by Ann Simas
“Don’t let my lack of pain stop you.”
He grinned. “I won’t.”
She grinned back. “I knew I could count on you. Now about bed?”
“You can have your laptop for a while, or you can give me the names and supervise me sleuthing them on the ’net.”
“I texted you their names earlier.”
“You did?” He pulled out his phone, did some machinations with his thumb and said, “I didn’t get anything from you after you asked if I could run a CHC on someone who might be related to the case.”
“But I replied while I was waiting in the drive-thru line.” She made a face. “Ah, crap, I was getting ready to send my reply when the guy at the window handed over my order, and then the jerk behind me honked.” She gave him a look of dismay. “It never got sent.”
“Don’t worry about it. Now, do you need anything besides your laptop? Extra pillows to prop yourself up, maybe?”
“I’d love a hot toddy.”
“No problem.”
“Why can’t I sit here on the sofa with you? It’ll be easier to armchair-supervise you that way,” she finished with a grin.
He grunted. “That sounds so much more romantic than using the laptop in bed. We’ll put on some easy-listening music and turn on the gas log and have a swell evening.”
She gave his chest a half-hearted smack. “You are such a smart aleck.”
“But you love me anyway,” he said, kissing her cheek before he eased himself off the sofa. He extended his hand to her to help her up and sent her off to get into her PJs.
Ten minutes later, he had the toddies made, the fire on, and the music going. He settled in on the sofa and opened up the laptop, waiting for Andi to return. Once she settled in next to him, he logged on with her password and went straight to Google. “Names, please?”
“Seth and Marianne Deacon.”
Jack’s fingers froze in the air above the keyboard. “Seth and Marianne Deacon? You’re shittin’ me!”
“What?”
“Have you not read a newspaper this week?”
“You know I don’t get the paper and I haven’t been keeping up with local news much lately. Did something happen to them?”
“Yeah, they’re both dead, though you wouldn’t have known it was them.”
Andi gasped. “Oh, no! How did they die?”
“Murder–suicide. Their names haven’t been released yet because they’re still trying to locate one of the children.”
“Are you sure it was murder–suicide?”
“It’s not my case.” He hesitated for a moment, then admitted, “Gavin says it looks a little fishy.”
Gavin Wheeler was the detective Jack often paired with to investigate homicides. “When did it happen?”
“Last week.”
“So, after Clem died?”
He nodded.
“Maybe we should call Gavin and see if he has any useful information.”
Jack lifted an eyebrow at her use of the we pronoun. “How about we do a little research on our own and tomorrow, I’ll talk to Gavin?”
Andi was bummed she wouldn’t be included in the discussion. “I guess that’ll be okay,” she said, affecting a little pout.
Jack chuckled. “Listen, sunshine, I’d have you there if I could, but too many people are coming into your inner circle, as it is. I don’t think it would be in anyone’s best interest if my whole department discovers that you hear dead people.”
Chapter 21
Andi could almost feel her guardian angel lingering nearby, offering intellectual assistance.
The problem areas with Bunnicula resolved as if by magic and the chapter was off to Brent. With four hours of work behind her, she decided to call it quits for the day.
It wasn’t that she felt any ill effects from the crash, but rather that she simply had no desire to remain at work. Her enthusiasm for writing code seemed to have disappeared like the next chapter’s namesake, Harvey.
The insurance company had not yet made a determination on whether her crunched-up car was actually totaled. It seemed like a no-brainer to Andi, who paid the monthly premiums on time and never made them wait. She’d never filed an insurance claim before, but she’d heard the horror stories and hoped she didn’t end up being added to the ranks of those who got screwed.
Jack planned to pick her up at 4:00 to take her to the car-rental agency, and after that, she intended to drop in on her folks and tell them about the crash. She debated what to do in the interim and how to get to where she would do it.
After considering her options, she shut down her Mac, pulled on her coat, grabbed her purse, and left the building. Five minutes later, she was inside St. Gemma’s, praying. Or trying to. The muddled mess that was her brain was indecisive about which crucial element of her life required the most attention.
Clem and Denise, or who wanted her dead.
Seth and Marianne Deacon, or who wanted her dead.
Harvey, the next Wild Hare chapter, or who wanted her dead.
Finally, she determined that the deliberate crash the evening before was foremost on her mind. She bowed her head and thanked God and her guardian angel for looking out for her and keeping her alive. She wasn’t ignorant of the fact that she’d been traveling at the posted 30 mph when she’d crashed into the bank building. According to what she’d learned researching car crashes that morning, surviving without a single injury wasn’t just unusual, it was, as Dell had theorized, a freaking miracle.
She heard a door open and footsteps approach from the general vicinity of the vestry. She finished her prayer, crossed herself, and looked up.
Father Riley moved down the aisle, a look of concern on his face. He stopped beside Andi’s pew. “I had an odd experience last night. I was eating my dinner and was suddenly overcome with” —he shrugged his shoulders, struggling to find the right words— “I don’t know, a feeling, I suppose, that something had happened to you. I sloughed it off as silly, but the feeling was stronger than ever this morning. I tried calling you, but your phone went straight to voice mail. I finally gave up and tried Jack. He told me what happened.” The corner of his mouth lifted in conjunction with his shoulder. “I had a feeling you might be here.”
Andi gave him a wobbly smile. “As you can see, I survived intact.”
“So Jack said.” With a furrowed brow, he studied her face. “He also told me someone deliberately rammed you and that your car is a total wreck.”
“All true.”
“Did you really have to go to work today?”
“Probably not, but I felt pretty good this morning and I finished the Bunnicula chapter. A bit ago, I ran out of steam and my brain yelled that it was time to go home. Since I don’t have a car, I decided to come over and thank God and my guardian angel properly for watching out for me.”
He nodded his understanding. “When you’ve finished, why don’t you come to the rectory and have lunch with me. I’ve got a pot of soup on and I can make some sandwiches.”
Andi wasn’t all that hungry, but she really did want to brainstorm with him. He was always a good listener, as well as an excellent sounding board. “Actually, I just finished and if you’re not busy, I’d like to come now.”
He nodded again and held out his hand to her. “I always have time for you, Andi.”
Andi accepted his help up. For some reason, she seemed to have lost her oomph on the walk over from the Belt.
“You sure you’re okay?”
She nodded and pulled on her gloves.
The entry doors opened and a couple she recognized from Sunday mass came in. They smiled and waved, dipped their fingertips into the holy water fount, and proceeded on to the candle alcove. The jingle of coins resonated throughout the church as they offered their donation prior to lighting.
Andi and Father Riley made their way to the vestry exit and took the walkway that led to the back door of the rectory. She got a whiff of homemade soup as soon as they entered. Surprisingly, it whetted her a
ppetite.
He helped her remove her coat and asked, “Would you be more comfortable here in the kitchen, in my office, or in the living room?”
“The kitchen is fine. Do you have any coffee on?”
“I do.” He hung her coat and poured two mugs, remembering the cream and sugar for her. When he joined her at the table, he said, “I’m here to listen, and if you want my opinion, just ask.”
“I always want your opinion.” And from there, the words poured out of her mouth.
When she’d finished, he stared at her in amazement. “So this is what happens when I don’t hear from you for a day or two.”
“Crazy, isn’t it?”
He shot her a rueful grin. “To say the least.” He rose to get the coffee pot for refills. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure what to tackle first.”
“That’s my problem, too. The car crash seems to take precedence today.”
“Deservedly so. What are the police saying about the driver of the other vehicle?”
“Nothing yet. The city is just starting to put CCTV cameras up around town, but Seventh hasn’t been done yet. Jack is checking to see if the bank or any of the surrounding businesses had video cameras that might have captured something. The problem is, the witnesses interviewed said the car had no license plates. They were certain about that and several 911 calls verified it, as well.”
“But it was a man, so that narrows the field of possibilities somewhat.”
“At least by fifty percent,” Andi commented with wry humor. “I’d suspect Clem, if he was still alive. I’ve been kind of hard on him because he acts like we’re playing some kind of game.” She shook her head. “Who knew a ghost could push my buttons like that?”
“I hope you haven’t called him a ghost to his…. Hunh, I almost said ‘face,’ but that isn’t quite right, is it?”
“Not quite, and no, I didn’t call him a ghost to his invisible face.”
He sighed. “His behavior is rather puzzling, I have to admit. I thought for certain, when you first told me about him, that he was experiencing penitence, but from what you tell me, perhaps he’s not.”
“I suppose it’s possible he’s just a mixed up spirit. It’s not like I actually know how dead people act or think, is it?”
“No, I suppose not, but then who among us does?”
“The thing is, after Sherry, I kind of expected the same kind of behavior from Clem. He honestly seemed like he wanted to undo what he’d done.” She sighed. “Maybe I’m being too cynical, but I guess you can’t trust anyone, not even the dead.”
Father Riley’s lips twitched into a grin. “Let’s get back to your crash, shall we?” He leaned forward and planted his elbows on the table. “The entire incident doesn’t seem like something the hitman would do.” He shrugged self-consciously. “Since you introduced me to the fine art of researching on the Internet, I’ve been reading about people who do murder for hire, and I discovered they’re quite anal about their jobs. One target, in-and-out, get the job done, get paid, no peripheral hits along the way.”
In non-priest-speak, Andi translated that to slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am. “Vaughn says they have a hitman code of ethics.”
“Yes, I gathered that, too.”
“In any case, I believe you’re right. It doesn’t make sense that the hitman would be after me.”
They went on to discuss the possibility of the improbable.
“It does seem to beg the question of whether or not Dex Moran is actually the hitman and if he really attended Clem Naylor’s memorial service and put the reticle picture of Denise in the guest book. And on your door.”
“It doesn’t sound any more plausible when you say it! Dex Moran is a spook. He doesn’t show up in any law enforcement databases, nor in the FBI’s ViCAP system. Jack hasn’t even been able to find him in any soldier-of-fortune-type publications, where hitmen often advertise. For all intents and purposes, he doesn’t exist.”
“ViCAP?”
“Violent Criminal Apprehension Program. It’s basically a central location for collecting and analyzing information about violent crimes like homicides, sexual assaults, and abductions.”
“So if Moran isn’t the hitman, who is he?”
“Oh, I have no doubt he’s the hitman Clem hired, but is he the person after me and Denise?” She sipped from her mug. “I held out a brief hope that it might be the person Clem was meeting for the ‘Deacon dinner.’”
“Back up. How is that related to any of this?”
“I’m not sure it is, but when I gave Jack their names—Seth and Marianne Deacon—he told me they’d been victims of a murder–suicide. Their names haven’t been released to the public yet.” She drummed her fingertips against the table top. “Something’s wonky about their case.”
Father Riley narrowed his eyes on her. “Wonky, as in…maybe murder–murder, instead of murder–suicide?”
She nodded, relieved not to be the only one whose mind traveled down dark paths.
The priest sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. His expression registered surprise.
“Jack’s sometime-partner, Gavin Wheeler, has reservations about their deaths. Jack’s going to talk to him today, and with any luck, he’ll get something more concrete.”
“Are you thinking that this Seth person was Dex Moran?”
“I hadn’t considered it, but I suppose it’s possible, though it doesn’t feel right. He died last week, which means he could have attended Seth’s memorial service, but he couldn’t have put the reticle picture on my door.”
“Too bad he wasn’t cremated,” the priest lamented. “He would have stopped and talked to you.”
Andi stared at him, dumbfounded.
“What is it?”
“The reason they haven’t released the names yet is because they haven’t been able to find one of the children to make the notification. There hasn’t been any service yet!”
Father Riley’s eyes widened in amazement. “Holy smoke!”
“We should call Phil and see if he’s handling the funeral arrangements.”
The priest pushed away from the table and went to get his phone. He was already speaking when he came back into the room. “That’s right. Seth and Marianne Deacon.”
Andi toe-tapped while she waited.
“Thanks, Phil. What? … No, nothing I can talk about yet, but when and if I can, I’ll let you know. … Is that right? ... Absolutely. Sounds great. Talk to you later.”
He disconnected, a look of satisfaction on his face. “You were right on, Andi. They were finally able to contact the third son this morning. He’s flying in from Belgium and will arrive tomorrow. There’ll be a memorial service for both of them on Monday morning, with cremation to follow in the afternoon. Apparently, they wanted to be cremated together.”
“Together? Is that even possible?”
“Phil said he’s never done it before, but he thinks they’ve got it figured out.”
“Holy smoke is right then,” Andi whispered, not quite able to get her head around the providence of it all. “Monday is the eighth. That’s the last day of the window Clem gave to the hitman.” She chewed vigorously on her bottom lip. “I hope to God the Deacons have something to say that pertains to Clem and the hit he put out on his wife.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you have brilliant deductive reasoning skills?”
Andi made a face. ““If you recall, Jack’s LT, did say I could go to work for her.”
Father Riley nodded and settled back into his chair. “Do you pray to St. Jeanne d’Arc, Andi?”
She hesitated to admit it, for fear he would think she really did liken herself to the medieval heroine, when nothing could be further from the truth.
A subtle nod acknowledged that he nonetheless knew what she was reluctant to confirm. “You might consider adding St. Jude to your prayer list. His intercession could well aid you through your current turmoil.”
“St. Jude? When I
took the newspaper, I used to see people publishing novenas to him in the classifieds.” She hesitated. “I never quite understood why.”
“People who face desperate situations, or who might be at their wit’s end over something, pray to him for assistance in dealing with those situations. Sometimes, they do it via the newspaper.” He gave her a gentle smile. “It never hurts to pray, Andi, regardless of how or to whom, or how public.”
Her frustration level with Clem and his stupid contract hit was so high, Andi was willing to try anything. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He smiled and picked up his mug. “Now, tell me what else is bugging you about all this.”
. . .
Jack called to say he’d be late picking Andi up. “No worries. I’m at Father Riley’s. He was just saying he could give me a ride over to the rental car place. I’ll go ahead and do that and maybe you can stop by later and we’ll watch a movie or whatever.”
“I like the whatever part,” he said, his tone ripe with suggestion, “but I thought you were going to stop by and see your folks after you get the rental car.”
“I don’t plan to stay there too long. Mom will be hovering over me like she’s Florence Nightingale or something. I love her to pieces, but all that fussing, and probably lecturing, will drive me bananas quicker than you can spell hitman. ”
Jack laughed. “I’ll pick up a pizza and some beer, so don’t cook anything.”
“That sounds good. See you later.” She disconnected and glanced at Father Riley. “You fed me lunch, so please relax and let me do the clean-up.” She surveyed the kitchen. “Not that you leave much to do. I’m always impressed by what a tidy cook you are.”
“Learned it from my mother,” he said. “Clean as you go and you are much happier at the end of the meal.”
Andi cleared the table and rinsed everything before loading the dishwasher. “Thanks again for feeding me. I had no idea I was that hungry until I smelled your soup. I’d love to have the recipe.”
He chuckled. “I didn’t use a recipe, exactly. I start with the low-sodium chicken broth, then throw in whatever I have on hand. Today, it was a can of diced tomatoes, some frozen corn, leftover chicken, a small can of green chiles, half a cup of cooked macaroni, and a few spices.”
