Pray for Us Sinners, a Cozy Mystery (A Ronnie Lord Mystery, #2) (The Ronnie Lord Mysteries)

by L. K. Ellwood

  Nana raised an eyebrow; her fork paused in mid-air. “Yes?”

  Ronnie pushed her plate to one side. “I’m just wondering if Ethan is dating you more for an opportunity to sabotage the canonization,” she said, and suddenly scooted her chair back. It had to be said, despite how well the conversation had been going.

  Nana’s reaction was stern, yet Ronnie noticed a twinge of guilt pull at the old woman’s mouth.

  “You invited him to Miami, didn’t you?”

  Nana slowly nodded. Ronnie glanced back toward the hallway, seeing nothing.

  “It had been my intention all along to tell you all about Ethan,” she said. “I figured by the time it came for us to leave, everybody would be okay with him coming along.”

  “You thought that we would be okay with our mother and grandmother shacking up with Ethan Fontaine?”

  “He’s booked his own room,” Nana said defensively. “Besides, he won’t be anywhere near the pope, if you’re worried about a confrontation. You know security measures prohibit non-family members from the private audience.”

  “I do know that, Nana, but I don’t think that will stop Ethan from making a statement. You don’t know that he won’t be passing around his tracts to the largely Catholic crowd that will be there. He may not hurt you, as you say, but I doubt he’ll change for you.”

  “And you think when this canonization is over that he’ll dump me?” Nana challenged.

  “I don’t know. All I do know is that if he tries something, we may not be as genial with your new boyfriend as we are right now.”

  Nana threw her granddaughter a disgusted look and rose. “I don’t need to hear anymore of this, Veronica. Ethan knows this is important to me, and despite his feelings I know he wouldn’t dare try anything. Shame on you for thinking that, too.”

  “Fine,” Ronnie called to her grandmother’s retreating form. “Marry the old bugger. Buy matching sweat suits and an RV, whatever it is old people do. See if I care.”

  The sound of a slamming door in the distance was Ronnie’s only response. Seconds later Arthur emerged, his face dropping.

  “Well, that went well,” he remarked dryly.

  “Yeah, at least the china’s intact.” Ronnie picked at her chicken salad. “I should probably go.”

  “She won’t stay mad, she’ll be fine,” Arthur said.

  “I don’t know,” Ronnie said with a sad smile. “She’s an Alger.”

  “She’s an Alger by marriage, there’s a difference. I’ll call you later and let you know how things are.”

  Ronnie nodded and stood. “Leave a message. I might not be home. I have a murder to solve.”

  “Ronnie,” Arthur warned. “What did I say?”

  But Ronnie only kissed her uncle’s cheek and left quietly. This was something she knew she had to do, if not for Allayne and her mother, then for herself. Anything that kept her mind from picturing Nana seeing a lot of Ethan Fontaine was a welcome distraction.

  Eleven

  Ronnie slipped a compact disc into her car stereo and steered onto US Highway 17, hoping the long route home would soothe her nerves. The events of the past week were finally taking their toll on her, and for once she was glad Ash Lake was nowhere near the Atlantic Ocean. Otherwise, she would have shifted into overdrive, plowed into the surf, and kept on driving.

  She leaned back against the headrest and let the music blaring through the stereo speakers, pound away at her frustrations. When she regained clarity the music had stopped, and she discovered she had driven into downtown Jacksonville. She gazed upward at the buildings lined up on Union Street, as if seeing them for the first time.

  “I really need to start paying attention,” she muttered, and pulled into the parking lot of the Jacksonville Landing. She wandered around the crescent shaped shopping complex until she felt certain that she could drive home without being distracted into a twenty-car pileup.

  It was dark when she returned home, and Ronnie felt blindly along the foyer wall for the proper light switch until the first floor illuminated. The light on her answering machine blinked rapidly; more than one call waited.

  Lew had called first, thanking her for bringing the cookie and leaving no pertinent information other than the assumption that Ronnie was screening her calls. Think what you want, Ronnie thought angrily as she mashed the erase button a bit harder than she had intended.

  Loni’s trilling soprano next pierced the air. “Ron, pick up.” A pause, then, “Okay, I’ll try Gina’s in a bit. But just in case I thought you should know that Nora came back with the donation can, and as she was getting in her car Dakota came up and—” Beeeeep.

  Ronnie sighed. Cut off. Time to get a new machine.

  “They looked like they were arguing about something,” Loni continued on the third message. “Don’t know what about, but it sure looked intense. Oh yeah, Nora left a flyer for that benefit at the Alhambra for the Allayne Foundation. It’s this Saturday night. Looks like fun. Call me.”

  Ronnie hung her head. That argument could have meant anything. Dakota was upset about losing her job, or maybe she had heard about the sandwich incident and sought to give the fan club president grief.

  Gina’s message, in comparison to the others, was short but hardly sweet. She knew about Ethan going to Miami, presumably from Nana since she would not hear it from Arthur. George Carlin would have blushed at the language her sister used over the phone.

  Last came the stuttering, shy voice of Landon Dennis. “Could you call me back, please?” he asked, leaving his number. “You said we’d talk later, I’d like to make it sooner.”

  Ronnie’s finger hovered over the erase button, and she spied the wrinkled Post-it note with his number already written on it. No, she told herself. You’re a Jane Austen novel, he’s a Richard Scarry pop-up book. It won’t work.

  She grabbed her purse and dashed out the door. There was only place she could go right now where she knew she would not go crazy, one place she could go and forget how much she liked Richard Scarry. She needed to be there, now.

  ~ * ~

  The building that would be renamed Saint Lorena Alger Catholic Church was dedicated last year during the annual Blessed Lorena Festival, a poignant celebration since Lorena’s body was recovered in time for the ceremony. As Ronnie slipped through the main entrance she saw the altar at the other end, inside which the young girl’s remains were encased. A mural depicting da Vinci’s Last Supper was painted across the face, visibly detailed even from where Ronnie stood. Consensus among parishioners was mixed, as some preferred the original concept of a transparent altar where Lorena’s incorrupt remains could be seen. Ronnie liked the mural.

  She dipped two fingers into the bubbling holy water font behind the pews and executed an awkward genuflection toward the Tabernacle, wincing as her knee creaked underneath her. The side chapel, reserved for perpetual Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, was her final destination. She padded softly to the double glass doors to find two gray heads bent in prayer on either side of the room.

  Ronnie swallowed. Nana was one of them.

  She felt a sense of relief as she took the seat next to her grandmother and Nana did not flinch. Instead the old woman gathered up her crystalline rosary, made the Sign of the Cross, and moved to a sitting position. Her eyes, however, remained fixed on the cross-shaped monstrance perched on the small altar before them.

  “Nice of you to make an appearance,” Nana murmured.

  “I didn’t think you’d be here,” Ronnie whispered back, then glanced to the other person in the room, whom she recognized as another active church volunteer. At the front of the room, statues of Mary and St. Joseph gazed down upon them with serene expressions, arms outstretched. It made Ronnie nervous.

  “Mrs. Freel is very sick. She usually takes this hour of Adoration, but I volunteered to replace her,” Nana said.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be having dinner with Ethan?”

  Nana smiled. “Yes, in about fifteen minu
tes. He’ll be picking me up, just like he did when he came to the house to get me. You missed the excitement when Arthur answered the door.”

  “I’ll bet,” Ronnie muttered, then snapped her head back to the doors to see a newcomer.

  Landon.

  Ronnie’s jaw dropped. She had come to church to forget her problems, and here they were, ambushing her. She wondered if Lorraine Witz would next come barging into the chapel, demanding a progress report.

  He stole a glance at her and dropped into a kneeler, bowing his head and closing his eyes. He was still dressed in the T-shirt and jeans he wore that morning, his growing hair a bit mussed. Hardly proper attire for Adoration, but Ronnie looked down at her blouse, untucked from her wrinkled slacks, and her worn black Vans and knew better than to judge. Sitting next to her finely dressed grandmother, she always felt underdressed anyway.

  Slowly Ronnie crept onto the kneeler before her and did the same. She came to pray, and she intended to do just that. Finding the right words, however, were difficult, as all that ran through her mind was Help me, help me, help me, help me!

  For fifteen minutes she repeated the mantra in her mind, until she felt a movement to her right. Nana had completed her Rosary and was now trying to step over Ronnie’s bent legs.

  “No, Nana. I’ll move,” she whispered and exited the pew, escorting Nana out of the church. She did not look in Landon’s direction.

  “Really, Ronnie,” Nana said once they were outside. “I’ll be fine. Go back inside and finish.”

  “I just want to know that you’re okay, Nana,” Ronnie said sheepishly, “and that you’ve forgiven me for earlier.”

  Nana sighed and drew Ronnie into a hug. “Of course I do, dear. I can’t stay mad at you. I know you worry, but I’m a big girl and can take care of myself. Now, go back inside. No harm is going to come to me in the church parking lot.”

  Certainly not a parking lot like this, Ronnie knew. Refurbished not long after the church was built, the church lot was coated with a fresh layer of asphalt, and the white parking lines glowed in the new security lights lining the property. Father Joel’s rectory, right next to the church, was alive with lamplight as well, and Ronnie could see the priest wandering from window to window looking for something.

  Nana squinted at her watch. “Odd. Ethan knows to be here. Oh, there he is,” she said, and started down the lengthy sidewalk which stretched well over a hundred yards, past the school, to the side road. Ronnie peered over her to see a navy blue nose with a chrome grill hiding behind a line of bushes.

  “What’s he doing all the way over there?” Ronnie called. “The church is here. We are over here.”

  “It’s fine, Ronnie,” Nana called over her shoulder. “That’s where he dropped me off. It’s not far to walk.”

  “In those shoes? Nana!” In three long strides Ronnie had her grandmother by the shoulders and stilled her. Three more steps and she cupped her hand to her mouth. “Fontaine, you idiot, you drive that car into this parking lot right now! You are not going to make my grandmother walk!” She shook off her anger. Being anti-Catholic was one thing, but who was that stubborn that he would not even dare enter a church parking lot? Did the man think he was going to get cooties?

  The car lurched slightly, then eased onto the lip of the parking lot, slowing in front of the two women. Ethan Fontaine, red-faced and eyes wide, peered at Ronnie as she leaned into the car from the open passenger window.

  “Welcome to Babylon. My name is Ronnie and I’ll be your tormentor for this evening. Would you like some fries with your eternal damnation?” she cracked.

  Ethan’s lips parted, but no snappy comeback passed through them. Ronnie’s glare softened, and a light tap to her shoulder alerted her to Nana, who eased her to one side.

  “Very funny,” she snapped. “We’ll see you later,” she said as she slipped into the passenger seat. Ethan came back to life as she fastened her belt, and he shifted the car into gear. Ronnie watched as they disappeared, shaking her head and staring up at the sky.

  “Lord, should I have let her go?” she asked aloud.

  “Yes,” came the answer, clear and loud, but not from the Lord. Ronnie turned around to find Landon leaning against the church entrance.

  “Excuse me?” Ronnie asked, bewildered.

  Landon straightened with an exaggerated swagger and approached. “It’s in the Bible. Jesus said for us to love our enemies. If they don’t love you back, well, it’s their problem, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t think Jesus had my grandmother dating Ethan Fontaine in mind when He said that.” Ronnie rubbed the goose flesh erupting on her arms as Landon neared. She glanced toward the rectory. Father Joel had disappeared from the windows.

  “Don’t be so sure. I’ve been reading my mom’s old Bible. There’s all sorts of stories in there about how Jesus would have dinner with the tax collectors and what not. What they did made no difference to Him when He was looking for a place to eat, and what Mr. Fontaine thinks doesn’t bother your grandma, so just leave them alone.”

  Landon’s candor surprised her and, Ronnie had to admit, it rang with truth. Clearly he had learned quite a bit during his tenure with Father Joel, more so than Ronnie cared to remember over nine years of Catholic school. She had to wonder, though, if there was not a double meaning to his words. Was she not following Christ’s teaching by not conceding to a date with Landon? Surely somewhere the line had to be drawn.

  “What brings you to Perpetual Adoration?”

  “I heard Father Joel talking about it, sounded interesting,” Landon said. “I don’t remember ever seeing anything like it at my mom’s old church, when I used to go with her.”

  “It’s rather unique to our faith, yes,” Ronnie agreed. Unable to think of anything more to say, she nodded a quick farewell and stepped toward her car. Landon’s truck was parked next to it.

  “Nice ‘Bird,” Landon said, following close behind her. “V-8 engine?”

  “Teacher’s salary, could only afford six.” Ronnie fumbled for her keys.

  “You going home?”

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  “So which is it?” Landon asked, blocking the driver side door of Ronnie’s car. Ronnie’s stomach lurched. They were alone in the formerly safe parking lot, at night. If he wanted to, he could easily clamp a hand across her mouth and drag her into his truck cab, drive away, and nobody would ever find her again. Father Joel would still be puttering around the rectory, and Nana would be sitting on Ethan’s couch, enjoying a slice of Loni’s sugar-free apple pie.

  Not that Ronnie expected Landon to try something like that; she knew self-defense well enough to foil such an attack. She scratched her head and pressed her fingers to her temples; her mind was working well past its limit this week.

  “Look, Landon, I don’t want to keep you, so I’ll be going now.”

  “You’re not keeping me.” Landon folded his arms and leaned against her car, eyeing her with mischief.

  “Ah.” She stepped back. “Well, I’m being kept. I have this… thing.”

  “What kind of thing?”

  “The kind of thing that requires me to be somewhere else, by myself.” Ronnie willed Landon away from the car, but he did not budge.

  “Can I come to this thing, too?” He was clearly enjoying the exchange.

  “No,” Ronnie sighed. “By myself means by myself. Me, one woman.” She leaned into him to unlock the door but he playfully foiled the attempt.

  “Hey, that’s discrimination, now. I might have to follow you and picket this thing.”

  “You want to fight discrimination? Call Hootie Johnson over at Augusta National and get me a membership application. Then I’ll take you to any damn thing you want.” With that she bolted for the other side of the car and locked herself in the passenger seat. Her triumph, however, was short-lived when she remembered that Pontiac Firebirds were hardly conducive to allowing drivers to switch front seats. She could hear Landon laughing at her as she s
traddled the front console and stick shift to get to the driver’s seat, breaking two commandments in the process.

  Whatever gifts Landon possessed, she noticed, intuition was not one of them. He was still leaning against the car, and Ronnie rolled down her window. “Landon, please,” she said, exasperated. “I want to be able to drive out of here without you grasping onto the car.”

  “Say you’ll go out with me, and I’ll move.”

  “I’ll go out with you.”

  Landon curled his fingers around the edge of her window. “You’re just saying that. You don’t really mean it.”

  “Yes, I am, and yes I do. Let go of the window.”

  “Say you’ll go out with me,” he repeated, more insistent.

  Ronnie sighed. What was the harm? She could always sneak out of a ladies room window. “All right, you’ve worn me down. One date.”

  Landon grinned big and slowly retracted his fingers. “Yeah? When?”

  Ronnie gunned the engine. “You got something else to wear beside jeans and T-shirts emblazoned with the likeness of NASCAR drivers?”

  “I can get a suit.”

  Ronnie cringed at the crunching sound of her stick shift missing the first gear. She tried again and tested the gas pedal. “Good. There’s a benefit Saturday night at the Alhambra I don’t want to miss. That gives you three days to come up with something to talk about on the drive to Jacksonville Beach.”

  She mashed the gas and was out of the parking lot like a bullet, before she could change her mind.

  Twelve

  “What do you mean you don’t want me to go?”

  “I mean that both of us need to take this mourning thing seriously. This benefit is going to have music, and you know what Jewish custom says about that. We promised Lorraine Witz. Look at your shoes. What do you think she’d say if she saw you wearing those?” Gina pointed to the Birkenstock sandals on her sister’s feet. It was Saturday morning, much of which was spent by both women straightening out Ronnie’s kitchen, the last room in the townhome that had to be unpacked. Everything in its place, they now lounged on extra barstools brought over from Gina’s house, leaning against the counter dividing the kitchen and living room.