“Cally,” Zach began after a long silence. “I take it this isn’t good news.”
Lonegan pursed his lips. “Don’t see what good it does. I mean, there’s Jesus and all . . .”
Zach shot him a sarcastic look. “Jesus and all?”
“Well, what would He do with a guy like me? Who done what I done?”
Zach saw his opening and offered a quick prayer this was in line with Catholic doctrine. “Who are we to put limits on the Lord’s grace?”
“That’s not what I mean. But if I can’t change —”
“Christ didn’t suffer and die to only cover our sins. He’ll help us overcome them, too.”
“But what if I can’t hold up my end? What if I can’t be any better than I am?”
Zach patted Lonegan’s shoulder. “When it comes down to it, without Him, none of us can be much better than we are.”
“But how?” Lonegan murmured, staring at the scratched linoleum floor. “How?”
Zach gave him a sorry smile. “Lord, how is it done?” Enos. This would be easier using the Book of Mormon, but he’d spent enough time in the New Testament lately. “Got a Bible handy?”
Lonegan pulled himself to his feet and left the kitchen. He returned to cast a dusty but well-used Bible on the table.
“The Sermon on the Mount.” Zach flipped to Matthew five. “Read the last verse.”
“‘Be you therefore perfect, as also your heavenly Father is perfect.’” He shrugged. “You think I never heard that before?”
“Of course you have. But this time we’re going to really learn it. Now, do you think God would tell us to do something impossible?”
“I don’t know. . . . I guess not. I just don’t see how it’s possible.”
Zach turned to the last chapter of Philippians and read, “‘I can do all these things in him who strengtheneth me.’” He lowered the Bible. “Ten guesses who the ‘him’ here refers to.”
“Jesus,” Lonegan said in an I’m-not-an-idiot tone.
“And this is Paul writing, a guy who tried to destroy God’s church. If Christ was willing to strengthen him, don’t you think Christ can help you change your life?”
“Father, I been Catholic all my life. I believe in the Bible and Jesus, but —”
“It’s time to not only believe in Jesus Christ but believe what He said. I could sit here all night and tell you, but that won’t help you. I need you to do something for me, Cal.”
Lonegan scrutinized the splashy floral pattern on the vinyl tablecloth. “I guess.”
Zach half-expected his next words to be a challenge to commit to baptism. Luckily, his mouth was more loyal to his cover than his brain. “Study what the Lord says to penitent sinners. And you’ll need to pray and ask God why He’d help you.”
“I don’t know, Father. Why would He?”
“Then ask if He’ll help you.” After a long silence, Zach tried again. “Can you do that?”
Lonegan pulled the Bible in front of him, thumbing the gilt lining. Finally, he nodded.
“I promise, if you seek Him and truly want to change your heart, He’ll do the rest.” Why did he always end up sounding like a missionary in these discussions? “It’ll take time, and a lot of effort, but with His help, it’ll come. If you’re ready to change your life, He can make it happen.”
Lonegan stared at the Bible for a long minute. Hope filled Zach’s chest with each passing second, until he hardly had room to breathe. And then Lonegan closed the Bible and pushed it away. The set to his jaw made him seem supremely unconvinced by Zach’s arguments. Zach took a deep breath and a mental step back from his frustration. Lonegan drawing him in for the mob would be a good thing — that much faster he could wrap this investigation up.
Just in case, Zach outlined a scripture study program, but he could only hedge his bets here for so long. If pretending he needed spiritual guidance was Lonegan’s plan to reel Zach in, the man was a great fisherman.
Friday night, Zach finished his report to Sellars on Molly’s innocence Friday night. Sellars adjusted his grubby coat, staring out at the drizzle falling beyond the bridge that sheltered them from the rain. “How does she know about Kincaid?” He shifted to look at Zach.
“Didn’t say. The other woman in the office gossips constantly.”
Sellars cast his eyes around, making the same subtle check of the underpass every ninety seconds. Nothing had changed — two real homeless men huddled around a flickering coffee can thirty feet behind Zach. Aside from the traffic overhead to mask their conversation, they were alone. The ASAC flicked the ash off his cigarette. “How does she know?”
Zach shrugged, hands on his backpack straps. “Everybody else’s business is her business. Besides, you know how these things go — everyone ‘knows,’ even if no one knows.”
Sellars acknowledged the point. “Accounting got back to us. Those checks that made the pattern? They’re the only ones not in the appointment book.”
“Any luck deciphering the memo?”
Sellars shook his head and scanned the area again, drawing on his cigarette.
Zach puffed out a cloud of condensation that made it seem like he was smoking, too. If the motive wasn’t what they’d thought, where did that leave their case?
“I think they’re his kickback,” Sellars continued. “The last check is in July; he was killed two months later. Still can’t figure out where the funds for the account were coming from.”
“By the way, I like how you told me Molly’s parents were suspected IRA, but not that she was on the Irish police force.” Zach glanced back at the homeless men.
The men still ignored them, but Sellars lowered his voice all the same as he changed the subject. “How’d they get Patrick in this, anyway?”
“No idea. Can’t figure out Lonegan’s end game, and I don’t see why Patrick would go along.”
“If he was forced and didn’t take the kickbacks, why’d it take two years to come to us?”
Zach mulled that over. “Maybe he hoped they’d come around.”
“The moron.” The ASAC scoffed, and made another check.
“I don’t think it was stupidity; I think it was faith.”
Sellars snorted in derision. “Your cover’s going to your head, Saint.”
Like he needed to be reminded. Or maybe he did.
“And even if you’re right,” Sellars said, “stupid to draw enough attention to yourself to tip somebody off.”
And Zach only had four more weeks to find that somebody. He couldn’t give up on Lonegan yet, either — and he still wanted to check out Healey. He couldn’t abandon Molly to a gun-toting “developer.”
Sellars said nothing further. Zach took the dismissal and pivoted to go. Hoping Sellars wasn’t watching, he approached the homeless men and pulled two wool blankets from his backpack. He stooped to wrap a blanket over each man and hand them gift certificates to McDonald’s.
“You’re a saint, Father,” one of the men called after him.
“From the day I was born,” Zach muttered. He waved without looking back.
He really was letting his cover go to his head.
Zach had just opened the parish house door Saturday afternoon when he spotted Cathal Healey crossing the parking lot. Zach hung back in the shadows until Healey opened the door to the school. The guy might be able to justify attending the movie night, but arriving an hour early was pretty suspicious.
Zach scanned the lot. He grabbed a pen and scrawled the plate number of an unfamiliar blue Chevy on his palm. Molly’s green Volkswagen was parked in its usual stall — which meant she was somewhere in the school, probably about to be cornered by Healey.
As Zach slipped in the same door Healey had used, he saw a flicker of movement down the hall. The sound of a metal door latching echoed down the corridor.
He edged along the cinderblock wall until he reached the cafeteria doors. He peered through the narrow rectangular w
indow. No movement in the half-dark. Careful to keep the latch quiet, Zach slowly opened the door, slid into the room, and shut the door behind him. He scanned the room one more time, but saw only the rows of metal chairs volunteers had set up that morning.
He turned to leave — and then he saw another door to his right. Seizing the element of surprise, Zach yanked the door open. He expected a tiny broom closet; instead, he found a staircase.
What was Healey hunting for, and what did he know that Zach didn’t? Zach climbed the stairs, keeping his weight on the edges of the treads to minimize any squeaks. The top of the stairs wrapped around the corner only to dead-end into another door. He steeled himself once again, though this time he opened the door gradually to creep in unnoticed. A slow swirl of dust swept through the doorway.
This time, he wasn’t alone. On the other side of the room, Molly leaned between what looked like two round tabletops, one about three feet above the other. She was already threading the projector.
A warning sounded at the back of his mind. If Healey wasn’t here for Molly, Zach would be smart to leave now instead of staying here. With her. Alone. Zach reached for the door handle. If he could slip out before she noticed —
And then he sneezed.
Molly gasped. “Oh, Father, you frightened me.”
He smiled sheepishly. “Sorry about that. Everything okay?”
“Only settin’ up.”
He should go. But he couldn’t walk out like that. “Your test go well yesterday?”
She held the film to the light. “It did. I’ll be takin’ the oath in a few weeks.”
“Never doubted you for a moment.” The tension in Zach’s chest released at Molly’s friendly tone. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to her, and if she was Healey’s target, the best option was to stay put. He came to watch over her shoulder. “How do you know how to run a projector?”
“Worked as a projectionist when I was in secondary school — I mean, um, high school.”
“I knew what you meant.” Zach leaned in to examine the reel. “What are we watching?”
Molly angled her shoulders to keep the film out of his sight. “You’ll see soon enough.” She looped it over one hand and approached the machine that was nearly as tall as she was.
“Why does the school have one of these?”
“No idea.” She ran the film through the projector itself with her free hand. “I think it’s been here longer than Father Fitzgerald.”
“Since the dawn of time? Oh, hey, is your Mormon friend coming tonight?” Zach winced mentally at his less-than-subtle segue.
“Should be.” Molly bent to thread the film through another part of the projector, her dark hair falling into her face. She shook her head twice, but her hair refused to move out of her way.
Zach parted the curtain of her curls with both hands. She quickly finished working the film through the contraption and stood — and turned toward Zach. His fingers framed her face, and they froze there.
His pulse spiked. He stared into her deep blue eyes and twined his fingers into her thick curls. They’d never been this close. Close enough to . . .
This was right. He tilted her chin up toward him. Without even trying, he closed the distance between them. In the last split-second before their lips met, the corners of her mouth gave the tiniest hint of a flinch. He made that last check for consent.
Her eyes were filled with fear. A bolt rocketed through him, landing in his stomach with a cold shock. She might as well have slapped him in the face. Zach drew back.
This was wrong. How could either of them forget for a second? Flirting with her to get to know her better — for the case — was one thing. This was another entirely.
He didn’t dare meet her eyes again as he untangled his fingers from her hair. Molly knelt the second he released her, like his hands had been the only thing keeping her on her feet. She gathered the loops of film that had fallen to the ground and Zach stepped back to put some distance between them.
But he was still close enough to see her white knuckles around the film. “I am so sorry,” he said softly. Her back to him, Molly nodded. Before Zach could turn away, his cell rang. He pulled it out — Father Fitzgerald was calling. He groaned inwardly. Did everyone in this parish have to have this sense of timing? “Yeah, Bruce?”
“Tim, I’m going to be late to your little thing tonight.”
“Oh.” He glanced back at Molly rising to her feet. “What’s up?”
“I’m taking Tina Sheehan to the hospital.”
Zach didn’t recognize the name. “Anything I can do?”
Fitzgerald sighed. “No, it’s routine — we check her into the psych ward every few months. Better to get her in now before she does something.”
“Okay.”
“But you enjoy yourself.” Fitzgerald ended the call without waiting for a goodbye.
“Everythin’ all right?” Molly’s voice only quavered a little.
“Father Fitzgerald will be late.”
Molly seemed to steel herself, but still avoided his eyes. “Will you be needin’ help with the concessions now?”
He watched her until she dared to lift her gaze. Was she offering him help or forgiveness?
He’d take anything. “I can probably hold out until intermission.”
“I’ll be down, so.” She gave him a shaky smile. “Have to say hello to my friend anyway.”
Zach finally turned away. When he reached the cafeteria, he spotted the Lord’s Prayer mural on the far wall, specifically the line “Lead us not into temptation.”
He’d been lying to himself. He wasn’t flirting with Molly for the case — clearly she couldn’t help with his assignment.
He was flirting with her because he wanted to.
Not fair to either of them. Like he needed another reason to worry the archbishop would swoop in any minute.
But the archbishop wasn’t the one he was most worried about.
Molly ran her fingers through her curls for the fifth time in the last twenty minutes. She hadn’t dared to venture out of the projection booth.
She thought she’d be nervous seeing the mobsters now that she’d confirmed Doyle owned their building. But could anyone tell Tim had — she couldn’t even finish the thought. She focused on the projector’s familiar whir, but instead of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, all she could see was that sublime and terrifying moment she’d forgotten the one thing that had to keep them apart.
She shook off the thought and checked the film on the platters. Spooling perfectly.
She should go see if Lucy had made it all right. Intermission was coming soon, anyway. Molly took a compact from her handbag. Her hair definitely seemed mussed, though that was probably her own fault, fidgeting with it every two minutes. She found her little bottle of gel and smoothed the top layer of her curls.
She had to face the crowd — and Tim — sometime. Molly started for the cafeteria — only to find Tim on his way up the stairs. “Molly?”
“Moths to a flame,” she murmured.
One side of his mouth turned up, hinting at a sheepish grin. She’d nearly shown him how she felt already tonight; she didn’t dare speak now. Hadn’t they already come close enough to being burned?
“Good choice.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “Ian Fleming, right?”
She nodded, fixated on his collar. “Somethin’ you needed up here?”
“Just wanted to make sure you’re okay, Moll.” Did he have to make calling her Moll so comfortable?
Before she could respond, he climbed another stair, holding out a hand for her. “I need to tell you something.” His whisper carried a note of urgency.
Molly tried to move back, but her heel hit the door behind her. She couldn’t do this again, not tonight. “Please, don’t.”
“Really.” Tim climbed up a stair, leaving only one tread between them. The yearning in his expression pulled at her as though his outstretched hand
were attached to her heart. It would be so easy to let him say he loved her, to finish what they’d started.
“Tim — Father.” She focused on a point on the wall. “Friends do not . . . do that.”
“Friends.” His tone betrayed his hurt, as if he could even be “friend-zoned.”
“You were the one who said —”
“I know.” His hands fell to his sides. Tim grasped at the empty air and finally backed down a stair.
Molly took a hesitant half-step forward. “Father, I . . . I was only comin’ to see if you still needed help with intermission.”
“Oh.” As he turned away, the same regret keening in her flashed in his eyes.
In that instant, she almost reached for him, asked him to tell her everything — anything she could do to keep him from looking that way because of her. “You know I —”
Tim stopped short, his back to her. What good would it do for her to say the words?
He waved her off and walked down the stairs. She descended behind him. At least things couldn’t get worse downstairs in front of everyone.
When Zach led Molly back into the cafeteria, on screen Truly Scrumptious was starting her song about her feelings for Caractacus Potts, “This Lovely, Lonely Man.” Exactly what they needed to make the cramped quarters of the concession stand even more awkward.
Like magnets aimed to repel one another, they retreated to opposite corners to prepare the snacks, making a conscious effort to keep their backs to one another. Like that would somehow make them forget — or even less aware of — what had almost happened.
The movie rolled to intermission, and the kids who’d earned their play money in Sunday school lined up. As soon as he got a break in filling orders, Zach turned to the back of the booth to fill a few more bags of buttered popcorn.
Saints & Spies Page 15
