by Nic Saint
Suddenly, voices sounded around us, loud and clear, and they weren’t ours. “That’s Father Reilly!” Ernestine whispered.
“And Orlando McClafferty!” Estrella added.
A hole opened up in the wall in front of us, and we found ourselves looking into the living room of the McClaffertys. Father Reilly was seated where we’d sat before, in front of Orlando. They sat with their heads close together, and were deeply engrossed in conversation. And, since from time to time I’m prone to coming up with a good idea, I pressed the record button on the tape recorder I’d confiscated from Barnum, and let the tape roll.
‘We have to make sure nobody finds out,’ Father Reilly was saying.
‘I didn’t say a word,’ Orlando said. ‘And neither did Jeannine. Those three young women were here yesterday. Asking me all kinds of questions about that old bitch.’
‘What did they want to know?’
‘Just a bunch of stuff about Petrona. They knew the whole story.’
‘What did you tell them about me?’ Father Reilly asked anxiously.
Orlando placed a hand on the priest’s shoulder. ‘I told them you were with me the whole time—same story I told the cops. Don’t worry, old friend. Our little secret is safe.’
Father Reilly nodded. ‘I think you’re right. The cops are still nowhere on this.’
‘And they never will be. You were careful enough not to be seen, and you were careful enough not to leave any fingerprints. Nobody is ever going to pin this on you. You just pulled off the perfect murder so rejoice! Petrona’s death has finally been avenged.’
‘I should have done this a long time ago. That woman didn’t deserve to live for so many years, spreading her vile brand of gossip, ruining the lives of everyone she touched. Destroying people left and right.’
‘I would have done it myself if I could.’
‘I know, and I’m grateful to you and Jeannine for providing me with the alibi.’
‘We did this together, Kermit. You and I, just like we promised each other when Petrona died.’
‘A promise whose fulfillment is long overdue.’
‘Well, the witch is dead now, and no one will ever know you were the one that killed her.’ He stared at the priest. ‘How did it feel? How did it feel to murder the foul wench?’
For the first time, a smile graced Father Reilly’s face. ‘It felt great. I stood over her dead corpse, watching her final breath leave her lungs, and a great peace came over me. A calm the likes of which I’ve never experienced. This wasn’t murder, my friend. This was God’s wrath, performed by the hand of this humble servant.’
Suddenly, the opening in the wall through which we could glimpse into Orlando McClafferty’s apartment closed again, and the voices of the two men bled away until they were nothing but a whisper. Then they fell away completely, and I knew it was over. We stood staring at each other, our minds blown, and when I pressed the stop button on the tape recorder, I knew we’d solved the case of Mrs. Peach’s murder. The priest had done it.
Chapter 26
I heard the door open and close, and tensed up. This was it. Ernestine sat up a little straighter, and Estrella looked like she was close to apoplexy. We’d decided that the only way to get Father Reilly to confess was to confront him with the evidence. The tape was inadmissible in court—heck, it was inadmissible wherever justice was served. Sam would want to know how we’d managed to get it, and Father Reilly and Orlando would most certainly deny everything.
Busby and Bancroft had gone out on their final day in New York, to catch a show on Broadway, and Gran had taken Barnum shopping, to make sure he didn’t bother Father Reilly. Her timing was conspicuous. Why would she choose this exact moment to leave us alone in the house? Just like she made sure we’d find the Book of Secrets and the spell we needed?
But then Father Reilly strode into the living room and all thought of Gran’s peculiar behavior was wiped from my mind. The priest halted on the threshold when he saw us seated on the black sofa, staring daggers at him.
“Hey, girls,” he said. “No movie night tonight? Or club night?”
“Not tonight,” I said curtly.
He chuckled awkwardly and made to leave. “I think I’ll go upstairs and take a nap. All this running around has worn me out. See you later?”
“We’ll see you now,” I snapped.
My tone alarmed him, for his smile faltered. “What’s that, dear?”
“We know you did it,” Estrella suddenly burst out.
“You know I did… what?” he asked, blinking at this sudden outburst.
“We know you killed Mrs. Peach,” Ernestine said.
He laughed a careless laugh, or at least he tried to. Instead, only a hoarse chuckle came out. “Surely you’re joking. How could I have killed Mrs. Peach if I was visiting my dear friend Orlando?”
“Because you and your dear friend Orlando dreamed this up together,” I said.
“That’s preposterous,” he said, knitting his brows. “Absolute nonsense.”
Without a word, I clicked Play on the tape recorder, and the voices of Father Reilly and Petrona’s widower echoed through the room, loud and clear. The equipment might be a relic from the eighties, but it worked pretty great. As he listened to his own conversation—and confession—played back to him, Kermit Reilly’s face drained of all color, and he was left looking pale and haggard. He sank onto a couch and seemed to shrink as the recording played on. Finally, when the last words drifted away, he looked up, and it seemed as if he’d aged a decade in the last five minutes.
“How…” he croaked. He cleared his throat noisily. “How did you do it?”
“That’s not important,” I said. “The important thing is that we know that you did it, Father.”
He buried his face in his hands, and nodded. “Yes,” he said, his voice muffled. “Yes, I did. I killed Mrs. Peach. And I’m not sorry. She destroyed the life of the only woman I ever loved. I was going to leave the priesthood for her. We were going to wait until Orlando passed away—he was on the cusp of death—and then we were going to get married. Mrs. Peach was a murderer. She killed Petrona as effectively as if she’d personally wrapped her hands around her neck and strangled her.” He looked up, his eyes teary. “I know you won’t believe me but I only did what I thought was right.”
“We do believe you,” I said. “We know Mrs. Peach was an evil woman, but that still didn’t give you the right to kill her.”
“I know,” he said, nodding. “But I had to. I made a promise to Petrona when I found out she’d died that I would avenge her death and so I did. Orlando and I made a pact and we both stuck to it.”
I swallowed away a lump of uneasiness. I felt nothing but sympathy for Mrs. Peach’s victims, especially for this priest and the woman he’d loved. Still, what he’d done was wrong, and he would have to pay the price.
“What are you going to do?” he asked with remarkable lack of guile.
“We called the police,” I said. “They should be here any minute. I suggest you don’t make this any harder than it has to be and confess.” I tapped the tape recorder. “We have your confession on tape, and will make sure it ends up in the hands of Detective Barkley if you deny what you did.”
“I will confess,” he said, sagging back onto the couch. It was as if all the strength had left his body. He produced a wan smile. “It’s very strange, but a part of me is glad the truth finally came out. I want to atone for my sins. My life hasn’t been the same since Petrona died. It’s as if my heart stopped beating when hers did, so it doesn’t matter to me whether I spend my final days in jail or a retirement home. I’ve been in prison since the day she died.” He looked at us and smiled. “Thank you. If not for you I would never have had the guts to face my fate. A great burden has finally been lifted.”
I’d expected anything. I’d been ready for the priest to attack us, verbally or even physically, and behind my back I had my fingers tightly curled around the handle of a poker just in
case. But I hadn’t expected this. And as I watched a beatific look steal over the elderly man’s face as he glanced up at the ceiling, I knew Kermit Reilly was thinking of Petrona, and how very soon they would finally be together again.
Gran was the first to arrive, Barnum in tow. The little tyke took one look at the priest and yelled, “Hitman! You’re a hitman!”
The priest smiled at the kid. “You got it, kid. You finally got it right.”
Gran’s intelligent eyes flitted across our faces and she gave the tiniest of smiles when she asked, “Did you find what you were looking for?”
The three of us looked up at her sheepishly, before I confessed, “Yes, we did.”
“So you left the book out for us to find?” asked Estrella.
Gran shrugged. “Opportunity makes the witch.”
I quickly glanced at Father Reilly, but he was too busy with Barnum to take any notice of Gran’s words.
“I think you’ll find that when you need it the most, the right spell will come along,” she continued. Then she held up her index finger. “One spell, mind you.”
“Only one?” asked Estrella, sounding disappointed.
A stern look came over Gran’s face. “I think one is quite enough, and perhaps even more than you can handle, but I’m willing to give you girls a chance. After all, it is your heritage, and I can’t deny that you did well this time.”
“Thanks, Gran,” I said with a pointed look at Strel.
“Keep this up and I might consider—”
“Yes?” asked Strel keenly, sitting up.
Gran pursed her lips. “I might consider joining your neighborhood watch. Just as an adviser, mind you.”
“Oh,” Strel said, sinking back onto the couch.
Gran turned to Father Reilly. “I know you thought you were doing the right thing, Father. But murder is never the solution. No matter how much we feel the other person deserves it.” At this, she directed a grim look at Barnum, which of course went right over his head.
“I know,” said Father Reilly. “And I intend to atone for my sins.”
Gran nodded. “Be that as it may, I think dinner is in order.”
“Dinner?” the priest asked, taken aback.
“Of course. You didn’t think I would let you go off to prison without enjoying a home-cooked meal first, did you?” She lightly touched the man’s shoulder in passing, and then added, “Girls, I’m not going to cook dinner all by myself. A little help would be appreciated.”
“Oh, God,” Estrella groaned. “And to think we could simply whip something up with one simple spell.”
“But where would be the fun in that?” asked Gran, once more demonstrating the fact that she had the ears of a bat. Or maybe a cat.
Sam was next to arrive, just when we were preparing dinner. I took him into the living room, where Father Reilly sat contemplating his fate in solitude, from time to time interrupted by Barnum when he raced in from the garden—where he was digging himself a hidey-hole for a lone gunman.
The priest looked up when Sam and I joined him. “Ah. Detective Barkley. I have a confession to make.”
Sam laughed uncertainly. “What’s this all about?”
“I murdered Leann Peach,” the priest said simply.
Sam blinked. “You did what now?”
“I unscrewed those bolts, knowing full well that they had already been loosened over time. I then patiently waited for Mrs. Peach to take up her usual perch right beneath the cross, and unscrewed the final bolt, causing the heavy cross to tumble down and crush Mrs. Peach to death. I did that because Leann Peach was indirectly responsible for the death by suicide of Petrona McClafferty, the woman I loved.”
“But… your alibi…”
“There is no alibi. I asked my dear old friend Orlando to provide me with an alibi and he was kind enough to do so. He and his lovely and loyal wife Jeannine. They share no blame in this crime, Detective, so I hope you would be kind enough not to go after them.” He smiled up at the cop as he held out his hands. “Please arrest me now. I’m ready.”
“I…” Sam turned to me, lost for words for probably the first time in his life. “Did you know about this?”
“Miss Flummox and her sisters are the ones who convinced me to turn myself in,” said Father Reilly. “And now I’m ready to place my fate in the hands of the NYPD and the justice system. May they have mercy on my soul and treat me with kindness. But not too much kindness,” he added with a smile, “for I fully realize I’ve trespassed against both the laws of man and God.”
Sam shook his head. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered, then, realizing he was in the presence of a clergyman, added, “Sorry about that.”
“I forgive you, son,” said the priest kindly.
The cop glanced at me. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”
“I know,” I said.
Epilogue
We were all seated around the sturdy wooden garden table. Gran, my sisters, Sam, and Renée Reive. My cousins had returned home the week before, and a new tenant for the B & B hadn’t yet arrived. Life had returned to normal—as normal as life could ever be in Safflower House—and I enjoyed the relative peace and quiet.
The flower shop was doing great, thanks to Gran’s timely intervention, and Strel had taken up singing lessons again, after the owner and proprietor of The Luinness had carefully suggested them to her. Customers had started complaining about the ‘caterwauling singer’ and so measures had to be taken.
Snoozles had found his new home to his satisfaction, and had settled into a new routine at Sam’s mother’s place. He even got to eat the expensive stuff he’d grown accustomed to, Sam’s mom spoiling him even more than Mrs. Peach had done.
“So what’s going on with Father Reilly?” asked Ernestine.
Sam took a swig from his beer, enjoying the afterglow of a fine dinner. “Last I heard he was doing fine. Though I think he’s probably the first priest to enjoy the comforts of the Cardinal Cosh Center for Retired Priests with an ankle monitor attached to his leg. And also the first inmate to live in such swanky surroundings.”
“The judge was particularly lenient,” I said.
“There were extenuating circumstances,” Sam pointed out. “And those testimonies from Flavio and Erick Moreskin, Lucy Peanut, Brandi Bluff, Didi Fizz, and Orlando and Jeannine McClafferty didn’t hurt either.”
“So nice of them to want to do this for Father Reilly,” said Estrella.
“Still, the man is a murderer,” Gran said, clearing the table for dessert. “And so he should be punished for what he did. It’s only fair.”
Sam eyed me keenly. “So are you going ahead with this neighborhood watch thing? Or did you have your fill of crime and punishment?”
“Hell, no,” I said, to much hilarity. “We’re doing this, aren’t we?”
“Hell, yes,” said Ernestine, raising her glass of wine.
“The neighborhood watch is a go,” Estrella confirmed.
“I think you girls will do splendidly,” said Renée. “Heck, I already feel safer knowing you are out there, fighting crime and keeping the peace.”
“Now wait a minute,” said Sam. “They’re just a bunch of civilians on the lookout for suspicious activities, not exactly Judge Dredd.”
“Well, I for one think this is going to make all the difference in the world,” said Renée, sharing a look of understanding with Gran.
“And you’re okay with this, Cassie?” asked Sam.
“I am, actually. My girls are very responsible citizens, and if keeping Haymill safe is what they aspire to do, I’m all for it.”
“Gran is honorary chairwoman of the board,” I told Sam.
“Whatever that means,” he said with a grin, tipping back his beer.
“It means I’m fully on board with this endeavor and they have my full support. For far too long crime has been allowed to fester unchecked, and it’s time the people of this neighborhood took back the streets.”
�
�Hear, hear,” said Renée, raising her glass.
“Hang on,” said Sam. “The NYPD works hard to keep the streets safe. And from where I’m standing, there is no festering crime wave out there.” We all looked up when a loud bang went off somewhere nearby. We all knew it was a gun that was being discharged and we turned to Sam. “Okay, so there are a few bad apples out there, but I can assure you that we’re doing everything that lays in our power to—” Another loud bang sounded, followed by more guns being fired. Sam locked eyes with me. “You’re going to take shooting lessons. And that goes for you, too,” he added, fixing my sisters with an equally intense look. “And you, Cassie.”
“Of course,” said Gran, a faint smile playing about her lips.
Uh-oh. A witch with a gun? That didn’t sound like a good idea. Four witches with guns? Even worse.
Renée raised her hand. “Can I come too, Detective Barkley?”
Sam heaved a soft groan. “Yeah, why not. Let’s make it a party.”
Great. Four witches and an aspiring witch, all armed to the teeth, roaming the streets of Brooklyn looking for trouble. What could possibly go wrong? Frankly, I didn’t think Sam knew what he was getting himself into.
Then again, neither did we.
THE END
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Excerpt from Witchy Worries (Neighborhood Witch Committee 2)
Prologue
Rico Torrent woke up with a start and blinked. Becoming aware of his surroundings, he discovered he was holding a liquor bottle in his right hand so he put it to his lips and quaffed deeply. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and made to stand. On TV, some cop show was blaring away as usual. He ignored it. Wobbling a bit, he shuffled over to the kitchen. Something had drawn his attention—an annoying sound—and he was pretty sure it was that stupid kitchen timer.
