She groaned at his joke. But this might be more serious than Lucy could know. If only he had the official authority to fire her or make her leave. Or even unofficial authority — but the last time she’d done something because he said, she was in diapers.
He had to try. “If you want my opinion —”
“Don’t remember asking for that.”
“ — you should get as far away from people sending you threats as you can. Like, I don’t know, back to Virginia.”
“No way!” Lucy’s shout seemed to take even her aback. She continued in a more subdued tone, “I’m just getting through to some of these kids — DeWayne, Carlos — the other day, Janelle O’Leary even asked me for a letter of recommendation. I can’t leave now.”
Zach clamped his lips into a grim frown. He couldn’t fire or force her out, but if he could maneuver her away from the mob and make sure she left their kids alone, maybe she’d be safe. Time to admit nothing and deny everything. “Please tell me you haven’t tried to infect other people with your case of the crazies.”
Lucy scoffed and plopped into the creaky rocking chair. “Actually, I was giving Paul — I mean, a volunteer at the school a ride home that day, so it’s a little late for that.”
It wouldn’t have taken him this long if he hadn’t been so shocked to see his sister, but finally it all came together, along with the perfect opportunity to change the subject completely. “So you’re the teacher.”
“Saint Adelaide’s has twenty-four teachers on staff, as you would know if you actually attended to your priestly duties. Oh . . . I guess you really don’t have any.”
“Of course I have priestly duties — like counseling conflicted seminary students. Like Paul Calvin.”
Lucy dropped her folded arms along with her pretense of disinterest. “How do you know him? What did he say to you?” she asked, her voice full of both eagerness and dread.
“Let’s see.” He waited as long as he could — until Lucy looked about ready to throttle him. “He feels guilty for being ‘so attracted’ to you.” He grinned. “Priest-wrecker.”
“Now I know you’re making this up.” But her blush said otherwise.
Zach’s grin grew broader. He kicked his feet up on the ottoman. “And you like him too. That’s adorable.”
“Almost as cute as your crush on the parish secretary?” Her retort rang with a note of triumph. She straightened her shoulders. Her chair gave a loud squeak with her movement. “I know all about that one, bro.”
He pretended her jab didn’t metaphorically knock the wind out of him — and managed not to entertain any of the hundreds of questions he might ask someone in Molly’s confidence.
“And anyway,” Lucy continued, “I’m not crazy. Paul was there. He knows.”
“Sounds perfect for you. I’m sure you’ll be very happy together in the mental institution of your choice.”
Lucy scowled at him. “I’m not going to dismiss this and neither is he.”
“You don’t think so?”
“He followed Ian and his buddies to a bar the other night. Definitely sounds like organized crime is involved here.”
Great. The last thing he needed was amateurs ruining this case. “I’m telling you, go back to Virginia.”
“And I’m telling you, Zach —”
“Please — Father Tim. Can’t have you slipping up in front of my parishioners.” Especially the ones who’d kill them both if she did.
Lucy groaned. “Father Tim then. We can’t sit by and let these kids get dragged into this — this mob!”
And getting dragged in was exactly what Zach wanted to do. He sat up straighter and put on his best somber expression. “Listen, Lucy, seriously. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Then maybe you should talk to Molly. She seemed kinda freaked out whenever I brought up the wholesale industry.”
Lucy was more right than she knew. Molly had been terrified when she thought she was next — and he’d promised to prevent that.
“Or maybe it’s just the stress of working side by side with you,” she teased. Lucy smiled wickedly. Did he detect some perverse joy of her own at bringing up Molly again?
Zach kept his gaze level. “Probably best not to talk about me with her. At all.” Especially after what he’d almost done tonight.
He glanced at the family photos still next to him on the couch. “How are Mom and Dad?”
“Fine. Mom’s finally sewing that dress for Annika.”
Their niece needed a dress? He nodded like he knew and cared about a ten-year-old’s wardrobe. “You could tell them you got an e-mail from me and I’m doing good,” he suggested gently.
“Okay.” Lucy bit her lip. “Can I ask you something? I mean, about my students.”
“You can ask, but I don’t have to answer. I may not be a real priest, but I still have to respect priest-penitent privilege.”
She nailed him with a sarcastic glare. “You know anything about a Tommy Mulligan?”
Zach folded his arms across his chest. What, because he was with the FBI, he’d run background checks on everyone she met?
“You do, don’t you?” Lucy’s eyes lit up. “Tell me, Zach. Tommy’s one of my students, and I want to reach out to him, but nobody will tell me the whole story.”
“Have you heard of a little thing called the Internet?”
“Yeah,” she snapped. Then it dawned on her. “You think the truth is out there?”
What was this, The X-Files? “Some of the facts probably are. I’d better get back.” He stood and held out his arms. After a moment, Lucy gave him a real hug.
“Remember,” he said at the door. “Father. Tim.”
“I got it.” Lucy met his serious stare with one of her own. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”
“Me neither.” Zach bid her goodbye and headed out.
Could this get any more complicated?
Molly switched off the lights to the cafeteria and turned to leave, but once again, Doyle Murphy blocked her way, standing in the door. It was too late for her to casually change course, and no one was around to save her. Doyle’s hands settled onto his hips — he expected to get whatever he wanted from her.
“Did you get the food you were needin’?” She kept her tone light.
Doyle snorted in amusement. “Where’s Father Tim?”
She looked over her shoulder, but the dark cafeteria was empty. “Haven’t seen him for the last hour.”
“Guess I’ll go hunt him down.” Doyle started down the hall.
Ice coated Molly’s heart. “Oh, were you still wantin’ an appointment with him?”
Doyle turned back. “You know, maybe you’re the one to talk to.”
“Sure now.” She gave him half a smile.
He took two paces toward the car park, then looked back at Molly. She clamped down on the fear roiling in her stomach and fell in step with him. He walked her through the car park to the parish office. “Glad we’re finally working this out.”
Molly’s heart slid down a centimeter. No. She wouldn’t be party to a mob’s plot. She was a Garda.
That was right. She was a Garda. Molly held her head higher. She could handle this. “I think we’d better not talk here.”
“At home?” Doyle folded his arms. “When?”
“Tuesday. Eight.” Molly seized her keys and her opportunity to end this encounter. “Can’t have anyone in the office after hours, you know yourself.”
He nodded slowly, examining her as if his hooded eyes could gauge her honesty. She slipped into the office and locked the door behind her. Molly settled into her chair and leaned back to stare at the beams on the sloped ceiling.
Father Tim had no idea what he was up against. Even Molly only had the evidence from the datebook, and rumors to go with it, to guess what these men were capable of.
As much as this outfit’s power and impunity terrified her, she was still better equipped to f
ace them than Father Tim was. She had to keep Father Tim safe.
Because she loved him.
Molly sat up in her chair. She couldn’t let herself think that. Already tonight —
What had they done? There was no undoing it, no denying it. Perhaps no stopping it.
She flinched at her own thought. Of course she could stop it. She could control her feelings and save Father Tim from ending up like Father Patrick. That was why she was protecting him — he was her priest. Not because of the knowing light in Father Tim’s eyes, or how he’d defended her and her Irish culture, or how he remembered silly things like barmbrack and Crunchie bars, or how much she’d wanted him to cross those last centimeters tonight.
Molly turned to her desk. She had to stop thinking about that moment. She slid open the top desk drawer. Between the barmbrack ring and Lucy’s book lay the Crunchie bar. She tore into the gold and purple wrapper and took a bite of the chocolate bar — but either the quality of imported sweets had declined or . . . hadn’t Lucy said something about disappointments in love and one’s sense of taste?
She glanced down at the book Lucy had given her. Hadn’t she also said something about weaknesses becoming strengths? Molly set aside the Crunchie bar and picked up Lucy’s book, thumbing through until she found a highlighted verse.
And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.
Molly read the verse three times. Humility and faith. Could it be that simple? A calm assurance began to fill her chest. She turned to the next page and read on.
As promised, the following afternoon Molly returned to the squat building with a stone façade to hear Lucy sing. Trying to ignore the jittering undercurrent of nerves, Molly settled in the blue upholstered pew next to her friend. Molly still didn’t know what to expect from Sunday services — sacrament meeting, as Lucy called it — at the Mormon church.
The organ and piano by the pulpit reassured her that the music wouldn’t be too different. Or at least not a rock and roll band. As the services began, the phrases from Lucy’s book echoed through Molly’s mind.
While the meeting had far less ceremony than Mass, the congregation was quiet enough to add a solemn air to the plain chapel. Lucy had explained the stillness — the congregation was composed entirely of unmarried adults. Molly wasn’t sure if it was rude to ask why there were no children or married couples among them.
The speaker, Lucy’s friend Susan, finished her remarks. She returned to her seat behind the podium, and Lucy flipped open a green hymnal and gave it to Molly. “This is what I’m singing,” she whispered, tapping the pages. “Verses four, five and seven.”
Molly glanced down at “How Firm a Foundation.” The minister announced Lucy’s song as she walked to the pulpit. Though the hymn was familiar, Molly had never heard this tune before. Lucy’s clear soprano and the new melody set the words in a fresh light:
When through the deep waters I call thee to go
The rivers of sorrow shall not thee o’erflow
For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.
When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie
My grace, all sufficient, shall be thy supply
The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design
Thy dross to consume and thy gold to refine.
The soul that on Jesus hath leaned for repose
I will not, I cannot, desert to his foes:
That soul though all hell should endeavor to shake
I’ll never, no never, no never forsake!
Lucy and her accompanist gathered their music in the profound hush — a palpable reverence.
But the peace was short lived. Brian noisily struggled to his feet — and crutches — and hobbled to the podium. He was well into a series of jokes by the time Lucy reached Molly in their pew. Then Brian spotted her, too.
Molly tried to maintain a mask of polite interest despite the resurging wave of guilt. Brian shifted his comedy routine to the crippling incident, concluding with the diagnosis: an ACL tear of at least moderate severity, which might require surgery to fix. Brian aimed his snake-oil-salesman smile at her and started his address. Molly stared at her knees.
He redeemed himself, however, in his conclusion with a reference to the verse she’d studied last night. “When Moroni says he’s not up to his task,” Brian continued, “the Lord shows him that weakness can become a strength. And the Lord’s strength is sufficient for all of us.”
Although she had no idea who Moroni was, something about Brian’s message brought back that same feeling of peace and reassurance she’d had while reading last night and pondering the text of Lucy’s song.
Truth be told, she hadn’t much cared about church until she needed a job from one. Nominal belief had got her through her Catholic education. But somehow, this feeling went beyond that. What did that mean?
Brian’s gaze settled on Molly. “Brothers and sisters, I know God will make us strong. He will lead us to become better until we’re the best we can be, the souls Christ will sanctify at the last day.” He closed his address, and Molly joined in the chorus of amens.
After the prayer, Molly and Lucy tried to make their way out of the chapel, but the entire congregation seemed to cluster around them. Molly assumed they were approaching to compliment Lucy’s performance, and many did — but several came up to say hello to Molly and to welcome her. Not the treatment she expected after nearly crippling a parishioner last week.
At the chapel doors, the teenagers perplexingly called elders met them. “We’re so glad you came.” The blond about her height, Elder Ehrisman, pumped her hand. “Molly, right?”
She nodded.
Elder Franklin joined in. “How’d you like sacrament meeting today?”
“Very well, thank you.”
Brian limped past Lucy to place a hand on Molly’s arm. “Want to learn more?”
She pulled away. “I — ah.” She glanced around. Lucy, Brian, the missionaries and everyone within earshot seemed to lean in eagerly. “That is, I hadn’t thought about it.”
“How about an appointment, elders?” Brian offered.
The boys’ faces lit up. Lucy stepped forward. “Only if Molly actually wants to.”
All eyes turned to Molly again. What was she getting herself into if they all reacted so dramatically to this? “All right,” she said slowly.
Elder Franklin had his datebook out before she even finished her sentence. They made an appointment for Tuesday night.
Brian winked. “I’ll clear my schedule.”
Molly nodded and hoped her smile didn’t appear too uneasy as they shared enthused handshakes all around — Brian’s the most enthused of all.
She bid Lucy goodbye and walked to the car park, trying to dismiss her new bout of anxiety. It wouldn’t hurt anything to learn a little more about Lucy’s church. Obviously these were good people — good Christians. Even Brian, obnoxious though he was, sincerely believed.
But what would Father Tim say?
Zach locked the parish house and headed out. Once he was out of range of the church, he pulled out his phone and dialed into his Bureau voicemail. Without a secure Internet connection — and with Sellars always on the warpath — Zach had called in Healey’s plate to his D.C. office late Saturday night. By Monday evening, they should’ve reported back to him.
The first message reported Cathal Healey as the registered owner of the blue Chevy. Zach barely had time to be disappointed before the second message — from the same clerk — began. “This your idea of a joke?” the clerk asked. “Illinois Bureau of Motor Whatever just made fun of me for running one of our own plates. Thanks a lot. What am I supposed to tell Chicago when they call?�
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Zach’s stomach sank. On autopilot, his fingers deleted the message. Was Cathal Healey Sellars’s pet agent? Why would the ASAC send in another agent?
He reached the stop just as his bus arrived. And then he realized the maroon sedan he was now used to seeing parked across the street hadn’t been there today. With these guys sending Lucy death threats, and her a no-show for their scheduled meeting that afternoon, he had to make sure she was okay. He boarded the bus and dialed her number.
“Hello?” she answered after four rings.
“Luce? It’s me.” He took a seat in the middle of the half-empty bus.
“Zach — Tim — whoever you are,” she spat out. “Where were you today?”
Zach frowned. “Figured you canceled. It wasn’t on my schedule when I called the office.” He wasn’t quite ready to face Molly again, though she’d sounded fine talking to him.
“Are you kidding? You left me at Father Fitzgerald’s mercy. I couldn’t talk to him about the mob, so I made up something about tightening the dress code. The guy is a control freak.”
That might explain why Fitzgerald had taken the meeting. The bus turned right, and Zach switched seats, popping on a watch cap as a disguise. “In this parish, he only qualifies as a quirky character.”
“He sort of grilled me about you, actually.”
Zach silently groaned. What would he have to add to his cover’s legend? “Tell me you didn’t say anything embarrassing, Luce. I have to live with the guy.”
“What, you think I’d tell him about the girl you played kiss tag with in second grade?”
He glanced around the bus and lowered his voice even more. “She played; I ran away screaming. If you have to humiliate me, at least get it right.”
Lucy sighed. “I said we knew each other growing up and lost touch after college.”
That worked. Good cover, especially from an amateur. “Nice. Lying to a priest.”
“Better than lying about being one. Was that all you wanted?”
He hesitated a beat. Could he admit he was worried about her, or would that scare her even worse — or tip her off? “Just wanted to make sure you’re not avoiding me again.”
Saints & Spies Page 17