Dangerous Habits

by Susan Hunter

  “What do you think will happen?”

  “You know her better than I do. Do you think she’ll recant her confession and contest the charges?”

  “I thought I knew her. Clearly, I didn’t. I have no idea what she’ll do.” I stood up to get a cup of coffee. My foot bumped against my forgotten bag. In the immediate aftermath of the Karen revelation, I’d forgotten all about my original mission.

  “Coop—what about Hegl? You’re going to check out this statue, aren’t you? Get it tested? I understand Lacey wasn’t killed because she was abused. But she was killed. I know it. And that statue is going to help prove it.”

  “I can’t, Leah.”

  “Hegl lied about knowing Lacey; he lied about where he was the night she died; he got Delite to lie; he warned her against talking to me; he admitted he was driving the night Olivia Morgan died—and even if I don’t have proof, it has to be investigated. And what was this statue—Sister Margaret’s missing statue, the statue that disappeared the same night Lacey died—doing in his house? He’s in it up to his neck.”

  “I’m not arguing with you. I’m saying this is Ross’s case. He’s gotta take the lead. I already called him. He should be here any minute.”

  “I’m not talking to that asshat.”

  “You’re going to have to. I’m not playing your middleman here. You’re a big girl, and you can handle it. Just know that Ross is already royally pissed off at you. He’s going to give you a hard time about illegal search and seizure. Hold firm. The door was open; you went in to ask Father Hegl about the statue. He wasn’t there; you saw it and seized it as possible evidence of a crime. You’re a civilian, you don’t have to follow the same rules we do.”

  He gave me a warning look.

  “If there’s anything there, the DA will be able to get it into evidence. For God’s sake, Leah, don’t snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. Just stay away from Hegl and the rest of them, and let Ross do his job.”

  Thirty-Three

  An hour and too much caffeine later, I sat in the conference room, the Virgin Mary on a chair by my side, both of us waiting for Coop to bring Ross back.

  He came truculently into the room, running his finger around his too tight collar in a vain effort to give his neck roll some breathing space.

  “Nash, why is it every time something smells bad, there you are in the middle of the stink? All of a sudden, Mrs. Caldwell drops her stalking complaint—even though we could nail you on that. Now, Coop tells me you got some kinda statue supposedly used to kill your sister. I ain’t buyin’ it.”

  “I’m not selling, Ross. If you’d done your job, you wouldn’t have wasted time on that stupid stalking complaint at all. And if you had half the brains of an amoeba, you wouldn’t have done such a half-assed job investigating my sister’s death when it happened. Maybe the smell is the crap I have to shovel to clean up after you.”

  “That’s it, that does it.”

  “Both of you, knock it off. Charlie, Leah’s got some information for you. Leah, just give him a statement without editorializing.” Coop turned on the tape recorder.

  I gave Ross the story.

  “Miguel can corroborate. And he has the photos that prove the statue was at Hegl’s the first time I visited back in May, and still there where we found it last night. I wore gloves when I picked it up, and it hasn’t left this bag except to show it to Coop.”

  “Let me get this straight. You broke into the priest’s house—”

  “I didn’t break in. The back door was open. I thought he’d be there. I wanted to talk to him.” I lied without guilt or hesitation.

  “And you just walked in and stole property from his shelf,” he continued as though I hadn’t said anything.

  “We went in, and when I saw the statue, I seized it as evidence of a crime. I didn’t steal it. I knew it had been taken from Sister Margaret, and I had reason to think it had been used to kill my sister. I’m just a private citizen. I don’t need to have a warrant. Look it up. Now are you going to take the statue and have it tested, or do I have to do everything on this case myself?”

  “I don’t need to tell you what I’m going to do. I was solving crimes when you were still watching Scooby Doo. I’m warning you, Nash, stay out of this case and away from Father Hegl, or you’ll regret it. You got lucky on the criminal sexual conduct thing, but that’s a long way from a murder investigation.

  “You still haven’t convinced me there’s anything but an accident involved in your sister’s death. It’s the DA’s call if we go to the expense of testing this statue, and right now, Nash, your track record ain’t so good.”

  “Only an insensitive jerk like you could call it ‘lucky’ that I was right about my sister’s sexual abuse. Just do your damn job this time, Ross, and don’t worry about what I’m doing.”

  “Which should be sending out your resume from what I hear, Nash.”

  I left without saying anything else. But I wanted to.

  My mother’s car was in the driveway when I got home. She jumped me as soon as I walked in the door.

  “Something strange is going on. When I got to work this morning, Karen wasn’t there. I tried to reach her, but she isn’t answering her cell. I drove by her house and her car is there, but she isn’t. The house was locked. I knocked, but no one answered. She had two client meetings this morning, and she didn’t show up. She never misses a meeting! I cancelled the rest of her appointments, but I’m getting really worried about her. I think we should go back over and try to get in through a window. Maybe she—”

  “Mom, Karen’s been arrested.” She kept on talking as though she hadn’t heard me.

  “She could have fallen in the shower or—wait, what did you say? Arrested? Is that supposed to be funny? I’m seriously concerned, Leah.” I grabbed her by the shoulders and looked straight into her eyes.

  “Karen was arrested this morning on criminal sexual conduct charges involving two high school students. She’s confessed. And she—she,” I struggled to get it out. “She told me she had a sexual relationship with Lacey, too. Karen is the one, Mom, the one who abused Lacey.”

  At first, she didn’t react, just tilted her head and drew her eyebrows together in a frown, as though I’d said something she didn’t quite catch. Then she grabbed my arm and pulled me over to the couch and sat us both down. “I don’t understand. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

  “The police found pictures on her computer—some of them were of Lacey. I was at the police station this morning, and when Karen heard I was there, she wanted to talk to me. She said if she could talk to me, she’d sign a statement.”

  Again, there was that look of confusion, as though I were speaking in a language she was familiar with, but not quite fluent in. “But that can’t be right. Karen loved Lacey. Loves you. Remember how strong she was for us when Lacey died?” She paused, and I could almost read her thoughts from the growing horror on her face.

  “She didn’t kill Lacey, Mom. At least not directly. She was away the whole month of November that year, with her mother in Arizona.”

  I told her what Karen had said, her self-serving explanation, her feeble attempt to justify what she’d done, and how she’d kept Lacey quiet with guilt and threats. The longer I talked, the tighter my mother gripped her hands together, until her knuckles were white with the effort.

  “Oh, God,” she moaned when I finished. “How could I have been so stupid? I thought it was wonderful that Karen took so much time with Lacey. I thought it was so good for Lacey to have a strong, professional woman as a role model. Why did she do this? How could she do this?

  “How could she look me in the face every day? How could she pretend to care when Lacey started getting into trouble, or when she ran away, or when she went to DeMoss? She always acted so concerned, so kind, so….” Her voice trailed off as she tried to make sense of the betrayal.

  “She’s sick, I guess, and she couldn’t stop herself—or wouldn’t stop herself. I don’t
understand how she could compartmentalize her life that way, but that’s what she did. She believes she loves you and me and Lacey too, but it’s a crazy kind of love. She couldn’t admit, especially to herself, that what she rationalized as beautiful was toxic. But another part of her knew—that’s why she begged and finally threatened Lacey to keep it quiet.”

  “It makes me sick, physically ill. And it makes me want to kill her.” She jumped up and went to the cupboard, pulled down the Jameson and poured it in a glass and drank it straight down in one gulp. Then she got some ice and poured another.

  The phone rang. I answered and handed it to her.

  “Mom, it’s Paul.”

  I got up, went into the kitchen and banged around in the freezer for a while getting ice out. Then I got a glass and some Jameson. By the time I went back to the living room, she was off the phone.

  “Paul’s coming over to get me. He said you should come too. He wants to fix us dinner.”

  “That’s nice of him, but no, I don’t think so.”

  Things were still pretty awkward between me and Paul, and the thought of going over and over things with my mother and him was more than I could bear. I knew that for Mom, talking was the only way to vanquish the falling to the bottom of a mine shaft feeling. But I wasn’t ready to hear all the guilt and recriminations and what if’s and why’s—I had my own to battle. Paul was much better equipped to be her listener, and they didn’t need me there.

  As we finished our drinks, his car pulled in. Mom ran out to the driveway with me trailing behind. He opened his arms wide, and she collapsed against his chest and started to cry. I realized then how much he cared about her, and how hard my suspicions had been on both of them. He stroked her hair and looked at me over the top of her head.

  “Leah, I’m so sorry.”

  “No, I’m sorry, Paul. I—”

  “No. You were right. I didn’t believe you when you started out, and then when you came after me—or it felt like you came after me—well, I lashed out. I understand you had to ask, Leah. I still wish you hadn’t, but—well—I get it, and I’m not mad anymore.”

  I gave my best attempt at a smile.

  “Thanks, I appreciate it. And I’m glad Mom will be with you tonight.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go with us, Leah?” Her voice was thick with tears yet to come.

  “I’m sure, I’m fine. Yeah. I’ll be all right.”

  “Try to eat, don’t just drink Jameson all night.”

  “I’ll make a sandwich or something. Don’t worry.”

  After several more attempts to get me to join them, they got into Paul’s car and drove off. I went back inside to think about the question my mother hadn’t asked, but which had been on my mind since I left the PD. If Hegl wasn’t Lacey’s abuser, what was his motive for killing her? And if he didn’t do it, what was he doing with the statue?

  Thirty-Four

  I sat down in the rocking chair and moved slowly back and forth, talking out loud to myself.

  “OK, Hegl is a ladies man who likes them young—Delite was 17, Olivia was 19, who knows how many others? He’s having fun with Olivia, but he wants out when she wants to get serious. When the car crash happens, he cuts and runs and that makes things get a whole lot more serious. He could go to jail on this one. With his position of supposed moral authority and his chickenhearted behavior, chances are good he will. So, he runs to Uncle Bishop, who provides an alibi and a witness to corroborate it.”

  I got my laptop out and googled the Most Reverend Joseph Ramsey.

  Twenty minutes later, I had it. A website set up for the St. Lucian School alumni. Lots of old photos and reminiscing, and in the middle of all that upper class male bonhomie there they were, their arms jauntily slung over each other’s shoulders. The pride of the Class of 1978, the most Reverend Joseph Ramsey and Reid Palmer, then known as Joe and Reeder.

  The class update noted that Joe was now the Most Reverend, and Reeder was now Reid Palmer, attorney at law, retired hedge fund manager and benefactor of too many charities to mention. It also contained a quote from the Bishop: “The older I get, the more I value the days I spent at St. Lucian’s. Fratres per vitam. Brothers for life.”

  And so, when his nephew got into some bad trouble with a girl, a drunk girl, who wound up dead, Joe turned to his old friend Reeder.

  What if Reid Palmer supplied an alibi and a refuge for Hegl, and maybe even some money to persuade Vince Morgan that a slow boat to Key West was the best way to get over his dead wife? Carla could be right about everyone ignoring things. With a little nudge from the bishop, the sheriff could have fast-walked his investigation right into an accidental death finding, no one involved but the drunk girl herself.

  Much the conclusion that Ross reached just as speedily up here. But even though Hegl walked away from a felony, he was now and forever under the thumb of his alibi provider, Reid Palmer. If he ever recanted, Hegl was in a world of hurt.

  But what was in it for Reid Palmer, beyond the joy of doing a helpful turn for an old friend? And how did Sister Julianna fit in? Did she? If Palmer suddenly thrust a choir director priest on her, wouldn’t he have had to offer some explanation? And what had Delite been about to tell me when Cole cut her off?

  I got up and did some nervous eating—a peanut butter and honey sandwich, a chocolate cupcake with about an inch of frosting. Then I stretched out on the couch as my sugar buzz bottomed out. My eyelids started to droop, and I was sound asleep for the next hour. When I woke up it was 8:30, but my mind was clear and I knew my next step. I pulled up the recent call list on my phone and selected Delite’s number.

  “Yeah?”

  “Delite, this is Leah Nash.”

  “I know who it is.”

  “Is Cole with you?” I was going to try to persuade her to give me the “bonus” information she had hinted at before. It would be easier if Cole wasn’t around.

  “No. He ain’t. That asshole took my money and took off. Left me with nothin’. Not even enough for bus fare. My brother in Minneapolis said I could crash with him, but I don’t even have enough for a ticket.”

  “I might be able to help with that,” I said cautiously, trying not to sound too eager. She needed cash pretty bad and didn’t have much of a negotiating position. “If you tell me what you meant by ‘bonus’ information that night I met with you and Cole.”

  “That’ll be 500 bucks.”

  “Come on, Delite, get real.” As we were talking, I pulled up bus fare from Himmel to Minneapolis. $52. “I can give you $75. That’s it.” Which it was. I had an emergency $50 tucked in my wallet. My other source of bribery funds would have to be the $25 or so my mother kept in a miscellaneous cash cookie jar.

  She sighed, but she must have been really desperate, because she didn’t try to bargain.

  “Meet me at the bus stop. I can catch the 10:30 if you move your ass.”

  When I pulled up, she was leaning against the brick wall of the all-night diner that served as Himmel’s bus stop. She looked small and tired as she smoked a cigarette with quick, impatient puffs.

  She saw me and straightened, throwing aside her cigarette and assuming her usual aggressive stance.

  “What happened?”

  “I told you. Cole took the money and cleared out. Left me with nothin’. I’m goin’ to my brother’s. He said he can get me a job at the factory where he works. You got the money?”

  I reached in my purse, and she put out her hand. “No. Wait a minute. First I want to hear the information.”

  “Fine. I seen Queenie up at the casino. More than once.”

  “What was she doing there?”

  “Do I gotta draw you a picture? She was at the casino. Playin’ the slots.”

  “Sister Julianna was gambling?” I was dumbfounded. “Are you sure it was her? Did you talk to her?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. I spent enough time in her office starin’ at her while I was gettin’ yelled at, didn’t I? She didn’t see me,
and I didn’t talk to her. She never had anything to say I wanted to hear.”

  “Why would she drive all the way to Mixley to gamble? There are closer places.”

  “Duh! So nobody would see her, whadya think?”

  “That doesn’t make sense. A nun in a habit playing the slot machines would attract a lot of attention no matter where she was.”

  “Are you retarded or what? She wasn’t wearin’ her nun clothes. Now, are you gonna give me the money or what?”

  I thrust it into her outstretched hand.

  “It still goes, ya know. This ain’t on the record. I’m not gettin’ mixed up with any of that crowd again.”

  “I’d stay away from Cole Granger, too.”

  “Don’t worry. I can take care of myself.” Then she turned and walked into the restaurant/bus stop to buy her ticket. She didn’t say goodbye, and she didn’t look back.

  At home, I typed Sister Julianna Bennett into Google. She popped up in conjunction with multiple professional associations and conferences. I pulled up the program for her recent Las Vegas conference, the one where she had run into Helen Sebanski at the slot machines. There was her bio with highlights from her vita. As Sister Margaret had said, Sister Julianna did a lot of professional traveling.

  Funny thing, almost all the papers she presented and the key note speaking listed took place in cities that also boasted casinos with conference facilities. Well-known gambling meccas like Las Vegas, Detroit, Reno, Albuquerque, as well as a number of smaller towns like Mt. Pleasant, Michigan, and Black Hawk, Colorado featured heavily in Sister Julianna’s professional life.

  I thought for a minute, then typed in gambling nuns. Soon I’d read several stories about Catholic nuns and priests who had embezzled money—big money, like millions of dollars in some cases—from their order, their parish, their school. They used it to buy vacations, purchase condos, give lavish gifts to friends and family, and to cover gambling sprees. The fraud went on for years in many cases before it was discovered.