Saints & Sinners Ball

by Stacy M Jones

  Harper, Jackson and Fr. Borger were at an Irish pub down the road from the parish. After Camille had said what she did about Fr. McNally finding his birth family, she had been called back to her class at the adjacent parish elementary school. Edna had to leave to attend a meeting that had been on her schedule. Before she left, Edna provided Fr. Borger some contact information for the Catholic mission in Brazil.

  Camille had promised she’d call Harper as soon as school let out for the day so they could continue the conversation. She had pulled herself back together to go attend to her students, but it was clear below the surface, Camille was still distraught. Harper had no doubt they’d hear from Camille as soon as the last child was on a bus headed for home. Until then, they could do nothing but wait.

  Once in the parking lot outside the parish, Fr. Borger had placed a call to the mission in Brazil, but no one answered. He left an urgent message, but again all they could do was wait. The three were stymied at the moment so they found the pub and ordered lunch. They sat discussing what they knew to date when Harper got a call on her cell. It was Det. Granger so she stepped away to take it. Harper had planned to call him as soon as they had more information, something concrete at least, but Granger had other news.

  Granger sounded elated. “We found the gun used to kill Roxy and Tucker in Drew’s storage locker,” he effused. “While Drew didn’t confess outright, he said enough that we believe he killed Roxy and Tucker.”

  “Did Drew give any reason why?” Harper asked. She was skeptical for some reason. Harper had no reason not to believe that Drew had killed them, just something felt wrong to her. She couldn’t place it though.

  “Drew was very concerned that Tucker would find out about his burglaries, and he said he assumed that Tucker had also told Roxy,” Det. Granger reported, a bit out of breath. “The bottom line is Drew had means, motive and opportunity.”

  “But did he really?” Harper asked, a bit frustrated. “According to Drew and the reports called in, he robbed five houses that night. How did he pull that off and come over to Hattie’s and kill Tucker all in the same night?”

  The question was met with silence. She heard Det. Granger’s breath return to normal. He countered, “We will sketch out the timeline, but Drew had plenty of time. Most guests arrived at the Saints & Sinners Ball by seven that evening. Tucker’s murder wasn’t until ten. Even by his own account, Drew had been in most of the homes before with Lizzie so he knew the layout. Drew admitted he was in and out in under fifteen minutes.”

  Harper was doing the math in her head. Most of the homes were in close proximity to each other, some as close as a few houses apart on the same street so Harper begrudgingly admitted that while it was technically possible, it still didn’t seem probable. She asked, “Did you find anything else at his storage unit?”

  “If you’re asking if there was any other jewelry, no, there’s wasn’t. Drew said he sold nearly all of it,” Det. Granger detailed.

  “In a few days, he sold it all?” Harper knew that unless there was a fence involved, that was nearly impossible.

  “Harper,” Det. Granger said, clearly annoyed and frustrated with her, “there are no perfect cases. Sometimes we don’t get all the answers. We may never recover all the jewelry for those families, but this is a win. We got the bad guy. I thought you’d be happy to know.”

  “Congrats, Detective,” Harper said tersely.

  “No, Harper, thank you. Without your annoying persistence and help, we might not have wrapped this up so quickly,” Granger congratulated.

  Harper had no idea what to say because she didn’t think he had it wrapped up at all. Det. Granger started to speak again, but he stumbled over his words. Harper couldn’t quite make out what he was saying.

  Finally, Granger cleared his throat and said more clearly, “I really appreciate your help. Maybe once I get things squared away here, I can take you to dinner and thank you properly.”

  Harper was taken aback. Was it a date or a professional courtesy? Maybe he just wanted to be friends. Harper remembered Jackson had said Granger wasn’t from Little Rock. Harper said what she felt was politest, “That would be nice, thank you.”

  Hanging up, she rejoined Jackson and Fr. Borger at the table.

  “You look stressed out. You okay?” Jackson asked as she sat down. He reached over and put his hand on top of hers.

  Harper gave him a weak smile. Then she related everything Det. Granger had shared. She also went over all of her concerns. When Harper was done, Fr. Borger asked, “Do you doubt this Drew fellow killed them? Sounds like he had ample motive.”

  “I don’t really know,” Harper admitted. “It seems like Drew would be the strongest suspect. He definitely had motive. Plus, he’s burglarizing people’s homes. He’s been to prison before. It’s not like Drew’s a stand-up guy. Something just feels off. I can’t really explain it better than that.”

  Fr. Borger laughed. “I used to have conversations with Hattie like this. She’d always have these gut feelings, little pings of intuition.”

  Jackson squeezed Harper’s shoulder. “Harper’s more like Hattie than she knows or cares to admit.”

  Turning to Fr. Borger, Jackson asked, “I’m sure you know what Hattie does. How do you feel about that with your Catholic teachings? I know Hattie’s gifts are considered against most Christian values.”

  “It is,” Fr. Borger said solemnly. “Hattie has been a friend for years though. I’ve seen her gifts first hand. It’s a bit of a challenge for me. I know church teachings, but I also know Hattie is one of the kindest, nicest people I’ve ever met. Sometimes you just have to accept people for who they are and try not to question it too much. Many people do not believe what I believe, but I don’t think they are bad or that there is something wrong with them for it. We all have a different path.”

  “That’s an interesting and good perspective to have,” Jackson commented.

  Fr. Borger looked at Harper. “So, if you don’t believe Drew is the one, what are you going to do about it?”

  “Well,” Harper started, taking a drink and washing down the last of her sandwich. “I think that’s why we are here. We’ve been suspicious of the man saying he’s Fr. McNally. If Drew didn’t kill them, then certainly this guy is a good second suspect. He came running out that night towards where the body was found. He was muddy, and Hattie was instantly suspicious of him. She doesn’t do that lightly. If anything, I’ve seen her give people far too many chances.”

  “Do you know why this imposter might have killed the prosecutor?”

  “We know Tucker, the victim, was investigating something at the parish. Maybe Tucker wasn’t investigating at all, but rather had found out what we are finding now, simply that the priest wasn’t who he said he was. Is that enough of a reason to kill?”

  “Could be,” Fr. Borger stated. “Maybe it’s not so much hiding who he is now, but whatever crimes he committed to get there.”

  Harper shot a worried look to Jackson who returned it.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  After Fr. McNally’s visit, Hattie wasn’t feeling the best. She was concerned about her interaction with him and worried about Harper and Jackson. More than anything, given how busy the shop had been, Hattie hated to admit it, but she was feeling her age. She found it curious that given the protection spell she and Beatrix had done, that Fr. McNally even entered the shop. Maybe they had been too focused on Matthew Inslee when they performed it.

  Around two o’clock, after the shop had cleared out, Hattie’s cellphone buzzed with a storm warning. There was a line of strong storms headed for Little Rock later that afternoon into the evening. It wasn’t quite peak tornado season, which ran April through June, but storms could be notoriously bad any time of year. Hattie was used to it, but decided to close up the shop early and head home. The dogs would be going crazy with the thunder and lightning, and Hattie wanted to make the walk home before she needed an ark.

  The sky was gray and the win
d was picking up. Hattie stepped through the door and into her back porch when the sky opened up and a torrent of rain fell. Sparkle and Shine rushed to her, wiggling and brushing up against her legs. Thinking they might need to go, she opened the door and held it open. The dogs looked at the rain and back at her. They turned and went into the kitchen. “Well I didn’t think you’d want to go, but I gave you the option,” Hattie called after them.

  Putting her things down on the kitchen counter, Hattie stood still for a moment, just breathing in the quiet. Actually, if Hattie was going to be honest with herself, it was too quiet. She had become accustomed to Jackson being around over the last few months, and then with the addition of Harper, Hattie felt like she did back when Beau was alive.

  She opened the fridge and pulled out a can of ginger ale in the hopes it would settle her stomach. Hattie let it sit while she climbed the stairs to her bedroom in search of some medicine for her headache and aching joints. Hattie entered her bedroom and pulled up short, startled by the sight of her husband Beau, who was standing at the window in the farthest part of the room. “Oh, you’re here,” Hattie blurted.

  Beau turned to her. “Sorry, my dear, didn’t mean to scare you. I was going to meet you downstairs, but I noticed the flurry of activity across the way.”

  “There’s a storm coming,” Hattie explained, walking over to him. “Maybe they are just rushing around to prepare.”

  “It doesn’t look that way,” Beau said. Pointing at the scene below, he indicated, “They are bringing things into that building back there. I think I’m seeing what Harper saw a few days ago. It’s happening again.”

  Hattie looked at where Beau was pointing and sure enough, there was Fr. McNally, another man and the pregnant woman. Hattie wondered if it was the same person that Harper had seen. If it was, in the light of day, she did not look like a girl but a grown woman. They were bringing suitcases down into the storm shelter.

  Hattie rubbed her temples, her headache pounding. “I’ll be right back,” she told Beau. Hattie went into the bathroom, pulled out some pills and swallowed them with a glass of water from the bathroom faucet.

  “Not feeling well,” Beau observed, still watching the neighbors.

  “Not really, I’m just very tired.” Hattie kicked off her shoes, took off her skirt and blouse and grabbed a pair of cotton pajamas that were tossed on the chair. She put them on and then pulled the covers back to climb into bed. Turning to Beau, she whispered, “I wish you could still hold me.”

  Beau came over and brushed his hand over her face and hair. Hattie couldn’t feel him, but she could feel his energy. Slowly she drifted off to sleep.

  A few hours later, Hattie heard the thunder boom and saw lightning illuminate the darkened room. She opened her eyes and closed them again. She took a big breath in and let it out slowly, reorienting herself awake. She sensed that she was not alone. Hattie assumed Beau was still there. “What time is it? How long have I been asleep?” she croaked, her voice still gravelly from sleep.

  “I don’t know, I’ve only been here for about ten minutes,” a man said from her doorway, but it wasn’t Beau.

  Alarmed, Hattie sat upright and blinked rapidly, trying to see clearly in the dark. When her eyes were finally focused, fear set in. “What are you doing in here?”

  Hattie quickly got out of bed and planted her feet on the floor, but she wasn’t sure where she could go.

  The man who claimed to be Fr. McNally was blocking her exit.

  “You and me are going for a little walk. We have some things to discuss,” he said sternly.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you, get out of my house,” Hattie demanded and moved to walk past him.

  He blocked her way and pulled up his shirt to reveal a gun in his waistband. Hattie looked at it and back to his eyes. She had no doubt that he might shoot her. Grabbing her by the arm, he shoved her into the hallway and down the steps.

  He mocked, “You can stop with the charade. You know I’m not the priest.”

  Hattie’s eyes darted back and forth. Her mouth was dry, and she had trouble swallowing. “What should I call you then?”

  “Paul will do just fine,” he grunted at her with a shove down the steps.

  Once they reached the landing, Hattie turned the corner into her kitchen and stopped cold. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she let out a shriek. Her beloved Golden Retrievers were lying unmoving on the kitchen floor.

  Paul jerked her arm hard. “They’re fine. I drugged them. They will wake up, but after we are gone so they don’t give me reason to shoot them.”

  Hattie looked down at them as she passed. “Where are you taking me?”

  “Just put your shoes on,” he snapped.

  Hattie got to her back porch and grabbed a pair of old sneakers she had next to the door. There were socks stuffed in them, too. She had planned to go for a walk a day earlier and had pulled out the socks and sneakers, but had never had the chance to wear them. Hattie leaned over and pulled them on.

  The rain was coming down hard. The thunder was roaring and the lightning fierce.

  Hattie contemplated escape, but she didn’t see a feasible means. She stated, “You can’t be serious that we are going out in this. We can talk right here.”

  “Move,” Paul demanded.

  Hattie turned the door handle and stepped outside. The wind whipped against her. The pajamas were thin and immediately soaked. She shivered against the cold. Paul pulled her along, practically dragged her through her own backyard. She’d yell but there wasn’t anyone around. With the whipping rain and thunder who would hear her anyway. As they got to the top of the clearing, she saw Tucker. He was standing in the middle near where his body had been found, watching them.

  He shouted, “Hattie, watch out!” And that was the last thing Hattie heard before blinding pain ripped through her skull and the ground came charging towards her face.

  Chapter Sixty

  It was close to six-thirty by the time Harper, Jackson and Fr. Borger were able to meet up with Camille and Edna. The five of them were presently seated around the same conference table in the parish as earlier in the day.

  “I apologize we had to stop earlier, we had meetings and students to attend to,” Edna said.

  “We understand. After all, we barged into your office unannounced,” Fr. Borger acknowledged.

  Turning to Camille, Harper proposed, “You had started to say earlier that you were especially upset because Fr. McNally had just found his birth family. Let’s start back there if we can.”

  “As I mentioned before, Fr. McNally and I were both placed in orphanages as infants,” Camille began, more composed than she’d been earlier in the day. “He had always wanted to find his birth family, but it’s never easy especially when children are placed for adoption or in an orphanage so early in life, especially back then. Many times, the records are sealed.”

  Camille flipped through some pages that were in front of her. She held them up. “These are some of the email exchanges I had with Fr. McNally. He had uncovered some information that gave him access to his original birth certificate. He didn’t detail how he came to find it.”

  Harper held out her hand, and Camille handed the pages over.

  “What happened next?” Jackson asked.

  “At the time, we both had been searching for our birth families. I found my mother last year, but Patrick, after he gained access to his birth certificate, learned his parents were deceased. He found a half-brother through some of the records he had uncovered.”

  “How did he feel about that?” Harper asked. She was fighting the desire to start reading through the pages in front of her, but she thought it best to listen first and then read.

  Camille continued, “We talked in March last year. Fr. McNally was going to wait until he got back to the states to make contact. The brother was in Chicago, I believe. He just thought it best to be back in the states where he had normal phone service and could fly to meet him should a meet
ing be desired. He wanted to be as accessible as he could be.”

  “Did he stick to that plan?” Jackson asked.

  “I don’t know, but I have a feeling he didn’t,” Camille speculated.

  “Why is that?”

  “Because Fr. McNally was so excited about the opportunity to have family. He wanted to know where he came from, who his people were, and even his ancestry. For people who don’t know their birth families, there are a lot of missing pieces,” Camille explained. “Given Fr. McNally’s excitement, as you can read, he asked me several times what I thought was the best way to make contact. He finally decided on an initial introductory letter. He thought that was probably least intrusive just in case his father had never told his new family that he had a child earlier in life. Fr. McNally also wondered if the father had even known about him. He decided a call or showing up was too much.”

  Harper handed Jackson one of the email pages. Jackson read it. “He was already writing the letter so it seems you may be correct that Fr. McNally didn’t wait to send it.”

  “Right,” Camille agreed. “That email is from late April. I don’t think he would have waited to come back here to the U.S. before sending it. He sounded ready to go.”

  “Do you know anything at all about this half-brother?” Jackson asked, jotting down some notes.

  Camille closed her eyes. She seemed to think back. Finally, she opened her eyes and looked across the table to Jackson and detailed, “Not all of our communication was email. Sometimes we would Skype. I remember him mentioning that the brother was from Chicago. He also said his name was Paul. Fr. McNally had wondered if the P name was a family thing.”

  “You have a last name?” Jackson asked, sounding hopeful. “Was it McNally as well?”

  “No, McNally was a name given to him in the orphanage. I know that much. I think Fr. McNally said the family name was something like Daniels or Davidson, something like that.”

  Camille leaned her arms on the table. Her eyes were filled with worry. “I wish I had paid better attention, but you have to remember at the time, I wasn’t paying so much attention to detail. I was focused more on how he was feeling about it all.”