Outline for Murder

by Anthony J. Pucci

  His heart sank as he realized that there was another Honesty Jones. “Do you know the name of the girl?”

  “No, no, never, and we didn’t want to know. She was murderer too. He try to give us money back, but we didn’t want his money.”

  “May I ask how much money you and your husband gave him?”

  “Fifty thousand. It was all our savings.”

  Bishop finally understood why Zappala had written that amount into the will. It was not only to protect against a possible challenge to the will; he was repaying a loan. He was settling an account. He also understood why Zappala had been so adamant in refusing to help his sister save the family business. If they wouldn’t accept his offers to repay that loan, he wouldn’t give them one penny when they were in need. He was certain that Maria understood that as well. She knew her brother as well as anyone. She was only compelled to ask him for money out of desperation to save the business.

  “I know this is difficult for you, Mrs. Santorini, but I need to ask a few more questions.”

  “What questions?”

  “Do you remember when your brother came to you asking for the money?”

  “Sure I remember like yesterday. He just had graduate from college.”

  “Then he was teaching at Madison?”

  “No, no, not yet,” Maria responded emphatically. “He was at a Catholic school. He was so afraid to be fired.” Bishop had just assumed that Zappala had spent his whole career at Madison before coming to Holy Trinity.

  “Do you remember where that school is located?”

  “No. Somewhere in Connecticut. But I do remember the name of the school. Immaculate Heart. Imagine Albert with heart as black as sin teaching in a school with that name!” He recognized the irony, but he didn’t find it unimaginable. After all, Zappala had also taught at Holy Trinity.

  ***

  Bishop spent most of his Sunday at home. He had started the fireplace in the living room for the first time that season and settled on the sofa with the Sunday paper and a cup of green tea. A piano concerto by Scarlatti played in the background. The paper was twice its normal size, crammed with ads announcing Black Friday sales. He skimmed the news and skipped the ads, then tossed all of it on the coffee table. The holidays had become a difficult time of the year for him since he had lost Grace.

  In fact, the anniversary of her death was only a couple of weeks away. Her sudden death at the age of sixty had shaken his world. He hadn’t been sure that he would have the strength to move on. He did return to the classroom after the Christmas break that year. Although the emptiness never left him, he found that teaching allowed him to put the focus on others rather than on himself. How much longer he would teach was anyone’s guess. Having been in education for forty-five years, rumors of his retirement kicked up every spring. Sister Ann and Sister Pat probably prayed daily that Bishop, so often the thorn in their side, would call it a career. That thought alone gave him the incentive to keep going.

  In an attempt to curb his reverie, he picked up his copy of A Separate Peace by John Knowles. It was a novel that he had taught a number of times over the years. The book never failed to have a significant impact on his students. It told the story of two young men at a prep school during wartime. They were the best of friends, and yet also bitter enemies, at least as far as the narrator, Gene, was concerned. In a moment of unthinking maliciousness, Gene causes his friend, Finny, to fall from a tree. Ultimately, Finny dies, and Gene learns that the source of evil in the world exists within the human heart, including his own. Bishop’s students always found the message sobering. It was a powerful lesson. Each one of us is capable of unspeakable hatred. Once evil is acknowledged, however, each one of us can choose good over evil.

  As he thought about Gene’s actions, he began to think about the killer approaching Zappala’s home on that Sunday night. What could have driven that person to the decision to take his life? Regardless of Zappala’s terrible flaws, how could anyone have laced his drink with poison? Who had assumed the right to be his judge and executioner? Shouldn’t God punish and man forgive? Bishop thought it unlikely that the killer had ever killed before or would ever kill again. Just once. It seemed as though the murderer had committed the perfect crime. No witnesses. No fingerprints. Several suspects had motive, but nothing was proven. Would living with guilt be enough of a punishment? Was the perpetrator feeling the burden of guilt? Perhaps not.

  ***

  After a quick brunch of scrambled eggs, rye toast, and tea, he decided that his yard needed one more mowing before winter. He changed into his work clothes, walked out to the barn, put some gas in his tractor, checked the oil, and started the engine. He had done this job so many times. Since the area that he mowed was probably the equivalent of several football fields, he knew that it would take a couple of hours out of his day. He didn’t mind, though, as he found the simple task relaxing.

  As he mowed, he also mulched the dead leaves that had fallen from the many trees on his property. Shakespeare had described trees at this time of the year as “bare ruined Choirs.” He felt the sadness that Shakespeare must have felt in acknowledging the end of the season. As he mowed the expanse of green for the final time that year, he felt a sense of finality regarding the Zappala affair.

  The culprits of the break in had been identified. They would accept their punishment. He had been correct in assuming that the vandalism had had nothing to do with the murder. It seemed likely that Mrs. Santorini would drop her challenge to the will, and he would be able to help her save the family business. It also seemed likely that Sister Ann would agree to his suggestion since Holy Trinity would gain needed funds, and her own scandalous behavior would remain a secret. The reason for the bitterness between brother and sister had been revealed. There seemed no point in pursuing what had happened at Immaculate Heart in the distant past. He could take comfort in the knowledge that there would be no more victims of Zappala’s depravity. Bishop had to accept that the killer would likely never be found. As he had explained so many times to his students, works of literature did not always have a happy ending. It was true of life as well. It was time to refocus on his own life. In a few days, he would celebrate Thanksgiving with Ron, Stephanie, and her parents.

  ***

  The atmosphere at Holy Trinity on the Monday and Tuesday before break was festive. Several dozen students had decided to take these two days off, extending their break from five days to nine. A few of Bishop’s students had approached him in advance with a request for work that they would miss. Whether or not they actually would do the readings was another matter. Some of those early vacationers were already basking in the warmth of a Florida beach. A few planned to use the extra time for college visits. One was already posting photos of Paris on social media.

  Of course, not everyone was in a good mood. One notable exception was Sister Pat who seemed to be perpetually in a bad mood. When she saw Bishop in the hall, she pounced. “What’s wrong with you, Bishop? We get a confession and have a chance to nail these three thugs and you decide to let them go scot free!” The words exploded out of her mouth like punches as she made no attempt to hide her anger in front of students who were in the area. As long as she wasn’t after them, they were smart enough to keep on walking.

  Ron had already filled him in on the administrative meeting in which Sister Pat had advocated throwing all three of the boys out of the school. Sister Ann had decided to spare even the instigator, Eric Munro. Undoubtedly, Sister Pat was still upset over one of her infrequent failures to influence the principal.

  Bishop passed on his first reaction. After all, the students were watching, and he knew that he needed to be respectful and professional in his dealings with her. He calmly replied, “They are not going unpunished, Sister.” Bishop explained that the boys had agreed to pay restitution for all costs associated with their actions. In addition, Eric and his two friends had agreed to perform fifty hours of community service and accepted the need for counseling for alcohol
and anger management issues. In addition to that, they were placed on probation for the remainder of the school year. If they messed up again, they would be gone. If any of the students caught what he was saying, so much the better. The word needed to get out there that there were serious consequences for poor judgment and bad behavior.

  Sister Pat remained unconvinced. She probably hadn’t heard a thing that Bishop had just said. She jabbed the air as she pointed at him. “When those guys screw up again, and they will, it’ll be because of you!” With that, she turned, and stomped off. In her haste, she accidentally bumped into a tiny 9th grade girl, sending her books flying. She didn’t bother to turn around or to apologize. And she wondered why people didn’t like her. Bishop helped the girl pick up her belongings and asked her if she was all right. She was more embarrassed than hurt. As he walked to his classroom, he was determined not to let Sister’s negativity affect him. He preferred to think that those three young men could change for the better and that “nailing” them was the least likely way of effecting that change.

  ***

  The end of each class brought the long-awaited holiday a bit closer. It was the topic of conversation.

  Sister Pascala stopped him in the hall between classes. “Are you ready for break?” she asked with a broad grin. She looked better than she had in weeks. Thanks to the visit of Sister Wilhelmina in her dreams, she seemed to move past her feelings of guilt regarding the poison.

  “No doubt about it,” he responded enthusiastically. Knowing that most of the Sisters spent Thanksgiving with their families, he asked, “What are your plans for the holiday?”

  “One of my old chums, Sister Estelle, teaches at one of our schools in the City. We’re going to see the Macy’s Parade in person!”

  “That’s terrific! Maybe I’ll see you on television!” It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility. Two elderly nuns still wearing the old habit might be an appealing shot for some cameraman. When she asked him what he had planned for Thanksgiving, he explained that although he felt a bit guilty about skipping his volunteer work serving meals at the shelter, Ron and Stephanie had convinced him to spend the day with them at her parents’ home in Claremont.

  “Don’t feel guilty. You certainly deserve a break after what you’ve been through the last couple of months.”

  “We all do,” replied Bishop, returning the sympathetic comment.

  “Ron and Stephanie seem to becoming quite close,” she observed. “I’m happy for Ron. He’s had a few tough breaks along the way. I don’t know Stephanie very well, but she seems quite nice.”

  Bishop agreed with her assessment. He was happy for them as well.

  “But,” he added, “I’d feel even happier if the killer had been found. It doesn’t look as though we’ll ever find out.”

  “Michael, God works in mysterious ways. That answer may come when we least expect it.”

  “Yes, I guess you’re right.”

  ***

  The students in his last period class were cooperative to the end. Bishop was from the old school in his belief that class time was not to be wasted. He was paid to teach, not to give study periods. The kids understood and respected that. With the sound of the bell marking the beginning of the first real break of the school year, cheers erupted from various places throughout the building. As his students stormed out of the classroom, many were kind enough to wish him a Happy Thanksgiving.

  He stood at the door observing the bedlam in the halls. Lockers clanged as students rushed to pack what they needed for the upcoming days. Within minutes, only a few stragglers remained. As Bishop returned to his desk, Stephanie walked in.

  “Whew,” she said as she pretended to wipe sweat from her brow. “It was hard to keep a lid on things during that last period.”

  Since this was her first year teaching, she had a lot to learn. “Just wait until we get to Christmas break,” he cautioned. Although he was teasing, there was also an element of truth in what he said.

  Steph and Ron were driving to her parents’ home on Wednesday. Bishop was joining them on Thursday. She had offered him the chance to stay over on Thursday night. Her parents’ place could accommodate them all. Bishop had politely declined, explaining that his Aunt Katherine was in a nursing home in Brentwood which was about another hour’s drive from her parents’ home. He hadn’t seen her in some time and he planned to leave late on Thursday, drive up to his aunt’s, get a motel, and then spend the next day with her. Katherine didn’t have many visitors, and he knew that she would thoroughly enjoy his visit.

  “I thought that you might want to come with us to do some Christmas shopping on Friday,” said Stephanie.

  “Shopping on Black Friday? You’ve got to be kidding!”

  “Well, why don’t you stop in again on your way back from Brentwood?”

  “Thanks for offering, and I’d love to really, but I need a couple of days at home to get through all of the papers that have been coming in the last few days. I always manage to load myself down with paperwork over vacations.”

  “I know that some teachers are not going to touch a book during the entire break, and I plan on being one of them,” Stephanie announced with some pride.

  “I’ve always felt that if I expected my students to work over break, I could expect no less of myself.” He didn’t mean this as a rebuke; it was simply a statement of the way he felt.

  “I’ve been working hard to get ahead so that I will really be able to enjoy this time with my family and with Ron.”

  “Listen, you don’t owe me any explanations. I hear what you’re saying.”

  Wanting to change the direction of the conversation, he asked once more what he should bring for dinner. Stephanie insisted that he needn’t bring anything. He made a mental note to bring a couple of bottles of New York State wine, some French bread, and some Italian pastries. He would never think of arriving at the home of the Harris family empty-handed. What he did not realize was that he would leave late that night with far more than he had imagined.

  Chapter 27

  When Bishop headed down Pleasant Hill Road on Thanksgiving morning, the air was cool and crisp. He had brought with him several of his favorite CDs of Luciano Pavarotti to provide some accompaniment for the three-hour drive to Fairmont. Concentrating on the famous tenor’s virtuosity always brought Bishop the serenity that had been in short supply during these last few months. The murder of his colleague who lived just up the road from him had turned his mundane existence into one filled with unexpected obligations, uncertainty, and frustration. Yet, he realized that he had much to be thankful for. He had his health, and he had his teaching. He also had wonderful friends such as Ron and Stephanie who made sure that he would not have to spend the holiday alone.

  “Welcome to Fairmont!” As he drove passed the sign, Bishop felt the electric anticipation of the new and unfamiliar. From everything that Stephanie had told him about her parents, he felt as if he knew them already. Her father, Brian, owned and operated a successful insurance agency in town with branch offices in several other towns. He considered his clients an extended family, and on more than one occasion, had forgiven policy payments for those having financial difficulties rather than let them lose their coverage. Steph had worked in her father’s office after graduation before deciding that she wanted to pursue a degree in education. Her mother, June, was a kindergarten teacher who loved her work. It was through witnessing June’s happiness that Steph had decided on a teaching career.

  With the assistance of his GPS, he had no trouble finding the home of her parents. It was a large, well-kept house on a quiet street in an affluent section of town. Bishop recognized Ron’s car in the driveway and pulled in behind it. He approached the door with his hands full. He had wine, bread, pastries, and some fresh flowers that he had picked up on his way at one of the many stores open even on this special day. Stephanie opened the door before he had a chance to figure out how he was going to ring the bell. She was obviously helping out in
the kitchen as her sunflower-filled apron attested.

  “Oh, Mike! I’m so glad you’re here! Please, come in.” Her warm smile alone would have conveyed the same message had she not spoken at all. She helped him with the packages as she scolded him, “I told you that you didn’t need to bring anything.”

  “I know I didn’t have to. I just wanted to.”

  Steph put his coat in the closet, grabbed him by the arm, and led him into the living room to meet her parents. They were both sitting on a sofa watching the Macy’s parade. Ron was stretched out on a recliner, looking very relaxed. They all stood to greet Bishop. Steph’s parents were not at all what he had imagined them to be. Brian looked more like a security guard than an insurance executive. He was a burly man, well over six feet tall, with blue eyes, and closely cropped grey hair. He grabbed Bishop’s outstretched hand, shook it vigorously, and gave him a tap on the shoulder with his other hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Bishop. Steph has mentioned your name a number of times.”

  Whenever someone said this to Bishop, he assumed that it was a compliment. He realized, however, that he might be a topic of conversation for all the wrong reasons. “Nice to meet you as well. Please call me Mike.”

  June gave him a hug. She was a very attractive woman whose short blonde hair, blue eyes, and perfect proportions reminded him of a Hollywood actress whose name he couldn’t remember. “I’m so glad you could come.”

  “Well, I’m happy to be here. Thanks for inviting me.”

  After shaking hands with Ron, they all sat down, Steph’s parents on the sofa, Ron back on the recliner, Steph on an ottoman next to him, and Bishop on a loveseat that matched the sofa.

  “That turkey smells wonderful,” Bishop said as he inhaled the aroma emanating from the kitchen.

  The Macy’s parade was on television, and as he glanced at the screen, he remembered that Sister Pascala and her companion were in that mass of humanity somewhere. The camera focused on a giant Minnie Mouse floating down the street to the delight of the huge crowd there. It occurred to him that “giant Minnie” would be a good example to use when he wanted to explain the term “oxymoron” to his students.