Silver Anniversary Murder

by Leslie Meier

  Lucy did and found Father Gabe standing in the doorway to his office, a welcoming smile on his face. Lucy couldn’t get over how much his appearance had changed and didn’t think she would have recognized him if she hadn’t seen him at the service last night. This morning he was dressed simply in a black shirt with a backward collar and a pair of gray slacks; it was the sort of thing Father Pete, the rector of St. John’s Episcopal Church, wore back home in Tinker’s Cove. “Do come in,” he said, stepping aside.

  Lucy entered the carpeted and wood-paneled office, noticing that it could have belonged to a lawyer or banker, except for the simple gold cross hanging on the wall behind the handsome mahogany desk. That put it more in the McHoul’s league. Father Gabe did not seat himself behind that desk, however, but instead chose one of a matching pair of armchairs on the opposite side of the room. Lucy understood that she should take the other, and seated herself. “Thanks for seeing me.”

  “Megan mentioned that you are grieving for a friend who has passed?” Father Gabe leaned forward, making eye contact. “Would you like to talk about that?”

  “Well, yes, that’s actually why I came. Perhaps you remember me? I’m Lucy Stone. I was at the service last night with Samantha Blackwell. We were both friends of Beth Gerard, your first wife. . . .”

  “So you have come about Beth? Has something happened to Beth?”

  Lucy could hardly believe he didn’t know, but he sounded completely unaware. “She’s dead. She fell off the twenty-second floor of her building. You must have heard. It was in all the papers. She was married to Jeremy Blake, the billionaire real estate developer.”

  “I don’t read the papers,” he was quick to say. “They are full of sin and debauchery. I only read the Bible. I will pray for her soul. The Lord forgives all but only if one is truly repentant. I fear our dear Beth may need our intercession.” He nodded, as if reflecting. “You know, I thought I recognized Sam. That red hair reminded me, but I couldn’t quite place her. And now that you’ve identified yourself, of course I remember you, Lucy. How have you been?”

  “Fine,” began Lucy, somewhat amazed at Father Gabe’s smooth transition. Why was he so interested in her? “I’m married and live in Maine. I have four grown . . . well, almost all grown children and I work for a little weekly newspaper.”

  Hearing this, Father Gabe raised an eyebrow. “So you’re a journalist? An investigative reporter? A muckraker, digging about in the filth of sinners?”

  “Not exactly,” said Lucy, smarting at the accusation. “I came to New York because I can’t believe that Beth would have taken her own life. It just doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “Ah.” Father Gabe had tented his hands, and nodded somberly. “It is indeed difficult. I have counseled many souls grieving the loss of a loved one who committed suicide. We see through a glass darkly. Only the Lord sees what is in our hearts and loves us unreservedly. Would you like to pray with me? For Beth’s soul?”

  “Thanks, but not right now,” said Lucy. “I’d rather that you told me about Beth. Have you seen her recently? Did she come to you for help or comfort? For advice?”

  Father Gabe shook his head sadly. “No. Nothing like that.” He paused. “It troubles me. I wish she had come. Perhaps I could have helped her.” His voice grew somewhat firmer. “Suicide is a sin, you know. I wish I could be confident she asked for forgiveness before she took that final step.” He seemed to catch himself. “Or act. Final act.”

  Lucy was beginning to wonder if Father Gabe was actually being honest with her. She suspected he knew all about Beth’s death; it would have been nearly impossible to avoid hearing about her spectacular fall. And she wouldn’t have noticed his use of the word step if he hadn’t been so quick to correct himself, as if he feared it implied he knew more than he was admitting. She decided to press him, hoping he’d misspeak again.

  “I saw Dante,” said Lucy. “He was at the funeral service, and we met afterward. I even saw his show, and he’s a very talented performer. He gave a very loving tribute to Beth, singing her favorite song.”

  Father Gabe’s expression and demeanor underwent a sudden change, and Lucy thought she might have gone too far. The sympathetic counselor was gone and now his face hardened and his eyes glared. “He’s no son of mine,” he insisted, practically spitting out the words. “He’s a filthy pervert, an abomination to the Lord and his creation. He deserves to burn in hell.”

  “But you said God loves us all, unreservedly.”

  “Jesus said if your right hand offends you, you should cut it off. Dante offends me and I have cut him off. What the Lord does, is up to him.”

  “Fair enough,” said Lucy, deciding it was definitely time to go. She’d gotten a clearer picture of Gabe Thomas and, as she suspected, he hadn’t really changed all that much. At bottom, he was the same false prophet he’d always been, preying on people’s fears and frailties. She stood up. “Well, it’s been nice seeing you again, even if it was a sad occasion that brought us together.”

  The loving pastor had returned. Gabe adopted a kindly expression and took her by the hand. “I can’t let you go without a prayer,” he said. The office door opened and several people filed in. Lucy recognized the woman who had greeted her, along with two others she didn’t know. There were also two young men, muscular youths who were wearing the same white cassocks the ushers had worn the night before.

  Lucy was immediately fearful, but they were all smiling at her as they took hands and formed a circle around her and Father Gabe.

  “Let us pray,” he intoned, and they all bowed their heads. When in Rome, thought Lucy, also bowing. She hoped the prayer wouldn’t go on too long, and then she’d make her excuses and leave.

  “Heavenly Father, all thanks and praise are yours, creator of all. We stand before you today burning with your spirit’s power, and begging forgiveness for our sins. We thank you for the gift of our departed friend Beth, to whom we ask that you will grant eternal rest with you in your heavenly kingdom. We also ask that you offer comfort to all who suffer grief or trouble, especially our friend Lucy. Now send us forth that we may proclaim your redeeming love to the world. Amen.”

  Lucy joined the others in the amen and, since Father Gabe was leaving the room, prepared to leave herself, but found the group were still linking hands, encircling her. Her bag was on the chair and she moved toward it, intending to retrieve it, but encountered one of the muscular robed youths.

  “Lucy, why are you in such a hurry to leave?” he asked, smiling. “Won’t you stay with us a while? We can pray for your friend Beth.”

  “I really can’t stay,” sputtered Lucy.

  “Nothing’s so important as friendship,” said the woman who had greeted her in the hallway.

  “Friendship is special,” cooed another. “It’s a gift from God.”

  “And we all want to be your friend, to share God’s love,” said another.

  “You’re beautiful, you know,” said the greeter, beaming at her.

  “We’re all beautiful in God’s sight,” said the other robed youth.

  “We’re all beautiful,” they intoned, in one voice. “You’re beautiful. God loves us all. God loves you.”

  “That’s all very well and good and I appreciate your good intentions, but I do have important matters to attend to,” said Lucy, in what she hoped was an assertive tone.

  “Well and good, well and good, you’re well and good and we’re well and good,” intoned the group, still maintaining the circle with linked hands.

  “Praise the Lord,” said Lucy, hoping this was the magic phrase that would break the circle and free her. “I’ll see you all at the service tonight, but now I must go.”

  From somewhere in the distance a gong rang, and the group gathered more closely around her. “It’s lunchtime! Join us in the breaking of bread.”

  Lucy had to admit she was hungry, and it didn’t seem as if they were going to allow her to leave without feeding her. In a way, these smiling peo
ple reminded her of her grandmother, who was always showering her with affection and tempting her with special treats.

  “Thank you,” said Lucy. “Lunch would be lovely.”

  They all gathered around her in a happy throng and went together down the hall and into a communal dining room, where Lucy noticed several obviously homeless street people were seated at long tables, eating bowls of soup. The room was simply decorated, but there were checked cloths on the tables and little vases of fresh flowers.

  Lucy was offered a seat at an empty table, and the two robed youths joined her, sitting on either side. “I’m Luke and he’s Matthew,” said the taller one. “We’re so glad you’ve decided to stay.”

  “Well, just for lunch,” said Lucy, fingering the thin paper napkin.

  One of the women brought her a bowl of soup and a roll, another set down a cup of tea. “Herb tea,” she said, with a smile. “It’s delicious.”

  Lucy didn’t really like herb tea; she preferred a simple cup of Lipton. But she had been well brought up and had good manners, and she knew she should at least taste the tea. She raised the cup and took a sip. Finding to her surprise that it was indeed delicious, she smiled gratefully at the woman and drank deeply.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The sound of jackhammers woke Lucy, who soon discovered that the noise was in her own head. She must have been drugged or something, she realized as she struggled to become conscious. All she wanted to do was go back to sleep and escape the pounding between her ears, but some survival mechanism, some instinct for self-preservation, impelled her to struggle against the temptation to sink back into unconsciousness. Gathering all her strength, she opened her eyes.

  The first thing she saw was the ceiling, which was white and bare, except for a cheap light fixture with a square glass shade. Blinking from the bright light, she turned her head and saw white walls, a wood floor, a plain oak table and chair. Her purse was on the table. She was on a bed, a cot really, with a pillow. A gray thermal blanket covered her. She sat up and saw a small wooden cross had been pinned up on the wall behind her bed. Looking around, she noticed there were no windows, and no light switch, either. There was a closed door.

  Suddenly panicked, she stood up and staggered across the room to the door, grabbing the knob. Much to her surprise, the door opened and she peered into an empty hallway; her room was at the end. Seizing the opportunity, she grabbed her purse from the table and left the room, reeling from side to side as she staggered down the hallway, which was lined with doors. A larger door was at the end, which she prayed was the exit.

  She opened it a crack and discovered the dining hall, now empty except for a few women who were clearing the tables. She took a deep breath and entered, intending to march right on through and out to the hallway, past the chapel to the mission’s entrance. Eyes fixed on the opposite doorway, she steadied herself by grabbing the backs of the chairs as she moved along crabwise. She was almost there when a high-pitched voice called her name. She turned her head slowly, trying to control her dizziness, and made out a fuzzy image she recognized as Terry.

  “Oh, hi,” Lucy said, lurching toward the next chair and grabbing it.

  “You came! I’m so glad,” enthused Terry, wrapping her in a big hug. Lucy fell against her, noticing that the other women were now approaching, weaving their way through the long tables.

  Lucy’s heart was pounding, adrenaline flooding her system, urging her to flee. “Iss been great,” said Lucy, who was finding speech difficult but was determined to continue the fiction that she was merely a visitor, “but I gotta leave.”

  “Oh, no. I was so hoping we could continue our conversation,” said Terry, her voice dripping with disappointment. “I so enjoyed talking with you the other night, at the concert. And so happy to know you read the leaflet I gave you and now you’re here.”

  By now the other women had joined them in a loose knot. “Who’s your friend, Terry?” asked one.

  “Oh, please, introduce us,” said another.

  “Well, this is Lucy,” said Terry, who was holding tight and essentially propping Lucy up. “I met her at a concert the other night and gave her a brochure.”

  Lucy remained draped over Terry while studying the group and assessing her chances for escape. There were five of them, including Terry, all dressed similarly in blouses and long skirts. Their ages varied—a couple were in their twenties, the others older. She realized with a sinking heart that the odds were not in her favor.

  “Let me introduce my friends,” said Terry, sounding like someone at a party. “These youngsters are Grace and Charity—isn’t that too sweet? And these others are Ruth and Elizabeth,” she added, pointing out two women in their forties. Ruth had a worn, tired appearance and Elizabeth had tightly curled hair and a stern expression. “I’m Terry. You know that, but you don’t know that it’s short for Temperence.”

  “Nishe to mee’ you all,” said Lucy, “but I got shome friends waiting for me. . . .”

  “But we’re you’re friends,” said Charity. “Can’t you stay just a little longer?”

  “No really, no,” protested Lucy, pulling away from Terry and encountering Grace. Grace, she realized, was rather large and looked as if she had played field hockey at some time in her recent past.

  “Don’t you like it here?” asked Grace, whose expression reminded Lucy of a bulldog.

  “We all like you so much,” volunteered Ruth, with a sad sigh. “Don’t you like us?”

  “Nah queshion of like,” said Lucy. “I got an appoin’men’.”

  “Appointments can be changed. I’ll do it for you,” said Elizabeth, snatching Lucy’s purse and efficiently digging through it until she found her cell phone. She must have been expert in the use of the device, because it only took her a moment or two to check Lucy’s calendar and discover her falsehood. “Are you sure? I don’t see anything here,” she said.

  “Tha’s mine,” said Lucy, but her words seemed to fall on deaf ears.

  Elizabeth was shaking her head as she scrolled through the calendar. “No, I thought you might have confused the date, but I don’t see any appointments until . . . Oh, here’s one in August.”

  “What good news. Now you can stay with us a bit longer,” said Terry.

  “Gimme phone,” said Lucy.

  “Sure. No problem,” said Elizabeth. She continued in a firm, no-nonsense tone, “But now it’s time for our afternoon service. Won’t you join us? It’s wonderfully uplifting.”

  Lucy didn’t see any other option, but hoped that if she went along to the service she might be able to find a way to slip out. “Okay. Just give me my things. . . .”

  “No phones or bags are allowed at the afternoon service,” said Terry, whispering in Lucy’s ear as she grabbed her hand and pulled her along. “You understand. It’s for security.” She stopped suddenly and pointed to Lucy’s wristwatch, then, speaking as if she were confiding a sad truth to her, went on to say, “You know, better safe than sorry. The service is open to the public and we’ve had problems with some of the homeless. Better leave your watch in the kitchen, with your purse and phone, where it will be safe.”

  Next thing she knew Lucy was hustled, sans watch, phone, and purse, into the chapel. It was darkened for the service, which Lucy found was easier on her eyes than the brightly lit dining hall. She was seated in one of the front pews, with Terry on one side and the field-hockey player, Grace, on the other. Terry kept smiling at her and insisted on holding her hand, pretending it was a sign of friendship. Lucy’s mind was clearing and she hung on to the hope that whatever they’d given her would wear off during the service and she’d be strong enough to seize an opportunity to flee.

  That hope was somewhat dashed when brightly colored strobe lights began flashing, accompanied by loud rock music. The music was some sort of hymn, as everyone got to their feet and began singing. Lucy couldn’t make out the words, except that my Lord was frequently repeated. The music pounded in her ears and shook her b
ody so she could barely stand and she ended up leaning heavily once again on Terry.

  When the music ended she sank to the pew, but was yanked upright by Terry and Grace. Father Gabe had appeared, robed in a voluminous red garment that had yellow and orange flames embroidered around the hem. He stood center stage, his arms outstretched and making himself into a cross, and once again the music surged. Lucy was dizzy, the room was reeling around her, but Terry and Grace wouldn’t let her sit down. They began swaying from side to side as they sang the next incomprehensible rock hymn.

  The service seemed to last forever, alternating between ear-shattering, thumping music accompanied by flashing lights, endless prayers, and thundering oratory from Father Gabe promising endless torment to sinners who refused to repent and persisted in resisting confession and salvation. When it finally ended, Lucy was feeling better physically but was struggling emotionally, terrified by the realization that she was trapped. Like an unwitting housefly, she’d stumbled into a truly sticky situation and it seemed that, like the fly, the more she struggled the worse it got. Her best option, her only option, was to pretend to submit. Maybe then she’d figure out why Father Gabe wanted to keep her. The spider trapped the fly to eat it, but there seemed no simple explanation for the cult’s refusal to let her leave. And now, she no longer had any doubt that the Guardians of the Faith was indeed a cult and Father Gabe was its charismatic leader.

  When the lights came on, Terry gave Lucy a big hug. “Wasn’t that wonderful?” she asked. “Father Gabe is so inspirational, isn’t he?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “You don’t still want to leave, do you?” asked Grace, confronting Lucy with slightly bulging eyes.

  “Well, I don’t want to,” said Lucy, choosing her words carefully in the faint hope that they might actually let her go, “but I do have obligations in the city before I leave. I’m only here until Sunday, and I have to go home to my family in Maine.”