“You’re not seeing the big picture.” Zach rubbed his hands together. “This extortion attempt could be evidence of the extortion against Father Patrick. That’s two counts — that’s racketeering. And extorting Father Patrick could be why they murdered him.”
“And Murphy will argue Patrick molested his kid, and the jury will nullify. Or he’ll say Ian killed Patrick, but Murphy’s willing to take the fall for his son, and the jury will still nullify.”
“We still have him on the deal with the school.”
“Do you really think we sent you in there to nab him for school lunches?” Sellars scoffed. “His lawyers would have a field day.”
Zach pulled his jacket tighter. “You give Murphy’s lawyers a lot of credit.”
“Seen ’em in action.” Sellars took out a pack of cigarettes.
“But even they can’t refute an agent as an eyewitness. We’ll get him on that at least.”
Sellars shook his head. “We’re not settling for only Murphy. I want them all.”
“Getting greedy, Sellars. Bird in the hand?” Zach glanced around the empty underpass. Good thing the homeless men who lived here weren’t out on a night this frigid.
The older man sighed. “Rookie mistake. Thought you were ‘made for this.’ Or was that Healey?” He focused on lighting his cigarette.
Frowning, Zach bounced on his heels to warm up. He was no rookie. What mistake?
“We need them all. The mob isn’t like a snake — cut off the head and the body dies. If we take out Murphy, there’s ten more like him waiting in the wings.”
“Maybe he’d flip on them.”
“Tried that. We let him buy his freedom testifying against guys who turned out to be peons. Not this time.” Sellars shook his head again. “Now he’s the second-in-command for the whole South Side. We’re not going to deal unless he gives us his boss — the don.”
“And how do you expect Father Tim to make that happen?”
Sellars placed emphasis on each word of Zach’s title, but kept his voice low. “Special Agent Saint will dig Murphy a hole so deep he won’t know which way is up. Roll up everybody so he can’t flip on anyone but the boss — or Special Agent Healey will have to come back.”
He pursed his lips. Not helpful. “I can handle this. But I need more time.”
Sellars puffed on his cigarette and said nothing.
“Just a little.”
“I’ll talk to the archbishop. You get your guy into protection; I’ll get the paperwork.”
Zach saluted. Lonegan wasn’t taking his calls since the news about Ian and Brandon. Might be faster to drag Murphy in than Lonegan — and he only had eight days left.
Zach paused before the conclusion of his homily Sunday to scan the congregation for Lonegan again. Though he didn’t want to preach false doctrine and he’d had to say something about the accusations against Father Patrick, Zach was most nervous about using his first talk in Mass to push Cally Lonegan to turn on the mob. With only one week left in the parish, Zach and Molly were the mob’s target, and he still wasn’t sure Lonegan even wanted out.
No sign of him among the parishioners. Doyle Murphy, however, was right down front.
Zach continued his sermon about the sinner returning to God. “It’s not easy to change — it never is. In the Sermon on the Mount, the Lord counseled if our hand or our foot or our eye causes us to stumble, we should remove that body part and cast it away.”
He took a deep breath and reminded himself to speak more slowly and clearly at the most direct part of his message to Lonegan. “Obviously He was speaking figuratively, since I don’t know many people whose hands or feet randomly lead them into sin without some input from the rest of their bodies. Instead, as we change our lives, we have to cut off possessions, habits or people very important to us. But it’s better for us ‘to enter into life halt or maimed, rather than having two hands or two feet to be cast into everlasting fire.’”
He paused for one last scan. No Lonegan. Zach finished his sermon with a last scripture on offering a broken heart and a contrite spirit and hurried back to the choir loft during the Nicene Creed. He’d gotten too used to wearing the simpler choir dress he could wear when he was just the organist instead of the full complement of Sunday vestments he needed to preach. He managed to wait until he reached the stairway before he unceremoniously hiked up the heavy ceremonial clothing to give his feet clearance to take the stairs two at a time up to the choir loft.
He double-checked the loft to see if Lonegan had snuck in there. Maybe he didn’t want to be seen in the congregation after his son’s accusation that week. Still no Lonegan.
After Father Fitzgerald concluded Mass, Zach played a short postlude and rushed down to greet the parishioners in the vestibule, searching the crowd one last time for Lonegan.
“Father Tim?”
Hoping the woman addressing him would be Lisa Lonegan, Zach turned. To his surprise, a sheepish Kathleen stood there, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “Just wanted to thank you for your homily.” She looked away, again shuffling.
He nodded, then craned his neck to scan the passing parishioners for Lonegan.
Kathleen moved closer and lowered her voice, but still didn’t make eye contact. “I’ll be more careful about what I say.”
He tried not to gape at her. “Oh, I didn’t — I hope I didn’t offend you.”
“No, no. I . . . I know better than to gossip. You were right. We have to cast away bad habits.”
He converted his amusement into a sympathetic smile. “Glad to know the Spirit moved you today.”
She bid him goodbye while he looked over the stragglers. Still no Lonegan. How long had it been since they talked last? Could he have changed his mind about wanting out? Zach headed through the chapel to get his phone from the sacristy. With every step, the knot in his stomach twisted tighter. If Lonegan’s son was going along with the extortion scheme, could Cally not be a part? If Murphy was making his move for Father Tim, maybe Lonegan was done “reeling him in.” Maybe Zach had run out of chances.
He grabbed his phone from the drawer and dialed Lonegan. Five . . . six . . . seven rings — no answer. Zach tossed the phone onto the vesting table.
Now one of them was in real trouble.
A manila envelope dropped onto Molly’s desk Tuesday when Kathleen returned with the mail. Addressed to Father Tim, no return address. Molly slid the papers out and read over them. One phrase caught her eye — and then the blood chilled in her veins.
Kincaid Wholesalers. Doyle Murphy’s crew. They wanted Father Tim’s signature.
Could she get away with shredding this?
No one would know. Father Tim wouldn’t miss it, and Doyle Murphy would have to go through her. She still had sole access to that account.
“Hey, Moll.” Father Tim walked in, oblivious to the threat she held. She clutched the paper tighter. He stepped closer, eyebrows arched in mild curiosity. “You busy?”
“Only paperwork. Records.” She avoided his gaze as she grabbed her keys from the top drawer. She unlocked the lower drawer and thrust the contract on top of the cashbox. Before Father Tim could lean over her desk, she shoved the drawer shut and locked it.
Father Tim didn’t seem overly concerned. He turned away to sift through another box of donated books. But the vise around her ribs didn’t loosen. She still had to ask him about the Mormons. And Kathleen serenely filed her nails at her desk.
“How’s the talent show coming?” Tim asked after a moment.
“We had good acts sign up, but a lot have backed out.” Molly glanced at Kathleen. Her daughter was the latest cancellation. “Grace said she can’t do it, either. One of her backup singers has a schedule conflict.”
“How many does that make?” Kathleen asked.
“Four. At this rate, we won’t have anyone left.”
“Except for you and me.” Tim finished sorting the books and started reloa
ding the box.
“Do you want to go first or will I?”
“You can. I have something special planned.” He gave her half a smile. “You speak Irish, right?”
Kathleen cleared her throat; Molly ignored her. “Tá.” She nodded. “We’ll have you as the closing act, so.” She silently prayed it wouldn’t be “Molly Malone” in Irish.
“Bet I could get Lucy to sing, too — one more act you know won’t back out.”
Molly folded her arms to rub her elbow. She didn’t want to give him an excuse to talk to Lucy, but being jealous was ridiculous. Father Tim turned back to the box, and they lapsed into silence.
“Have you heard from the Murphys or the Lonegans this week?” Father Tim’s solemn murmur broke the stillness.
“No.” Molly matched his low tone.
“Any word on their lawsuit?”
Molly waited for Kathleen’s reply. “No.”
A somber silence fell over them again for a few moments, broken only by the muffled rhythm of Tim stacking the books.
Until the door swung open and in limped — Brian? Molly groaned inwardly. Someone else she needed to have a delicate conversation with.
“Hey, Moll — whoa, who died?” He looked from Molly to Kathleen with their twin expressions of grim solemnity.
“The last priest,” Tim supplied.
Brian startled and stepped around the door to see Tim kneeling by the box of books. “And you’re, what, his apprentice?”
Tim slowly rose to his feet. Molly couldn’t help a bit of gratification as Brian had to crane his neck to look up at Tim once he stood at his full height. “I’m his replacement.”
“Uh, yeah.” Brian turned to Molly. She caught a glimpse of the sarcastic smirk he must’ve given Tim.
“Is this your boyfriend, Molly?” Kathleen finally spoke up.
Brian’s eyes lit up. “You’ve been talking about me — or this?” He patted his knee brace.
Molly gritted her teeth. He didn’t need encouragement.
“I was thinking we could get an early dinner this week.” Brian jerked his head in Tim’s direction. “You don’t need his permission to leave, do you?”
She glanced at Tim. “Technically you are my employer, aren’t you?”
“What am I going to do, chain you to your desk?”
Brian scoffed, arranging his highlighted brown hair. “Come on, Molly.”
Molly again looked from the man she could hardly stand to the man she couldn’t have, unsure what to say. She pulled on her coat and silently begged Father Tim to find some reason to object, even the flimsiest pretense of a task for her. He lowered his gaze, but gave her the smallest nod of assent. He was right — they both were.
Molly shut down her computer and grabbed her handbag. “Bye now.”
“You ever been to C?” Brian asked as the door shut behind them.
The restaurant where she had dinner not a week ago with Lucy, Paul, and Tim — Father Tim. She put on her gloves to buy herself time to answer. Was it ironic or fitting to follow the strangest double date in history with the most uncomfortable date she’d ever been on?
They reached his silver SUV. Brian made no move toward the door handle — and when Molly did, he leaned a hand on her door. She didn’t dare look at him, but at the edge of her vision, she could see him waiting, a smirk on his lips, but hunger — and intent — in his eyes.
Was he serious? How could he possibly think they were at a place, metaphorically or literally, where she’d kiss him? She choked on a laugh.
Just as Brian started to lean in, Father Tim’s voice carried across the car park. “Have fun, Moll!”
The interruption was perfectly timed: Molly ducked underneath Brian’s awkward advance. “See you tomorrow!” She maneuvered around Brian while he was recovering his balance. “You know, I’m not really interested in goin’ out.”
“Oh. Okay. I’m sure the missionaries can meet us at my place early.” He pulled his mobile from his pocket. Before Molly could clarify that she meant she wasn’t interested in going out at all, ever, Brian continued. “That priest of yours has quite the sense of timing. How can you stand him?”
“We’re friends.” Father Tim wouldn’t have interrupted Brian’s attempted kiss on purpose, would he? She’d have to thank him later. “And speakin’ of friends —”
“Guys can’t be ‘just friends’ with hot girls.” He shook his head. “Even celibate guys.”
Her ribs shrank a centimeter. “Brian,” she murmured. “I know you’re not Catholic, but we can all respect the priesthood.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” He smiled. “You make me want to be better. I want to marry someone just like you.”
Molly opened her handbag to search for her keys to hide her shock. They’d never even been on a date. She’d seen the man all of five times. What could he mean by “just like you” — female?
Suddenly this evening didn’t seem a much better idea than an evening with Tim.
Father Tim.
Molly frowned at the diagram Brian had drawn to accompany the missionaries’ lesson in his high-end bachelor pad. The center circle represented Earth, with continents, a sea monster, and stick figures of the missionaries on the South Pole, holding copies of the Book of Mormon — and Brian and Molly on the North Pole, holding hands.
She’d waited for any opportunity to end her time with Brian, but the lesson had flowed with dizzying smoothness. Elder Ehrisman finished his description of the afterlife. Brian slid the diagram over the glass-and-brushed-nickel coffee table to add three circles in a column after the judgment bar.
Molly interrupted the missionary. “Three heavens?”
“Kingdoms. Telestial, terrestrial, celestial,” Brian listed, labeling them. He drew flames in the bottom corner of the paper. “And outer darkness, but you don’t need to worry about that.”
“God rewards us according to what we did while we were here being tested.” Elder Ehrisman indicated the Earth circle. Molly eyed the drawings of her and Brian. She was certainly being tested.
Brian was surely not her sorest test, though.
“I think Catholics believe you have to be part of God’s church and be righteous to go to heaven, right?” Elder Ehrisman said.
She wasn’t expecting a quiz on the catechism. “I suppose.”
“But really, it comes down to Christ’s atonement. We could never be good enough to deserve even the lowest reward without His atonement to make up for our sins and make us better.”
Molly mulled over Elder Franklin’s words. She must have been taught this sometime, but what did that mean?
“What questions do you have about what we’ve taught?” Elder Ehrisman asked.
She blinked at the unexpected phrasing. If they’d just asked if she had any questions, she probably would’ve said no. But it seemed like much more of a lie to have to actually say she had no questions. “What does it mean that Christ’s atonement makes us better?”
“Oh.” Elder Ehrisman and Elder Franklin exchanged a glance; Elder Franklin gestured for the other to take the question. “Well, obviously, part of the Atonement is to make up for the sins we repent of. Another part is to feel all the pains and sorrows we feel. And another is God’s grace, like a blessing of help and strength.”
Molly realized she was staring at the table again. She needed strength; that was certain. “How do you get that?”
“Christ gives it to us when we have faith and repent and try our hardest to obey the commandments.”
“And what if we can’t keep the commandments?”
“We can all try.” Elder Ehrisman met her gaze with a strange mix of pity and hope. “It’s not like we’ll be perfect on the first try. All of us need His grace because of Adam’s fall, and because we’re human. Weakness is part of the deal.”
So was there or wasn’t there any help — or hope — for her? Especially if faith was required?
“Does t
hat answer your question?” Elder Franklin asked.
She nodded automatically. She half-listened to Elder Franklin’s prayer — he asked for her to find peace and understand God’s plan for her. Once the missionaries had left, Molly made an excuse to leave, though Brian insisted on walking to her car.
This had gone on far too long. “I’m sorry, Brian, but really, I’m just not interested.”
He glanced around as if looking for a frame of reference. “In the lessons?”
The question derailed Molly’s train of thought. Obnoxious though he was, Brian did seem sincere about his beliefs. “I know I can help.” He threw his arm around her shoulders. “Do you know the Book of Mormon’s the word of God?”
Molly fiddled with her coat button. The missionaries had never asked her outright, and she’d been content to leave her impressions as feelings of peace and comfort, without letting herself think of their implications.
“I think that . . . it is.” As soon as she said it, that same serene solace filled her more powerfully than ever.
Brian noticed the change, or was satisfied with her answer, judging by his knowing smile. “Then what’s keeping you from the Church?”
At that second, she had none of her normal objections. What if she joined the Mormons?
And then logic reared its head. How could she break with her family’s beliefs? She’d have to leave the church, leave her job. Leave Father Tim. “This is askin’ a lot — givin’ up practically my whole life.” And didn’t she have to believe? And not be so weak?
“Listen, why don’t we talk about it over dinner?”
“Thank you, no.”
He’d already started limping toward his car, but he turned back. “No?”
“That’s right. No, thank you.” She could almost hear her mum chiding her, so Molly added, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I know how snappy girls get when they’re hungry. Let’s go eat.”
She set her jaw. Had she really worried about his feelings? Molly stood her ground. “I amn’t hungry.”
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