by Mara Kalyn
The Deadly Judas
Tori Carlin Mysteries
Mara Kalyn
Published by Mara Kalyn, 2017.
Copyright 2017
This work of fiction portrays characters, organizations and events which are either imaginary or used fictitiously. Any similarities to real people, or events are entirely coincidental. Please be advised that poetic license has been utilized freely.
Although I name streets in Montreal, the placement of buildings, parks and/or other structures have been altered to fit the story.
THE DEADLY JUDAS
First edition. December 8 2017
Copyright © 2017 Mara Kalyn
Written by Mara Kalyn
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
The Deadly Judas (Tori Carlin Mysteries)
~1~ | The Reverend's Dilemma
~2~ | Premonition
~3~ | Murder in the Rectory
~4~ | Epiphany
~5~ | Accidental Spy
~6~ | A Double Life
~7~ | Breaking and Entering
~8~ | The Final Confrontation
The Deadly Indian Summer
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About the Author
Dedication
Everlasting thanks to Mike, my first beta reader and fan, and who pointed out ways to make this book better.
Thanks to Google for its never-ending supply of answers to obscure questions.
And, a shout out to my family and friends who listened to endless updates about progress, or lack of.
To my daughter, an avid reader, who was asked to supply answers to questions like: what do think about this cover, or that layout, how do you think I could say this better. Thanks, sweetie-pie.
~1~
The Reverend's Dilemma
REVEREND ANDREW MCADAM saw the last of his parishioners out of the Cathedral and walked up the aisle toward a dark-panelled wall. He pressed a small square carved into the wood twice, and a door swung open. The minister winced at the shriek of metal on metal. Making another mental note to oil the hinges, he crossed the narrow corridor and entered a tiny vestibule that gave into his office. McAdam removed his cassock and surplice and hung them up in the tiny closet. Head lowered, lost in thought, he sat behind his desk, pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and his favorite ink pen from a drawer. The new sermon already fermented in his brain, and he wanted to make notes before it floated away. It seemed as if he'd just begun when a soft cough, a rustle and a movement broke his concentration.
“Evan.” The priest directed a surreptitious glance at his desk calendar. His morning was clear of appointments. “Come, take a seat, lad. How can I help?”
“I'm sorry to barge in, Reverend Andrew. I need your advice.” Evan's voice cracked, long pale fingers twisted together.
“My dear boy, what's the matter?” The furrow between McAdam's bushy eyebrows deepened. The young man appeared more troubled than usual.
“It's dad. He's hounding me worse than ever. Threatens to kick me out if I don't straighten out before the end of semester.” Evan's lips tightened. “I could probably manage on my own; quit university, get a job. Crash with friends if I have to.”
“Evan, take a breath. Try to look at the situation objectively. It hasn't come to that yet.”
Eyelids lowered, Evan took several deep breaths. The tension in his hands, jaw and shoulders receded.
“Something's wrong,” the young man continued. “Dad said to never call the work number, just leave a message on his mobile. He calls back in the afternoon.”
“Makes sense, if he's busy at work.”
“It's not that. Mum's freaked. Last week she called the office number from force of habit. Whoever answered the phone said Dad was on a hush-hush special assignment and was working in the field for a couple of weeks. He's never said anything about that to us.”
McAdam rubbed his jaw. The father's work situation was an added burden for Evan. The young man, already distressed by his dad's attitude toward him, now had to deal with his mother's concern as well. The priest could offer nothing but platitudes; wait it out, everything will be fine, your father's problems aren't your burden to bear. He wasn't sure if this advice would help Evan deal with the pressures of his complicated, even toxic family life.
“Evan,” McAdam decided to be brutally frank. “Abuse comes in many guises. Withholding acceptance because you don't conform to someone's views or beliefs is one form of it. What do you say I put you in touch with a specialized social worker trained to deal with family issues? If it means leaving the family home, they'll see you through that as well.” The lad, McAdam concluded, needed more help than a minister of the church could offer.
Evan's chin dipped to his chest, his fingers resumed their manic dance.
“I want to stay with you. You've helped so much.”
“Trust me, son, it's for the best.” The priest hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. He mentally slapped himself for resorting to the pat phrase, but it seemed to reassure the lad.
“Okay, Reverend. I'll do what needs to be done. Right now, I'm so confused and worried sick. I've considered ending it.” McAdam's jaw tightened, a shadow of concern crept into his eyes. He steeled himself.
“Evan, when a person is at the end their rope they must trust in God to walk by their side. Let it go. Pour yourself into studies. If the burden is too heavy, ask the Lord to help you shoulder it and he will give you the strength to carry on.”
The young man's balled-up fists relaxed. He glanced up at the ornate carved clock on the wall.
“I should get going. Class in half an hour.” Both men rose and met half way to share an awkward hug.
“Thanks, Rev. You've helped a lot. I know what to do now.”
“Good. You're a bright, strong young man. You'll get through it.”
McAdam saw Evan out and returned to his desk. He stared at the scrawl that was his sermon, and pushed the sheet away. Reaching into the top drawer, he pulled out a plain white envelope with his name neatly printed on it. Someone, and he could guess who, had pinned it to the back door. He'd read the unsigned letter twice since then.
It was clear Evan's father had authored it, fueled by paternal fury. He accused the cleric of unspeakable things and promised retribution for perverting his son. McAdam wanted to consider this an empty threat, but the malevolent tone made his scalp prickle. If Evan's father harboured such vitriol, even more reason his son should seek help from qualified people.
McAdam replaced the letter. He had other priorities for now. Last evening his assistant had called, cried and apologized ten times in as many minutes for not giving notice.
“My dear, the health of a mother reflects on the unborn child. For us, a mere inconvenience, for you, a matter of life and death. Take all the time you need. I'll get the paperwork started. Keep me updated on your condition. As a friend.”
“Thank-you, Reverend Andrew. You're a beautiful person.”
McAdam sighed. Sadly, worker bees were plentiful and disposable these days. Now, he needed to call the diocese, and get the leave of absence paperwork started for Rhonda. Lastly, he'd reach out to his contact at Social Services for Evan. And, lest it slip his mind again, he printed, in capital letters: oil the hinges.
McAdam slouched onto his tail bone, letting his arms hang over the sides of the brown leather chair and blew out a sigh of frustration. He foresaw a tough week.
~2~
Premonition
TORI CARLIN CHOSE A pew two seats from the end of the aisle and settled in with a sigh. Faint clunks and thuds of construction noise filtered in from outside, no louder than the click of the ceiling fans in
the rafters. The clock tower bell chimed twice, the sound muffled by thick stone and mortar walls.
Two hours ago, she'd delivered orders of hand made costume jewelery to former colleagues, now her clients. She'd schmoozed, networked, and listened to tales of drama and office politics until a familiar sear of anxiety sliced through her body. St. Mark Cathedral had been her sanctuary from that. Phantom pain, she reassured herself. The root cause of the malaise had been excised. She made herself think instead about red and yellow tulips that danced in the breeze and the husks that detached from tender buds on trees and settled on her head as she’d climbed the gentle slope earlier to her former place of business.
Soothed, she drifted into a pleasant fog where nothing mattered.
A muffled rustle, a soft whisper, echoed in the stillness of the space, trickled into her ears. Tori inhaled sharply and opened her eyes. An elderly woman made the sign of the cross and wobbled to her feet. She shuffled into the aisle, turned, squinted at Tori, and clasped both hands over her chest.
“Tori, dearest.” The two women met with a hug.
“Doris, so nice to see you again. How are you?”
“Older than I was and younger than I'm gonna be. Seventy-three in two weeks.” The top of Doris's head came to Tori's chin, her body felt thin but wiry. Eyes like polished onyx beads contrasted with a head of frizzy silver hair. Smooth chocolate brown skin belied her age.
“Still making sure Reverend Andrew eats three meals a day and all this wood shines like satin?”
“Keeps me busy and out of trouble,” Doris chuckled. “We haven't seen much of you since you retired. Speaking of which, you may be the answer to my prayers. Reverend Andrew needs somebody to help him with the paperwork. Bookkeeping and the like.”
“Isn't there already a secretary here?”
“Yes, Rhonda. The poor girl called Reverend Andrew last night. She's been put on bedrest until her baby's born. Won't be back for a year after the child comes. Reverend Andrew needs someone until the diocese finds a replacement for Rhonda.” Tori sensed what was coming.
Doris took a deep breath. “I prayed for a solution and the Lord sent you. You know about computers and office work. I know you said you didn't want to work in an office ever again. Maybe just this little temporary job?”
Tori's brain spun in overdrive as a million thoughts skated in circles and landed on their backsides. The elderly woman was right. Tori had sworn off salaried employment for the rest of her life. How could she consider taking a new job now? A short visit to the premises of her ex-employer had sent her running for refuge in this church again. Since she'd been liberated from a time-consuming office job, her hobby business had grown as she worked to her own personalized schedule. Time was something she'd fought to control, to tame and bend to her work lifestyle. These days, after a leisurely breakfast and a morning walk around the neighborhood, she arranged her day as it suited her. Granted, at fifty-five, Tori considered herself too young for the rocking chair, but too old to find employment without refresher schooling. The idea of a job search and a return to wage slavery brought on new waves of anxiety. Tori had accepted a generous severance payment from her former employer with gratitude. It gave her a year of freedom to grow her hobby business without financial strain. Still, transformation from stress bunny to Zen lady had been harder than she'd anticipated.
If she took this temporary, undemanding job it might serve as therapy, a bridge between a thirty-year habit of wage slavery, and a more relaxed life. It might even test her resolve to break with the past.
“Yes, I'd consider it.” The words slipped out before the final decision filtered through to her conscious mind.
“Oh thank-you, Tori,” Doris clapped her hands in delight. “Come, we'll see Reverend Andrew right away.”
The bronze plaque on the door said: 'Reverend Andrew McAdam'. Although the door was ajar, Doris knocked softly. The minister stared at them over the top of his glasses, his expression blank, forehead folded into deep furrows.
“Reverend, good news,” At the sound of Doris's voice, Reverend Andrew's eyes blinked into focus.
“This is Tori Carlin.” The priest rose and extended his hand to Tori across the desk. “She has the experience to replace Rhonda,” Doris beamed at the minister.
“I know you from somewhere.” McAdam's eyes narrowed as he searched his memory. “Oh, yes of course. The thrift shop. Haven't seen you recently though. Familiar with technological beasts, are you?” Pale blue eyes twinkled from under graying eyebrows that matched his hair and mustache.
“I am,” Tori held the minister's gaze with bravado confidence. “I’ve worked on word processing, spreadsheets, and other business software.”
“Well, we have all that, I'm afraid. Please sit.” McAdam's fingers flew over the laptop keyboard. He punched a key with finality. A printer behind him whirred. He plucked two sheets out and slid them across the desk to Tori. “We'll begin with this. Ask Doris to take you to Rhonda's office. Bring the application back to me when you're done.”
“I will, Reverend.” By the time Tori picked up the sheets, McAdam was once again frowning at his laptop screen.
Doris pounced the moment Tori stepped out of McAdam's office.
“Were you eavesdropping?” Tori grinned at the elderly woman, whose lips twitched in reply. She waved Tori to follow and led her to a bright, comfortable room.
“Here we are.” The little woman waved Tori inside. “I'll go get coffee. Or do you prefer tea? And a biscuit? Or a muffin?”
“Tea and a biscuit, thanks.” Maternal instincts in full tilt, Doris headed off toward the kitchen.
Tori's gaze swept the room. This could be her new reality. A poster that featured a sunny beach took up most of the real estate on one wall. A large window framed Windsor Station across the street. That grand old lady once housed a busy train hub, but now hosted restaurants, boutiques, and a ballroom. On the street corner at the bottom of a gentle slope, people lined up, waiting for a bus. A homeless man shuffled along the line, begging for donations.
Tori turned back to the desk to complete the application. Half an hour later, she knocked on the minister's door.
“Ah, yes. Come in Ms Carlin, take a seat.”
The priest scanned the document.
“Very good. Head Office approves all hires. In your case, I foresee a formality. Can you start Thursday?”
“I have a few loose ends to take care of, but I can do it for Thursday.”
“Aren't you curious about the compensation?” Tori's eyebrows rose, and the corners of her mouth curved down. McAdam grinned. “It's competitive for office workers. Perhaps not what you earned before, but it's not bad. It'll be confirmed in the offer of employment letter.” He paused and looked at the application again. “I expect diocese approval by this evening. You're sure you'll be able to start Thursday, Ms Carlin? I need an assistant as soon as possible.”
“Yes, thank-you, Reverend.” Tori left the minister’s office with mixed emotions. She wasn’t sure she wanted to go back to the daily commute and all the frustrations that came with it. On the other hand, it was a temporary position, maybe two, at most three months.
Doris popped her head out from the doorway of the assistant's office as Tori approached, a question on her face.
Tori strode to the desk and sat in the chair. Doris clapped her hands in glee.
“The Reverend needs to get approval from head office first.”
“Of course, you’ll be approved.”
Tori chuckled. “You're likely to know before I do. Just in case, I better get home. If I’m to start work on Thursday, I'll have to switch some stuff around.”
“You go ahead, dearest. I'll see you soon, I'm sure.”
Right, she'd barely finished moaning about stressful jobs and the joys of freedom and now she'd committed herself to a paying job. So eager to return to the grind, she didn't even ask for how long or for the salary. No matter, she'd call the Reverend as soon as she got home and t
ell him she'd changed her mind.
But once again premonition set her on a head-on collision with life-changing events.
~3~
Murder in the Rectory
THE MOMENT TORI BOARDED the commuter bus on her first day of work at the Cathedral, the past fourteen months of her life receded into a dreamlike fog. The familiar eau-de-commuter bus mixture of body odors, stale cigarette smoke overlaid with cheap perfume assaulted her nostrils. A bizarre symphony composed of the roar of the motor, strident female voices, booming male voices, the squeal of children, and loud mobile phone conversations continued throughout the journey into the city.
She squeezed into the only free seat next to the ubiquitous young man with a vacant stare whose head bobbed to the boom-boom that overflowed the ear buds. Spread-eagled, his knee rubbed against hers. Instinctively, her own knees came together.
No, you're entitled to your own space. Tori squared her shoulders, let her legs resume their natural angle and made herself comfortable. It was hard not to smirk when the young man readjusted his position to give her room.
Even though she'd won the battle of the space bubble, Tori stomped up the hill in a foul humor. Why had she committed to this job? She was trapped by her decision and its consequences. Solution to the problem? Help the cleric find a new secretary and go back to the life she'd grown to love. She did wonder if the working conditions at St. Mark's would be less toxic than at her previous employment. Would there be constant anxiety, would the ulcer come back? How often could she expect to go home in tears? Maybe she should give this a chance and see.
At the intersection of two busy streets, Saint Mark Cathedral remained a singular link to the past, an anomaly among the steel and concrete structures that surrounded it. The sober Greco-Roman gray sandstone building sat on an emerald lawn shaded by mature trees. A whimsical choice of seasonal flowers nodded and bowed in a light breeze. It saw workers spill out of buses, metros, trains, and cars, and separate into ant-like streams of humanity headed for their respective hills.
