Dangerous Habits

by Susan Hunter

“Miguel, do you still have that text with the picture I sent you? The one I took at Father Hegl’s?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Look, look, look!”

  “OK, OK, chill.” He pulled out his phone and started scrolling back through texts, and then handed it to me. The wall of religious statues at Hegl’s popped up crisp and clear. On the second shelf from the bottom, in the corner, there it was. I zoomed in on the photo, then showed it to Miguel.

  “The murder weapon. Taken from Sister Margaret’s desk the night Lacey was killed. The Virgin Mary, with a long white scratch on the base.”

  “Ay, Dios mío! Are you sure? But why would he keep the murder weapon?”

  “Haven’t you ever heard of hiding in plain sight? Think about it. He kills Lacey and then he’s in a panic. He’s got to get rid of a body, a phone—he doesn’t know what she might have on it—and a murder weapon. He can reset the phone to factory settings, no problem. He can take one of the 4-wheelers and dump her body in an out of the way place on the property and plant some pills and bottles with her.

  “If he’s lucky, the weather and animals will take care of things. If he’s not lucky, and she’s found right away, well, there are the pills, the empty bottle. And running away fits her pattern. She’s just another kid who couldn’t turn her life around.

  “But what can he do about this big, old statue? He can’t throw it with the body. That would raise way too many questions if it was found. He can’t throw it in the trash; he knows Sister Margaret will be having a fit when it’s missing, and someone is sure to look there. He makes a bold move. He puts it right on the shelf with a hundred other statues.”

  “That takes cajones, chica. What if Sister Margaret or one of the other nuns saw it?”

  “Unlikely. The nuns don’t drop in on Hegl. And even if they did, he could say that one of the students must have put it there as a joke, and he has so many statues he didn’t notice. Anyone else who might visit—they wouldn’t see it among all the other statues. I didn’t. And even if they picked it out, it wouldn’t mean anything to them.”

  “What are you going to do now? Call Coop?”

  “No. I botched things with Miller. I don’t think Coop has much faith in my crime theories just now, and I think he’s working on one of his own. Maybe it involves Hegl, maybe not. He’s not telling me anything. Once I get the statue though, he’ll have to believe me. Then he can work it with Ross. I sure as hell am not going to that nimrod.”

  “How you going to get the statue? ‘Please, Father Hegl, give me the statue you used to kill my sister?’ ” His teasing grin turned to dismay when he saw the look in my eyes. “No, no, no. Don’t even think it.”

  “I’m not thinking it. I’m doing it. I’m going out to Hegl’s, and I’m coming back with that statue.”

  “No,” he repeated.

  “Yes. He teaches a music class at the community college tonight. He shouldn’t get back home until 10:30 at the earliest. It’s only 7:30 now. Plenty of time for me to get in and get out. I know right where the statue is,” I said, walking over to the kitchen drawer to pull out a flashlight. It was still daylight, but it would be dark before I was done.

  Miguel followed me out to the garage, still protesting while I rummaged through a disorganized workbench before finding the canvas Piggly Wiggly bag and plastic gloves I was looking for. He continued arguing as I headed toward my car, but as I reached to open the door, he grabbed my arm. “No, let’s take my car. I’m behind you.”

  Thirty

  We drove into the county park and left the car at the far end of the lot, then took the path that wound along the edge of the Catherines’ property. About a quarter of a mile in, we cut across a field that rose gently to a modest hill. When I got to the top, Miguel was trailing behind, stopping to wipe something off his very expensive shoes.

  “If you’re coming, come on!”

  “You know how to show a boy a good time. If I knew we were going mud bogging on foot, I wouldn’t have worn my new boots,” he grumbled.

  “You don’t have to be here, you know, but if you are here, I need you to not be whining.” It was a little sharp, but I was more nervous than I was letting Miguel know.

  “I’m in, I’m in,” he said, giving up on his shoes with a shrug and a half-grin.

  Spread below us, the campus of DeMoss Academy looked idyllic.

  “There’s Father Hegl’s, that cottage to the right, see it?”

  “Yes. But how we gonna get there without anyone seeing us?”

  “Geez, Miguel. I didn’t know you were such an old lady. Just follow me. It’s half-dark now. Do you see anyone out there? All the little children are tucked in their dorms. The cottage is dark; Father Hegl won’t be home until 10:30. It’s 8:30 now, so it’s all good.”

  We were quiet then as we hurried down the hill and cut across the bumpy, muddy ground. It wasn’t until we reached the back door of Hegl’s small house that either of us spoke.

  “Oh-oh.” In my haste to get there, get in and get out, I forgot about the possibility that Hegl’s door might be locked. The knob turned, but when I pushed, it didn’t open.

  “OK, then I guess we better vamanos. Try again another day.” He turned and was already moving across the backyard.

  “Wait a second, wait.” I turned and pushed, putting some force into it. “Sometimes these old locks don’t really click into place and with a good—oof!—shove. There we go! See, the door is open. I’ll just give a shout.”

  “Father Hegl? Anybody home? Your door was open.” When there was no answer, I motioned for Miguel to follow me in. I turned on the flashlight, and led the way down a short hall to Hegl’s small living room. There, tucked away in a corner near the bottom of his shelf, was the statue of Mary. I pulled on the gloves I’d taken from home and reached out to pick it up, but Miguel said, “Wait, chica, wait.”

  He turned on a lamp, looked around, and grabbed the copy of USA Today laying on the coffee table in front of the sofa, and handed it to me. “Go there by the statue. No, don’t pick it up, just kneel down off to the side. Hold the paper so I can see the date. Bueno, now point to the statue.”

  He snapped two pictures, then switched to video. “Stay there a sec. I want to get the room in the video, so you can see it’s really the padre’s house.” He panned around the room and for good measure zoomed in on the newspaper again with me holding it, and then the statue, which I had picked up to show that it did indeed have a long scratch down the side, as Sister Margaret had described it.

  “OK, I think we’ve got enough.” I had turned to put the statue into my canvas bag when we heard it. The sound of tires on gravel. A millisecond later headlights flashed on the wall. We both froze. Then the slamming of a car door threw us into frenzied action. I snapped off the lamp, handed the bag to Miguel, and shoved him toward the kitchen, whispering, “Go, you’ve got to go.”

  “Aren’t you coming?”

  “You’re way faster than me, and we’ve got to get that statue out of here. I can handle Hegl. I’ll catch up.” The front door opened, and there was movement in the living room. I gave him a push out the door, and he took off. I stepped out right behind him, pulled the back door shut and immediately began knocking loudly—or maybe that was my heart pounding. Either way, it brought a surprised Hegl to the door.

  I had positioned myself to block his view of Miguel’s retreating figure in the gathering dusk.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Not a good idea.” He started to pull the door shut.

  “No, wait, please. Just for a minute, that’s all.” I wanted to turn and see how far Miguel had gotten, but I didn’t dare. If I could just keep Hegl talking for another minute or two, I could be sure Miguel had gotten away.

  “Where’s your car? How did you get here?”

  “I came in the back across the fields. Please, it’s been a really bad day. I’m just asking for a minute to talk to y
ou.”

  Bizarrely, he smirked.

  “Yeah. Saw you on the news.” I noticed then his words were slightly slurred. As he turned his head, I got a whiff of JD. I realized then that he was drunk, but one of those drunks practiced in the art of appearing sober.

  “Do you have just a minute? I wanted to ask you about Olivia Morgan.”

  That got his attention.

  He opened the door wider and grabbed my arm. “You better come in.”

  I tried to pull back, but his grip was firm and his lean frame was deceptive. He was very strong. Up close his eyes were red-veined and bleary. I opted for feigned nonchalance. “All right, thanks.”

  In a painful imitation of gentlemanly behavior, he force walked me toward the living room with a vise-like grip on my elbow, then deposited me roughly in a chair. He bumped the edge of his desk as he tried to navigate around it on his way to a sideboard holding several bottles of whiskey. He poured himself a generous shot, then tipped the bottle toward me.

  I shook my head. But I was happy to see he was still thirsty. The more he drank, the better chance I had around his befuddled wits and out the door. He pulled up a chair and took a long gulp. He was facing me, directly across from his wall of statues. If I didn’t keep him distracted, he’d see the gaping hole where I’d removed Sister Margaret’s Virgin Mary from his collection. I needed him to focus on me, fast.

  “Carla Perez says you were having an affair with her sister Olivia. She thinks you were with Olivia the night she died.”

  “She’s lying.” His stared into his glass.

  “Why would she lie?”

  “To make trouble.”

  “Like her sister Olivia? Did Olivia try and make trouble for you?”

  He had dropped his head down and was silent so long I thought he might have fallen asleep. When he raised his glass to take another swallow, a little bit of the dark amber liquid spilled on his shirt. “Wasn’t my fault. An accident.” He had a defiant look on his face.

  “What happened the night Olivia died?”

  “It wasn’t my fault,” he repeated. “She shouldn’t. She should. She.” He stopped to gather his fuzzy thoughts.

  “What happened?” I prodded.

  “She, she—” He paused again and took another drink. “She grabbed the wheel. Not me. It wasn’t me. She did it. It was raining so hard. She.”

  His voice had dropped to a whisper, so I had to lean in to hear. Staring into his glass, he said, “I tried to stop. We rolled. We rolled and I—I—I—”

  I couldn’t see the expression on his face.

  “What about Olivia? What happened to Olivia?”

  His head jerked up, and his voice was anguished now. “There was blood. So much blood. I couldn’t. I couldn’t.” He started to cry, reaching out his hand and grabbing my wrist. Tears were running down his face.

  “I couldn’t help her.”

  I wasn’t moved. “So, you left her, lying on the road. Olivia was still alive when the ambulance got there. You left her to die alone.”

  “No, no, no. I had to go. I had to go. My rib. I broke my rib,” he said pitifully, as though by his injury he could absolve himself of his culpability. “I called the ambulance. I called.”

  “You called? But you didn’t use your cell phone, did you? You waited until you got to a pay phone. A mile away. You waited, what? A half an hour? All the while Olivia’s life was bleeding out because you didn’t want to get caught.”

  His mouth quivered, and he wiped the thin line of mucous running from his nose to his upper lip with the back of his hand. “I couldn’t help it.”

  “You keep telling yourself that, Hegl. It’s a first degree felony in Florida to leave the scene of an accident when someone dies. And you were driving. You could go to prison for 30 years.”

  The tears stopped. He stared at me sullenly. When he spoke, his voice was harsh.

  “Prove it. Nobody can prove it.”

  “Yeah? Then why have you been hiding out here for years? Something’s got you scared.”

  He was suddenly cautious, a sly expression on his face. “God. God protects drunks. Drunks and fools, don’t you know that?” He started to laugh then went into a coughing jag. When he finished, I tried again.

  “Why did you come to DeMoss?”

  “ ‘Can’t afford a scandal, Sean.’ ” He had lowered his voice and was attempting to look out from under his eyebrows in what I assumed was an imitation of someone. His uncle?

  “Who knows about the accident? The bishop, your uncle? Who else?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he stood abruptly and staggered toward the hall. For half a second I considered waiting on the chance I could talk to him about Lacey, get more out of him, but my reptile brain was saying “Run! Run! Run!” It won. As soon as I heard the bathroom door close, I ran.

  Miguel was waiting at the top of the hill.

  “Chica, what took you so long?”

  I huffed for a few minutes, then panted out an answer. “Hegl was drunk. And talkative. He admitted he was driving the night Olivia died. He was drunk, and he left her there. He left the scene of the accident. His uncle got him out of it.”

  “But why would his uncle send him here?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe Uncle Bishop didn’t want to deal with Drunken Priest Kills Lover in Car Crash headlines. If his uncle wanted him stashed away in a backwater, he couldn’t find a much better place. And Hegl would have a good reason to settle down and play nice up here. Maybe his uncle has something else on him, something even worse, who knows? But if the bishop’s buddy ever rescinds his alibi, Hegl’s in big trouble.”

  “I get that. But why here? What’s the connection?”

  “I don’t know. Sister Julianna? Reid Palmer?” I bent over and tried to catch my breath.

  “You didn’t ask him about Lacey?”

  “No, I just tried to keep him distracted, so he wouldn’t notice the statue was gone.”

  “Look—your amigo is looking for you.” He pointed in the direction of the cottage. From our vantage point we could see Hegl, silhouetted in the light flooding out his open back door.

  “Andale, let’s go. Maybe he noticed his statue is missing.” We took off.

  Thirty-One

  My mother was sitting up at the bar drinking a cup of tea when I tried to sneak in the house without waking her. I hadn’t returned her calls after my surprise appearance on the noon news, just texted to say I was all right, it was a mistake, and I’d talk to her.

  “How was your day?”

  “I would guess a lot better than yours. At least I didn’t lose my job.”

  “Who told you?”

  “Courtnee. When I called the paper.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I just needed a while before I could talk about it, can you understand that?”

  “Frankly, Leah, there’s very little I understand about you these days.” She sighed, then said, “All right, yes, I guess. But I want to hear about it now.”

  I stood uncertainly for a minute. She hadn’t asked about the canvas bag I was carrying, so I pulled out the stool next to her and casually set it down, pushing it off to the side. I gave her a scaled down version of the day’s events leading up to my trip to Father Hegl’s.

  “I had to get proof, Mom.”

  “Proof of what?”

  “Proof that Father Hegl is the one who abused Lacey—and the one who killed her.”

  She just sat there.

  “Did you hear me, Mom? I said Father Hegl—”

  “Yes. I heard you. I heard you when you said it about Paul. And about Miller Caldwell. Leah! You’ve been thrown off a cliff, investigated by the police, nearly arrested, publicly humiliated, fired from you job, and now you seem determined to get yourself killed. I am so angry at you right now, I can barely speak.”

  “Why are you so mad?”

  “You broke into Father Hegl’s house! What if you’re right, what if he did kill Lacey? Why wouldn’t he kill you too? Do you
realize the chance you took? Don’t you care about anything but what you want to do?”

  “Mom! Of course I do. Miguel was with me. Weren’t you listening? I didn’t break in; the door was open … pretty much. We had to get the statue out. And we did.” I lifted the bag and opened it slightly.

  “First thing tomorrow I’m taking it down to the police station. I’m giving it to Coop, along with proof that it came from Hegl’s, and then he can get it to Ross and the DA—I don’t think I’d get far with either of them until this Caldwell thing is straightened out.”

  “So, you’re saying that once you give the statue to Coop, you’re done? No more questions, no more investigating?”

  “Well, no, not that exactly. I still need to—”

  She shook her head, and put up a hand for me to stop talking. “You do what you want, Leah. You always do.”

  Then it was my turn to get angry. “Oh yeah, that’s me, Leah livin’ large, back in my old bedroom, roomies with my mother, working at the crappy weekly where I started. Or I was ’til I got fired. That’s me, doing what I want. You think I want to go over and over this in my head every night? You think I want to face the fact that I let Lacey down, that I was too busy to take her call, and maybe if I had, she’d still be alive?”

  “Lacey called you?”

  “Yes, Mom, she did. And I didn’t pick up, and by the time I listened to her message, she was already gone. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to know what I’d done—or hadn’t done. I didn’t want you looking at me the way you are right now.”

  “What did she say? What was the message?”

  “She kept breaking up, there was lots of static. I thought she said something about legal—like maybe she was in trouble again. That’s why I thought she was drinking and had run away again.”

  I paused to take a breath. My mother continued to stare at me.

  “I can’t bring her back. But I can make sure the person who did it pays. And I’m sorry if that upsets you, or worries you, or pisses you off. I’m not feelin’ so happy myself right now.” And I grabbed the statue and went to my room, slamming the door behind me. There had been more door slamming in that house in the last month than in all of my teen years and Lacey’s combined.