UnCatholic Conduct

by Stevie Mikayne

  “Who the hell are you?” Jess demanded, the door to her office slamming shut with such ferocity that Jil actually jumped.

  She felt her heart flutter and sink. She knew this day was coming. She’d just never been prepared for the total devastation she’d feel at having to let Jess go.

  “My name is Jillienne Kidd.”

  “Well, Jillienne, it’s nice to meet you,” said Jess, sarcasm dripping from every word.

  “Jess, c’mon.”

  “C’mon? Are you kidding me? I didn’t even know your real name? Does anyone know your real name? Are you responsible for what’s been going on here? Are you even a teacher?”

  Jil swallowed hard, trying to decide which of her questions to answer first. She took a deep breath. “Why don’t we sit down?”

  Jess’s eyes flashed fire. “Like hell.” She looked like she might be able to calm down sometime within the next decade.

  “No, I’m not a teacher.”

  “Not a teacher. Where the hell did you get your credentials?”

  “I’m a PI.”

  “A private investigator?” she seemed confused. Not quite as angry. “Who hired you?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “You can’t say?”

  “I’ve already compromised my investigation by my actions today.”

  “Your investigation? What the hell are you investigating?”

  Jil shook her head. “I’m sorry, Jess.”

  Jess just stared, her intense eyes flashing anger and disbelief and confusion and hurt all in one strobe light succession. Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. “You owe me an explanation.”

  And Jil felt like she’d been hit by a truck. “I know,” she answered. “I know I do. But I can’t right now.”

  “You’re investigating me,” Jess whispered, horrified. “Right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is this a game to you?” Every inch of her pulled back from Jil—emotionally, physically. “Was I pawn in something?”

  And Jil couldn’t even find the words to speak. She could only shake her head slowly. “No,” she choked.

  But Jess was gone. She had retreated into herself so far that Jil doubted she’d ever reach her.

  “You need to leave.”

  Jil stood up slowly on legs that would barely carry her. And this time when she walked through the main office, no one pretended not to stare.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Zeus greeted her at the door, for once, not even barking. She dropped her bag and coat and shoes by the front door, walked slowly to the couch, sat, and stared at nothing—nothing—for hours.

  At four o’clock, she got back into her car, drove the twenty kilometers to O’Hanagan’s, and parked. Padraig’s car was there. She felt cold, like icy blood was trickling through her chest and down her arms. How could she ever explain this to Padraig?

  With deliberate precision, she unbuckled her seat belt and pushed open the door that suddenly seemed too heavy to move. Every step inside was painful. Slow. Heavy. The knock on Padraig’s door was too loud. Too revealing. She looked behind her to see who was watching. No one.

  “Hey, Kidd,” Padraig said, smiling brightly when he saw her. Then the look on her face registered, and his smile faded. “What is it?”

  Jil just stood on the other side of his desk silently and handed him the gun without a word. Then she gave him her keys, her pretext folder, and her ID.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  And she turned and left.

  *

  Jil went home to her loft alone. She ran a shower and stayed in until the hot water tank ran cold. Then she wrapped herself in a soft robe, poured a glass of wine, and sat, again, on the couch—staring at nothing.

  How had she made such a series of errors? How could she have been this blind and this stupid and this selfish? She had known from the beginning that this could happen—that she could compromise her investigation, compromise Jess’s career, and compromise their precarious and forbidden relationship. But she’d never imagined that she could fuck it up this royally.

  Now, not only did she not have a job, but she had let Padraig down. She couldn’t finish her investigation, and maybe worst of all, Jess would never look at her again. She couldn’t remember a worse day. Or a worse night. Or a worse day following.

  Friday morning, she woke early. Even before the sun had risen. She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, her stomach nauseated. Zeus was still snoring on the floor beside her. She rolled over and pulled the pillow over her head, trying to drown out the drumming in her skull.

  Her phone rang, and she looked at the number—Elise—then declined it.

  She lay there for an hour. Turned over. Lay on there for another hour. Got up.

  She wondered what was going on at the school. Would Buck Weekly be teaching her class? Would everyone be talking about her? Talking about how she strolled through the halls of the school carrying a gun? Would they be afraid of her?

  It killed her that she couldn’t get dressed and go into St. Marguerite’s to find out. She had spent months trying to find a way to get out of that place, and now all she wanted was to get back in.

  And to talk to Jess.

  The minutes went by excruciatingly slowly.

  She got up, dressed in jogging clothes, and took Zeus for a long, slow run. He panted and leaped beside her, darting into the woods, then darting back, catching a stick. Nothing she did seemed to ease the brick of ice in her chest, or the twisting of her stomach.

  Was this the first day of the rest of her life? No career, no lover, no life.

  God, she was such an idiot.

  She imagined Jess fielding phone call after phone call from parents, from news reporters, holding an assembly, denying interviews, being hauled on the carpet by the superintendent wondering how this had happened with all the extra security measures they had taken.

  And who the hell that teacher was who had tackled the young boy at gunpoint.

  Jesus.

  When the sun finally did set on Friday night, Jil was sitting on the floor, cradling Zeus’s enormous head in her lap, and crying soft tears onto his long, silky ears.

  When Elise called her again, she didn’t even bother to decline it, just let it go straight to voice mail.

  At eight o’clock Saturday morning, when Jil had dressed, taken a walk with the dog, and managed to force down some toast, Padraig called. This time, she knew she had to answer.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me. I’m coming over.” Before she could object, he had hung up. She had time for a quick once-over in the living room before he was barging through her front door, without even knocking.

  Zeus went crazy. He ran to the front door, barking and howling, his deep woof bouncing off the tile floor and vibrating the walls. Padraig was a little taken aback for a moment, then he put out his large, rough hand for Zeus to sniff. The dog’s tail started wagging as Padraig’s fingers found an itchy spot behind his long, floppy ears. He melted into him with the famous Great Dane lean, and Padraig almost stumbled over.

  “Nice guard dog you’ve got here,” he said sardonically.

  “You wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley,” she said quietly. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

  “That’d be good. Thanks.”

  Awkwardly, Padraig followed her into the kitchen, seeming not to know quite where to put himself.

  “Have a seat,” Jil offered, her voice still small. She knew it was hard for him to come here—maybe even as hard as it was for her to see him.

  “Heard about what happened Thursday,” Padraig said, accepting the cup of coffee and slowly stirring in sugar.

  “Figured you would,” Jil replied.

  “So you’re quitting, I guess.”

  Jil couldn’t even look him in the face. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I don’t know how I managed to make such a mess of things.”

  “Sure you do,” he said bluntly. “You fell in love with the wom
an you were investigating.”

  Jil stared at him. “How the hell do you know?”

  Something close to a rueful smile played on the corners of Padraig’s lips. “I met her,” he said simply. “She’s something.”

  “Did you talk to her about me?”

  “Of course not,” said Padraig. “Give me more credit than that. I just showed up when the police were still there, investigating every nook and cranny. The teachers thought I was with the police; the police thought I was a teacher. I had a few words with some staff—even said hello to the principal herself. Figured out pretty quick that she was the problem here. Pretty lady, but definitely plays for your team.”

  Jil shook her head. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I shouldn’t have let myself get involved with her.”

  “What were you thinking?” Padraig asked. He wasn’t accusing as much as curious.

  “I wasn’t thinking at all,” Jil replied, turning away from him. God, why were they even having this conversation? “I just kept telling myself I’d figure it out. That I would find a way to do both my investigation and be with her.”

  “And did you?”

  “Would I be in this mess if I had?”

  “I wanted to come over yesterday,” Padraig said, changing topics. “But you seemed so dead set on something, I thought it was better to leave you alone. And then I heard about the lockdown at St. Marguerite’s.”

  “How?”

  “All over the radio, and broadcast live on CNN.”

  “God,” Jil said. After everything that had happened, it had never occurred to her to turn on the news.

  “What did they say?”

  “Oddly enough, not much,” Padraig answered. “All they said was that St. Marguerite’s was in a lockdown emergency and that there had been shots fired. Of course, parents panicked and drove like bats out of hell to come pick up their children. They were getting frantic phone calls from their kids saying that some idiot was taking over the school. But on the news, they couldn’t release the name of the student, because he’s a minor.”

  “Did they show anything about him being arrested?”

  “No. They didn’t show that part. They just said the student was apprehended by police.”

  “Nothing about me?” Jil asked. She was hopeful and confused at once.

  “No,” Padraig mused. “Nothing. No one mentioned you at all, actually.”

  “How is that possible?” Jil demanded. “I took that kid down, Padraig. I had my gun on me, and I pointed it at him. I was going to shoot him if he didn’t give me his gun. He’s fourteen years old. Fourteen.”

  Padraig’s face clouded doubtfully as he looked at her.

  “Fourteen’s still old enough to be armed,” he said quietly. “If he was a threat, you did the right thing.”

  Jil shook her head, frustrated. “But that’s just it,” she said. “I don’t know why he was doing it. I don’t know how he got that gun into the school. All I know is that there’s something much bigger going on here than just an angry kid with a gun. The fact that I’m not even in the news just proves it to me.”

  “Obviously, someone didn’t want your presence to be known,” Padraig replied.

  “Have you talked to DiTullio?”

  “Only briefly. I didn’t tell him you’d quit. Thought that might give him a raging aneurysm, and I didn’t really want more to cope with, if you follow.”

  Jil nodded ruefully.

  “Whew…” Padraig breathed. “You had to pick that day to change your mind about carrying a gun, did you?”

  “Sorry,” she said. “And I’m afraid it was your gun I used.”

  “How did you know what was going to happen?”

  “I didn’t. I just had a really bad feeling. Things were getting way out of control there. Taggings, threats, knives coming at me. Students afraid to walk alone in the halls. Notes with weird symbols. Everyone’s eyes on me all the time. Even Jess, sometimes doesn’t seem to be safe. I don’t know—”

  “I told you that school gave me the creeps.”

  He stopped stirring his coffee and looked at Jil instead. And like a dam had burst, Jil found herself telling him all the details that, up to this point, had seemed like a jumbled pile of nothing: Alyssa and Bex’s relationship, the other students who had died at St. Marguerite’s over the years…

  “What do you think?” Jil asked, seeing Padraig’s eyebrows get higher and higher, as his jaw got tighter and tighter.

  He sat back when she was finished, stroking his beard thoughtfully. Then he started stirring his coffee counterclockwise, like he always did when he was deep in thought.

  “I think this investigation isn’t nearly over.”

  Just then, the doorbell rang. Jil and Padraig exchanged a quizzical look, and Jil went to answer it. She peeked through the peephole and just about fell down.

  Standing on her doorstep, at ten o’clock on a Saturday morning, was Jess Blake.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  She opened the door slowly, and they stared at each other for a few seconds.

  “Just wanted to see if you actually did live here,” Jess said tightly.

  “Touché,” Jil whispered. “I don’t usually bring people home with me, given my line of work.”

  Jess stood, waiting for Jil to say something more, but she didn’t. “I can’t do my job right now,” Jess said, and she sounded angry. At Jil? At herself? “I can’t seem to make sense of anything, and if I can’t even sort out my own life, how the hell am I supposed to sort out the school?”

  “Jess, I’m sorry I made you doubt yourself.”

  “You made me doubt everything!”

  Was her nose red? Were those tears in her eyes? Jil wanted so badly to reach out and comfort her, but she knew that Jess would pull away. She kept her hands under control—crossed them over her chest instead.

  “Was I part of the plan?” Jess asked. God, she was really set on that.

  And Jil shook her head again. “Not at all. I didn’t plan on you at all, Jess. In fact, you made my investigation very, very complicated.”

  “What were you investigating?”

  Jil sighed. The time for deception had long passed. “Everyone.”

  They stood on the doorstep for a moment longer, trying to settle into something that was familiar, or at least, less strange. “Why don’t you come in?” she said at last.

  Jess nodded, a mantle of anger dropping away from her shoulders. “Okay.”

  *

  “If we want her cooperation, we’re going to have to tell her the truth,” Padraig said simply.

  Jil stared at him for a minute. She hadn’t expected that. “Okay.”

  “Have a seat, Ms. Blake.” Padraig graciously gestured to Jil’s suede couches.

  Jess hid a smile, and Jil read her mind. They’d been intimately involved with that couch not too long ago. She felt heat rising in her cheeks.

  “My name is Padraig O’Hanagan. I’m the person responsible for placing Jil in your school to begin with.”

  “Jil,” Jess mouthed the word, trying it out. She shook her head. “Okay.”

  “We were hired by an outside party to investigate—”

  “My staff,” she finished.

  “Yes, I’m afraid that’s the truth of it. You and your school. And now this investigation is taking a very sharp turn. And it’s our responsibility to carry it through, even if it is uncomfortable—even dangerous.”

  “Is it? Dangerous?” Jess asked.

  “It seems so,” replied Jil. “And I think we need to get to the bottom of things right away.”

  “Who hired you?”

  Padraig sighed. “Someone higher up than you.”

  Jess pursed her lips. “I can guess, so you don’t have to tell me. I know the Parents’ Association has been breathing down the necks of the board members as much as they’ve been a pain in my ass for years. So you’re investigating the contracts?”

  “Well, at least that’s what I thou
ght I was investigating.” Jil sat on the opposite end of the couch, far enough away that no part of her touched Jess.

  “I think we’d better just focus on where we’re going, not where we’ve been,” Padraig said.

  But Jil just smiled—a tentative olive branch. And Jess returned it.

  “Okay,” said Jess. “So the board is so interested in my personal life that they’d hire a PI to investigate me. Fine. That doesn’t make me at all paranoid.”

  Padraig grinned. “Great. Then let’s get on with it.” He grabbed a spare Bristol board from Jil’s stack behind the couch and laid it out on the coffee table. “So here’s what we know.”

  Jil and Jess both sat up a little straighter, Jil privately wondering how much he had managed to put together.

  “There’s Alyssa Marco’s death.” He put Alyssa in the middle, circled it, and sat back.

  Jess’s face had gone white. “This is about Alyssa?” she whispered.

  “This is barely scratching the surface,” Jil warned her. “So put on that battle armor.”

  Jess swallowed hard.

  “We have Marcel,” Jil continued, taking the marker from Padraig, and putting MARCEL off to the side, an uncomplimentary THIEF next to his name.

  “Really?” said Jess.

  Jil just raised her eyebrows. “Your ring?”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “More about that later.”

  “We have Buck,” Padraig continued, another point. Jess rolled her eyes, but Jil refused to make eye contact. She took the marker from Padraig and scribbled Buck’s name on another section of the board.

  “C’mon,” Jess interjected. “He’s not out to get you.”

  “I know.”

  Jess looked surprised. “You do? You don’t exactly have any love lost, you two.”

  Jil sighed. “Well, now I have another theory. At the very least, I think he knows something.”

  “How are you going to find out?”

  Jil flashed her a smile. “I’m going to ask him.”

  “Moving on,” said Padraig dryly.

  “We have Bex, who was involved with Alyssa. Gideon, Bex’s brother, who was the shooter. We have yet to find out who was responsible for the threats or the tagging,” Jil said, getting into it. It felt good to get it all down on paper—not to be mulling through it all in her head. And it felt even better to finally be able to share all of this with Jess—which is all she’d wanted to do from the beginning.