UnCatholic Conduct

by Stevie Mikayne

  Jess turned so that she could see Jil under the pillow that covered her head. “Do you really think we can pull this off?”

  Jil shrugged, lacing her fingers in Jess’s. “We have to.”

  Jess sighed. “God. I feel like I should sleep there at night. I can’t believe Marcel took my ring!”

  Jil snorted. “You should see what else he’s got stashed around the school. It’s like he’s some sort of jewel collector. He’s obviously been doing it for years.”

  “It’s going to give me great pleasure to ransack that custodian’s closet today.”

  Jil grinned. “Great distraction,” she agreed. “But otherwise, remember that you have to act totally normal.”

  “Hmm,” said Jess. “Which would involve what? Going home alone at night?”

  “Well.” Jil smiled and pulled Jess into her arms. “Except for that.”

  The electric heat that buzzed constantly between them ignited as soon as they touched. Jil leaned back against the headboard and trailed her fingers up Jess’s spine. She kissed the back of her neck, running her hands around the smooth contours of her waist, just holding her close.

  “I don’t think we have time for this,” Jess murmured.

  “Who’s going to fire you for being late?”

  Jess leaned back against her, and Jil took advantage of the position to slide her hands up Jess’s ribcage and cup her breasts. Immediately, her nipples stiffened.

  “Christ, I don’t know how you do that,” Jess muttered as Jil worked the hard pebbles between firm fingertips. She closed her eyes and sighed.

  Jil didn’t stop, tweaking and pinching until Jess half-turned and kissed her, thrusting her tongue deeply into her mouth as she cupped Jil’s face in her hands.

  Jil kissed back, biting Jess’s lower lip. “I’m not done making it up to you yet,” she whispered, turning Jess back around. She raked both hands from Jess’s waist to her shoulders, leaving light red fingernail lines along her rib cage.

  Jess smiled as fingernails scraped over her sensitive nipples. “Mmm. Do it again.”

  She did, and Jess shuddered. She slid her hands down and across Jess’s thighs, her thumb softly brushing the sensitive flesh between her legs. Gently, she hooked her hands behind Jess’s knees, and pulled her thighs apart. “Can you stay like that?”

  “Let’s see.”

  Jil dipped one finger into the hot crease, already warm and wet. She teased the soft pink lips, tugging and stroking—everywhere but the throbbing hot spot that lay ready and waiting. She used her free hand to massage Jess’s neck and breasts.

  “Bite me,” Jess breathed.

  “How would you explain the hickey?” Instead, Jil dragged her teeth across Jess’s shoulder, leaving tiny red marks that would soon fade from her skin. When Jess’s legs fell apart more, she slipped two fingers inside, probing the tight space.

  “Fuck,” Jess groaned. Her muscles clamped around Jil’s fingers and she whimpered.

  “Deeper?”

  “God, yes.”

  Jil pushed her fingers in farther, pulling out slowly to ignite the sensitive areas inside. She shifted to take more of the weight of Jess’s leg on her own thigh, and found her clit butted against Jess’s writhing hip. As Jess moaned and pushed against her, the friction made her gasp.

  “Make me come,” she whispered.

  Jil slipped her other hand between Jess’s legs, working her fingers around the pulsing clit. She drew circles in the sensitive flesh, teasing it into a hot pebble before finally, gently, running one fingertip over it.

  Jess gasped and arched her hips, grinding her head into Jil’s collarbone, her hip into Jil’s groin.

  Jil closed her eyes and continued thrusting her fingers in and out with one hand, while circling the slippery clit with the other.

  Jess moaned, her noises ricocheting off the windows in the small bedroom. She groaned deeply, lifting her hips to meet Jil’s every move, almost making her come too.

  Jil circled slowly inward, concentrating on the most sensitive part, and in a rush of sweat and slick juices, Jess arched her back and came.

  They lay still for a moment, Jil’s legs wrapped loosely around Jess’s thighs, the heat between them making her even more aroused.

  Jess must have noticed, because she slowly turned over between Jil’s legs, and pushed her down on to the bed. She ran her hands down the length of Jil’s abdomen and parted her legs wide.

  Jil looked at the time but didn’t argue. The way she felt right now, it wouldn’t take long. When Jess’s hot tongue made contact, she closed her eyes and let the waves ride over her until she screamed.

  *

  “What are you going to do today?” Jess asked when Jil finally had to roll out of bed.

  “I’m going to interview some people,” Jil replied vaguely.

  Instantly, Jess was up and out of bed, gathering Jil’s dressing gown around herself. “To think the deaths might have been linked all this time,” she said. “And to think I might have known something about it…might have done something about it.”

  “You tried,” Jil said gently. “You told your mentor, who told you not to pay attention. And you believed him.”

  “Did I?” Jess said, her voice almost a whisper. “Or was it just easier to go along with that because it meant not having to argue? Not having to look deeper? Jil, I’m such a coward.”

  Jil started. “What do you mean?”

  “What kind of woman continues in a job that she’s not welcome in and lies to everyone she cares about—for years—under the pretext that it’s no one’s business? My personal life is no one’s business. What kind of disservice have I been doing to my students—to myself—all this time?”

  “Jess.”

  “What?”

  “Go forward. Not back.”

  *

  Jil steered her car slowly around the suburban neighborhood, looking for a street sign that said Bone Crescent. “Turn right,” said her GPS in its annoying soft British accent. To her right was a row of houses, with perfectly manicured front lawns. No street.

  “At the next available street, turn right,” said the GPS.

  The street went straight all the way down until it curved to the left.

  “What a useless piece of shit.” She didn’t have time to waste today. She needed information, pronto.

  Jil stepped on the gas and drove to the end of the street, where she followed the curve, made a series of left turns, and finally wound up on Bone Crescent, having shut the GPS off and thrown it on the seat behind her.

  She alighted at number sixty-seven. It was noon, so she couldn’t tell if the lights were on in the house. But there was a car in the driveway. Good sign.

  After only a moment’s hesitation, she knocked on the front door.

  A tired looking man answered. “Can I help you?” he asked, his voice wary.

  “Yes, hello, Mr. Deloitte. My name is Jillienne Kidd. I’m a private investigator.”

  Mr. Deloitte frowned then stepped aside as if he’d been expecting her for some time.

  “You can call me Jack. My wife will make you a cup of coffee,” he said, leading the way to the kitchen. Jil didn’t argue. “Marie?” said the man, his voice barely lifting. A woman looked up from where she was watering plants in the eating area. “This is Jillienne Kidd. She’s a private investigator.”

  “Hello,” Marie said, extending her hand. “Welcome.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Coffee?”

  “Please.”

  “Cream and sugar?”

  “No, thank you. Just black.” Cream and sugar were a luxury on long stakeouts, and she had grown accustomed over the years to straight black tar, something even Padraig couldn’t get used to.

  “You’re here about Tommy.”

  Jil turned to face him. No use tiptoeing around the topic if he was going to drive straight to the point. “I am. What can you tell me about his death?”

  In the kitchen, Marie closed
a cupboard door—firmly.

  Jack sighed. “That depends on why you want to know.”

  “I’m interested in learning the truth for its own sake. And because another student has died.”

  “I saw the papers,” Jack said heavily.

  “I came across an op-ed of yours in the paper.” Jil pulled out the folder she’d put together from all Elise’s newspaper clippings. “You said you thought there was some sort of gang responsible for bullying your son?”

  “That’s what I thought at the time. Of course, we didn’t really know much about gangs back then. I meant it more as a group. A collection.”

  “Not kids in low-rising pants carrying chains and knives.”

  “No. More long-sleeved preppy kids with a mean streak.”

  Marie set a plate of cookies on the table and handed Jil her coffee. “But that was a long time ago,” she said. Shadows of worry creased her tight smile.

  “A very long time ago,” Jack agreed. “I was wrong about it.”

  “How do you know you were wrong?”

  A look passed between the husband and wife—something Jil couldn’t immediately read. Jack passed her the plate.

  “It was a Catholic school,” Marie said, sitting on the edge of the couch. “They denied it existed, and our parish priest encouraged us to let it go. Told us to find our peace in God.”

  Jil noticed Marie’s hand shaking as she reached for a pillow that she held in her lap. Something didn’t make sense.

  “Tell me,” she said, reaching for a cookie. “Was Tommy buried in the Catholic cemetery?”

  “Well, of course,” Jack said, his eyes widening. “He was a Catholic, like we are.”

  “We have our plots next to his,” Marie said quietly.

  Jil knew she had to tread lightly. She wanted the truth, but not at the price of alienating these worn down people. “The parish priest,” she mused, “was he a St. Marguerite’s graduate?”

  Jack frowned. “Yes, as a matter of fact. He wasn’t too much older than Tommy. Maybe five or six years. He graduated the year Tommy went into grade seven.”

  “And you said you confessed your worries to him? And that he’d told you to make peace with God?”

  “Yes.”

  “And then what happened?” Jil pressed. “Why did you really give up your conviction that Tommy had been bullied?”

  “Suicide is a sin,” Marie whispered. “The priest agreed to bury him on holy ground anyway, because of his age and because he’d been baptised there.”

  “So you were grateful to him?”

  Marie nodded.

  “If he’d had any other sins against him,” Jil said gently, “he might not have been buried there?”

  Jack cleared his throat. Marie pressed a tissue to her eyes, which had started to leak tears. “He had no other sins against him,” Jack said. His voice shook a bit.

  “No,” Jil whispered. “Of course he didn’t.”

  Jack smiled wanly.

  “Thank you for your time.” Jil stood.

  They both rose to walk her to the door.

  “I wish you luck with your investigation,” Jack said as he saw her to her car.

  Jil glanced around his shoulder to where Marie hovered in the doorway. “The boys Tommy went to school with, the ones who are still at St. Marguerite’s…”

  Jack’s eye twitched. “Yes?”

  “The Weekly brothers, Di Tullio, Mark Genovese—was Tommy friends with them?”

  “No. He used to be, but they had a falling out in grade ten or eleven. He didn’t see them much after that.”

  “Do you know what it was about?”

  Jack exhaled through his nose. “I don’t think he ever said,” he replied tightly.

  She leaned in, her voice low. “It was those four boys—they were the ones you thought were responsible.”

  “I couldn’t prove it,” Jack muttered back. “And then after he died, one of the Weekly boys ended up in the mental hospital. Too much stress. I didn’t push it after that. Please, don’t say anything more.”

  Jil shook his hand and got into the car.

  As she pulled away from the curb, she looked into her rearview mirror. Jack and Marie stood in the doorway, his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulder.

  *

  As Jil made a call to Padraig, her screen flashed a red bar. Only twenty percent battery left. Shit. Why hadn’t she charged it last night? She remembered exactly what she’d been doing last night and gave herself a mental kick. How many different ways was she going to compromise her investigation for the sake of Jess?

  “It’s me. We’ll have to be quick because my battery’s low,” she said when he answered.

  “Okay. We’ll text from now on then. What did you find out?”

  “The father suspected our fab four, but couldn’t prove it. Kept quiet so that Tommy would be buried on consecrated ground. Apparently, the priest had something to do with that.”

  Padraig swore softly, and they pieced together everything they’d learned from DiTullio and Tommy’s family.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Jil and Padraig settled into the front seats of Padraig’s SUV, and Jil turned on the two laptop monitors.“Got sound?” Padraig squinted at the screen, which showed grainy footage, and fiddled with some settings on the keyboard.

  “Barely.” Jil frowned as white noise rustled in her ear. She tapped her earpiece and the sound cleared as the scene on the monitor sharpened, revealing a clear view of Mark Genovese’s office.

  Padraig breathed out. “I was worried for a minute.” He hit another key, and the atrium showed up on the first monitor. He flipped back to Genovese’s office. “All set.”

  “See? You’re a pro.” Jil adjusted the second monitor, which showed the main office, and then picked up her walkie and radioed Jess. “All clear here. Approach when ready.”

  “Acknowledged,” came Jess’s quiet reply.

  Jil watched as Jess came into focus on the second monitor. She crossed the main office to Mark Genovese’s open door, where he sat at his desk, his broad back rigid. She knocked twice and he turned around. “We have a bit of a problem,” she said, closing the door behind her.

  Jil turned up her sound, trying to catch every word.

  “What is it?”

  “The police have decided to reopen Alyssa’s case. Turns out they don’t believe it’s suicide.”

  Mark rubbed his chin. “What do they think it is?”

  Jess crossed her arms and looked concerned. “When they looked at her computer they found she’d been on a number of social media sites. They think she was cyberbullied.”

  “Cyberbullied?”

  “They mentioned something about a suicide pact.”

  “A suicide pact? Is someone else dead?” Jil zeroed in to see his reaction. Mark’s jaw twitched as his eyes grew wider.

  “No. They think it was a fake pact. Someone encouraged her to kill herself, and she finally did it.”

  Mark raised his eyebrows. “Someone she knew?”

  “The police think it’s likely. Possibly even a student at this school. They showed me a picture of the online contact and some of their conversations.” Jess shook her head. “The things he said to her were…shocking. But I don’t recognize the picture.”

  Mark leaned back in his chair. “Maybe it was a false ID,” he said. “Can they trace where it came from?”

  “That’s how they routed it to the school.”

  “Well, that could be anybody on our network.”

  Jess nodded. “They’ll be interviewing all the Pathways kids later today. Since they live here, they have the most consistent access.”

  “Anyone else they’ll want to interview?”

  Jess shrugged. “I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  *

  “Moving to the atrium,” Jess said over the radio.

  “Make sure not to pass the door of the chapel,” Jil answered. “That’s where the visua
l cuts out.”

  “Got it.”

  Jess stood in the atrium, watching as three uniformed police officers came through the door. She nodded at Morgan as he approached. “Right in here,” she said.

  Morgan followed her to the main office. Jil tracked them on the monitors.

  “Mark, this is Lieutenant Morgan.” Jess poked her head into his office.

  “Good morning.” Mark extended his hand.

  “Morgan needs access to a computer with all the overrides available. Can you log him on to yours?”

  Mark’s smile tightened. “Of course.”

  “Thank you. I’m going to take the other officers into the Student Services Center and start helping to conduct the interviews.”

  “Great.”

  Jess waited until Mark had logged Morgan on and then ducked out again.

  Jil held her breath. If she was right, Mark would try to leave before he was caught. In a moment, she watched him exit the office and head down the hallway, past the range of the camera.

  A moment later, a loud buzz sounded, followed by red flashing lights. The fire alarm had been triggered.

  “Shit,” Jess muttered into the walkie. “He’s triggered the fire alarm. The fire department will be on their way because this wasn’t a planned drill. They have to come.”

  Jil sprang from the car and raced toward the back of the school, clutching her walkie as staff and students swarmed through every exit. “Padraig, do you have eyes on his car?” she panted.

  “Affirmative. Smart move. I don’t see him yet. Kidd, are you at the back?”

  *

  Jil spotted a streak of purple. “Padraig, he’s headed out the back door toward the woods.”

  “Acknowledged. Jess, get an officer out there after her, now!”

  Jil didn’t have time to listen to any more. She took off running after Mark. His athletic history and long legs widened the gap between them, but she dashed behind him through the trees, determined to keep up.

  Morgan’s warning from earlier that morning echoed in her ears. We need a confession, Jil. Without it, he’s going to walk.