was shot, right? The paper said nothing about suicide or an accident. What does that leave?”
“Murder.”
“Precisely. Wouldn’t surprise me if the police arrested someone and that someone was close to the rectory.”
They walked in silence for the rest of the block, then Phillis stopped.
“Pat, I want to help Father Sieger. I really do like the man and if he’s in any kind of trouble, I want to do whatever we can to help him. Okay with you?”
Pat chuckled. “Sure, softie. If you had your way, you’d bring home every stray dog and cat--not to mention priest--you found. We’ll help.”
CHAPTER VI
They stopped at an iron gate and stepped up onto a flagstone path. In the mid-summer evening air with only a hint of a breeze, they could smell the roses which clung along the iron fence. A bed of peonies and tiger lilies had gone to sleep for th
e night. The path led off to their right to the church and another branch led to the parish house. On their left, it brought them to two large, oak gothic doors at right angles to one another. The door on the left had a massive iron knocker. Pat grabbed it and rapped twice.
“This is a beautiful setting, right here in the middle of the city, isn’t it?” Phillis asked. “Something of an oasis surrounded by dirt and debris.”
The door opened and Father Sieger stood facing them. He looked worse than he had only twenty-four hours earlier. For a fleeting moment, he seemed not to recognize them, then he spoke. His voice, when he found it, was hoarse. “Pat, Phillis, how kind of you to come. You must have heard….” His voice left him again. He stepped back and motioned for them to enter.
The foyer of the rectory ran parallel to the garden. It smelled of old wood and wax. Father Sieger again motioned, this time for them to precede him into his first-floor study. The room, which was on Sycamine Street, was quite large with the wall on their right filled with bookshelves, interrupted by a black slate fireplace in its center. Through the leaded windows on the street side could be seen distorted headlights of traffic. On their left as they walked into the room was a bay window with a window seat providing a vantage point for admiring the garden. A sofa in the middle of the floor faced a mahogany desk. Father Sieger walked past his desk and took a straight chair at a right angle to the sofa. He motioned for them to be seated.
“You heard the news, I see,” he began. “It has been something terrible. The police left here only a little while ago.” He had to stop to clear his throat. “The police have been over every inch of this property, looking into places you can’t imagine. I don’t believe we shall ever get things back in any kind of order.”
“Who found Father Mowbray’s body?” Pat asked.
“I did. It was terrible, simply terrible. You can’t imagine.” He had taken out a handkerchief and was wiping his brow. “After I got home this morning, I had a few errands I had to attend to. I was back for lunch, but had to go out again later. Visit someone in the hospital, among other things. When I got back, I called up to Father Paul’s rooms. There was no answer, and that surprised me because I had seen his car in the parking garage in back. I called the office and asked Grace Everett if she had seen him. She told me that she hadn’t seen him all day. I guessed he had gone someplace on foot, but that was doubtful. Because of our comings and goings here, we keep a board in the kitchen where we show whether we’re in or out. Paul’s name showed he was still in. I checked his rooms. Nothing there. I decided to try the church. I went through the downstairs office, up the stairs to the cloister, then into the church. That’s when I found him.”
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