by Nic Saint
“Just you wait and see, Dooley,” I said. “Father Reilly is going to confess any moment now.”
What I hadn’t expected, though, was the presence of another person in the room. This person was working feverishly on the computer, glasses perched on the tip of his nose.
“Joaquin, could you please give us the room for a moment?” asked Father Reilly.
Joaquin looked up from his work and regarded the newcomers with mild interest. He was a handsome man in his early thirties, with wavy dark hair, eyes like molten chocolate and a muscular physique, as evidenced by the brawny arms and chest filling out a simple white T-shirt.
“Joaquin is my sexton,” Father Reilly explained. “Joaquin, I don’t know if you’ve met Odelia Kingsley? She’s a reporter for the Gazette. And her husband Chase, detective with our local police department.”
“Hi there,” said Joaquin, as he took off his glasses and rose to greet the new arrivals. “Joaquin Fatal,” he said as he stepped from behind the desk, hand outstretched. “I was just working on a speech for the Ladies’ Garden Club on the Garden of Eden.”
“Joaquin is an excellent speechwriter,” said Father Reilly. “I’ve been begging him to write my sermons for me, but he stops short of doing that.”
“I may be old-fashioned,” said Joaquin, “but I still feel that a clergyman has to write his own speeches—though I write all the rest: speeches for the Hampton Cove Historical Society, Camp Delion Retreat Center and Summer Camp, the Hampton Cove Science Center, the Atlantic Marine Conservation Society, the SeniorNet Computer Learning Center, the—”
“Yes, yes,” said Father Reilly mildly, stemming the flow. “I think we get the picture.”
Joaquin gave his boss a warm smile. “We need to go over the numbers for the church foundation, Francis.”
“I know, I know.” He clapped the other man on the back. “If it weren’t for Joaquin, I would have gone mad a long time ago. He keeps me sane.”
“All right—I’ll leave you to it. But don’t forget about our meeting, Francis.”
“I won’t,” said the priest, and we watched as the energetic sexton left the room.
“You haven’t told him about Angel?” asked Odelia.
“Oh, he knows,” said Father Reilly. “Joaquin thinks that Angel simply needed some space, and that she’s staying with a friend.”
“You didn’t tell him that we found her phone?”
Father Reilly shook his head. “Alec told me not to. Said the fewer people know about the state of the investigation, the better.” He gestured to a cozy little nook near the window, where two sofas formed an L-shape, cornering a salon table. Odelia and Chase took a seat, and so did the priest. “So what have you discovered so far?”
“Nothing, I’m afraid, Francis,” said Chase. “Though we have heard some troubling news that we thought we’d ask you about.”
“Oh?”
“Now it’s going to happen, Dooley,” I said. “Chase is going to play bad cop and Odelia good cop, and together, and with perfect skill, they’re going to browbeat this man into a confession.”
“He doesn’t look like an alien, Max,” said Dooley, studying the priest closely. “He looks human to me.”
“He’s not an alien, Dooley. But he is a killer, just you wait and see.”
“I’ll wait,” said Dooley, taking a lie-down on the rug, “and see.”
“Okay, so I know this might be uncomfortable for you, Francis,” said Odelia, proceeding along tried and true good-cop-bad-cop lines, “but I’m afraid I have to ask you.”
“Ask me anything,” said the priest, spreading his arms as if to encompass his entire congregation.
“It has come to our attention that you and Angel had a big fight the day she disappeared,” said Chase gravely. “Now you may not want to talk about this…”
“It must be painful,” Odelia interjected. “And I want you to know we understand.”
“But it’s important to know what exactly caused this fight.”
“Did Vesta tell you about this?” asked Father Reilly, suddenly looking troubled.
“You know I can’t tell you that,” said Chase. “But suffice it to say that we know about the… special relationship you and Marigold share—and you and Angel.”
“And we also know that Angel isn’t aware that you’re in fact her… well, her father.”
The padre took it well. He slightly reeled, but then immediately rallied. “I guess it had to come out sooner or later,” he said thoughtfully. “The circumstances are less than ideal, but that can’t be helped.”
“So what did you and Angel fight about?”
“Oh, you know, nothing major. A misunderstanding, let’s just call it that. As you yourself have already surmised, Angel doesn’t know that her mother and I are more than mere employer and employee. And so she objects to what she considers Marigold’s extreme work ethic. She think the reason her mother spends most of her time here with me is because I make her work so hard. When the simple fact of the matter is that Marigold likes to be here… with me… and I like it too. Naturally Angel finds it outrageous that her mom would spend so much time at work, as she sees it.” He smiled at the recollection of the fight. “She called me a slave driver. Said she’d tell Marigold to look for another job, where she doesn’t have to put in so much unpaid overtime.” He glanced at a portrait of the girl, which had pride of place on one of the bookshelves. “I considered telling her the truth, but it didn’t seem like the right time. It would only have served to infuriate her even more. Of course I didn’t know it would be the last time we talked.”
A silence fell, and I murmured, “Now, Dooley. Now they’re going to pounce!”
“I always thought aliens had those long faces, and those big eyes, and that gray skin,” said my friend. “Father Reilly’s skin is pink… ish, and his eyes are the normal size for a human.”
“He’s not an alien, Dooley!”
“That’s what I keep telling you, Max. I’m glad you agree.”
“Okay, so do you think that perhaps Angel could have run away from home to spite you and her mother?” asked Odelia. “After that fight, I mean?”
“I’ve thought about that myself,” said Father Reilly, nodding. “It wouldn’t be inconceivable for her to pull a stunt like that. She’s still at an age where rebellion is the answer for everything. So maybe Joaquin is right and she arranged to stay with one of her friends, hoping to teach her mother and me a lesson.”
“But that still doesn’t account for her phone,” said Chase.
“No, that’s the snag I keep hitting, too. I don’t think Angel would ever willingly part with her phone—it’s her lifeline to her friends, to school, to everything. Her life revolves around it. And I must confess I find the fact that her phone was found very troubling.”
“Yes, it’s definitely not a good sign,” Odelia agreed.
“So Francis—I’m sorry to have to pry,” said Chase, surprising me with the gentleness of his demeanor. For a bad cop he was surprisingly kind, I thought. “But you probably realize that there’s a solid chance that your relationship with Angel’s mother is going to become public knowledge at some point. Have you considered the consequences?”
“I have,” said Father Reilly with a sigh as he intertwined his fingers as if in prayer. “And thank you for your consideration, Chase.” He leaned back and said, “Frankly there’s only one solution: leave my position here at St. John’s and make an honest woman of Angel’s mother—and recognize Angel as my daughter. I thought I still had time, but clearly I’ve put this off far too long.” He gave his guests a sad smile. “Subconsciously I must have figured I could put it off forever, but circumstances are compelling me to make a decision.”
“And have you made your decision?” asked Odelia, also speaking in that gentle tone I really didn’t like to see there at this moment. Not when she had to pounce!
“I have.” He gestured to his desk. “I’ve been writing a letter to the bishop
, announcing my resignation and explaining the circumstances compelling me to take a step back from my role as parish priest. I’m also working on a sermon announcing my retirement, which I plan to deliver during Sunday mass.”
“So… you’re stepping down?” asked Odelia, who looked shocked by this piece of news.
“I’m afraid so. Marigold said something to me the other night that gave me food for thought. She said I’ve devoted my whole life to the Catholic Church, and all she and Angel were left with were the crumbs. It’s time to do right by them both, and devote the rest of my life to being a husband and a father. And God willing, Angel will return to us soon, and I’ll be able to tell her that I’m not a slave driver, but that I am, in fact, her father.” A lone tear had stolen from his eye, and was trickling down his cheek, and before my surprised eyes, suddenly Odelia got up from her armchair, and was giving the aged priest a warm hug. And then tough cop Chase was doing exactly the same thing!
“This is so disappointing on so many levels,” I grumbled.
“I think I finally figured it out,” said Dooley. “He’s an alien wearing a human suit. That would explain everything.”
“Oh, Dooley,” I said with a sigh.
22
“Honey, what’s going on?” asked Vesta as she walked into the kitchen. “Why is the bath full of mayonnaise?”
“Oh, Ma,” said Marge.
“I wanted to take a shower and now I have to clean up what looks like ten gallons of yucky sludge. What gives?”
“It’s that friend of yours. Dick Bernstein. He put this idea into Tex’s head that he needs to rub his scalp with mayonnaise and then he won’t go bald.”
Vesta frowned at this. “Dick Bernstein said that?”
“He did. And I’m blaming you, by the way.”
“Me! What did I do!”
“You sent Tex to talk to Dick, and now he’s bought himself a year’s supply of mayonnaise, and has been soaking his head in the stuff ever since he got home from work.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Vesta with a tiny grin. She made sure not to show her daughter, though, for Marge looked upset enough as it was. And she didn’t blame her. If her husband started marinating his head in mayonnaise she wouldn’t like it much either. Of course her husband had soaked his liver in alcohol, which was probably worse.
“Do you think Dick is playing Tex for a fool? Or does he actually believe this stuff himself?”
Vesta held up her hands. “All I know is that Dick once told me he’d figured out the secret for keeping his hair. Though at the time he mentioned ketchup, not mayonnaise, so maybe he got things mixed up—I don’t know.”
“Ketchup!”
“Yeah, I thought it sounded like baloney, but you gotta admit: that man has great hair. And so does Rock.”
“They do have great hair,” Marge murmured.
When she continued looking distraught, Vesta patted her daughter’s shoulder. “Look at the bright side, honey. Mayonnaise is cheap. Cheaper than some of those hair products to treat premature baldness.”
“But Tex isn’t losing his hair.”
“He is getting thinner on top.”
“No, he’s not. That’s all in his head.”
“What’s in my head?” asked Tex as he strode into the kitchen with a spring in his step. He looked more chipper and bright than he had in a long time.
“You’re in a good mood,” said Vesta as she studied her son-in-law, and more specifically his hair. She didn’t notice anything different, but then the effect of that mayonnaise probably took a while to manifest.
“I wanted to thank you for that great tip, Vesta,” said the doctor as he grabbed a piece of cheese from the fridge and took a nibble.
Marge immediately snatched it away from him and put it back. “Save your appetite, honey,” she said. “Dinner is on the stove.”
“So Dick really came through, huh?” asked Vesta.
“I’ll say he did.” He touched the top of his head. “I can almost feel the follicles producing new hairs as we speak. Who knew mayonnaise could do all that? It’s amazing.”
“Oh, Tex, you’re a doctor,” said his wife, who clearly felt she could no longer keep her tongue. “I can’t believe you would fall for such, such—such awful quackery!”
“It’s not quackery if it works,” Tex pointed out.
“You keep rubbing that mayo if it makes you feel good, Tex,” said Vesta. “No harm, no foul. Now in other news, I heard through the grapevine that Francis Reilly is thinking about retiring. Is it true?”
“I haven’t heard anything,” said Tex with a shrug, but then of course Tex never did hear anything. The man lived in his own world most of the time—a world of medicine, garden gnomes and, since today, mayonnaise.
“Marge?”
“All I know is that Marigold came into the library a couple of days ago, wanting to have a chat.”
“A chat? What about?”
“Well, turns out she’s sick and tired of Francis neglecting to take his responsibility, as she called it. So she gave him an ultimatum: either he retires and marries her and officially recognizes Angel as his daughter, or she’s leaving him.”
“Oh, my,” said Vesta. She took a seat at the kitchen table and smoothed the floral-pattern chintz covering, removing a few crumbs as she did.
“Yeah, so I asked if she thought she was getting through to him, and she said she didn’t know. That Francis had made her plenty of promises over the years, but this time she was prepared to go to the limit.”
“So she was actually thinking of leaving him?”
“That’s what she said. And she looked like she meant it.”
“Who’s leaving whom?” asked Tex, who’d surreptitiously opened the fridge again and was now sneaking out the same piece of Gouda, which was a particular favorite of his.
“Marigold is leaving Francis,” said Marge. “If he doesn’t retire and marry her.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. I like Francis. He’s the best priest we’ve had in years.”
“He’s the only priest we’ve had in years,” Vesta pointed out. “And the only priest you’ve ever known, Tex.”
“I’ll certainly miss him,” said Marge.
“Me, too,” said Tex.
“Oh, nonsense,” said Vesta. “When do you ever go to church?”
“Well, on Christmas,” said Tex, “and, um…”
“Exactly. So don’t give me that crap that you’ll miss him. Besides, change is good. Lately Francis’s sermons have been very dreary. A young priest might bring zip into this parish, and make people start going to church again.”
“Well, let’s certainly hope so,” said Marge. “And let’s hope that people won’t be too upset when Francis reveals he’s going to marry his longtime housekeeper, and recognize her daughter as his.”
“Nobody will be shocked, because everybody already knows. And now I have about a hundred gallons of mayonnaise to clean up, cause I want to take that shower.” She pointed to her son-in-law. “And you better help me clean them up, buddy boy. Or else I’ll sneak into your room tonight and personally yank those precious new hairs out of your skull.”
Marge had to suppress a smile at this, but Tex did as he was told, and moments later they were cleaning the bathtub together.
“Do you really think this cure will make a difference, Vesta?” asked Tex as he washed the last remnants of mayonnaise down the drain.
“Oh, absolutely. You just keep rubbing that mayo, and a couple of days from now you’ll wake up with hair like Jason Momoa. Big bushy curly head of beautiful hair.”
The smile he gave her was a sight to behold. Like a kid on Christmas morning!
23
“Why didn’t you make him confess?!” I asked once we were out of the rectory and on our way back to the car. “You just had to play good cop, bad cop and you would have had him!”
“Confess what, Max?” asked Odelia.
“That he accidentally killed Angel, of
course.” When she gave me an odd look, I continued, “Don’t you see? They had an argument—he told you so himself. Only things got out of hand and there was some pushing and shoving, and she accidentally hit her head and died, and now she’s probably buried in those woods somewhere.”
“What is he saying?” asked Chase as we all piled into the car.
“He believes that Father Reilly accidentally killed Angel. That when they had that fight yesterday he gave her a push and she hit her head and died.”
“Yeah, but she went out with her friends last night, so that scenario can’t have played out the way Max thinks,” Chase pointed out.
“Okay,” I said after a moment’s thought, “so after the party she decided she had more things to say. So she dropped by the rectory again and got Francis out of bed. She was drunk and belligerent and looking to lay into him some more. Only this time the fight was even worse, since she was inebriated and unrestrained, and she probably called him all kinds of names, and so Francis finally lost his temper and that’s when it happened.”
Odelia dutifully translated my words, but Chase still looked dubious. “I don’t know,” he said. “Francis doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who would get violent, even if he was chewed out. In fact the man is so laidback I think he probably mainlines valium.”
“I’m sorry, Max, but I agree with Chase,” said Odelia. “I don’t think Francis is the person we’re looking for.”
Just then, there was a soft tap at the car window, and Chase rolled it down. It was Joaquin, Father Reilly’s loyal sexton. “You left his in the rectory,” he said, and produced the small notebook Chase always carries with him.