Next Exit, Use Caution

by CW Browning

  “Well if it helps at all, I’m sitting in a chair outside a fitting room, holding Stephanie's purse and looking like a fool,” Blake offered.

  Michael grinned.

  “That does make me feel better!”

  “I thought it would. We went to lunch when she was done at the bank and somehow I ended up here. Why do women make us hold their purse? They carry it everywhere, every day. Why can’t they take it into the fitting room? Is there some risk of a fitting room black hole opening up and swallowing it?”

  “Why do women do anything they do? Like debate the color of flowers already ordered?” Michael countered, strolling along the path to the steps ahead. “Have you heard anything from Washington yet? Did they pull in the guy who planted the drugs?”

  “They can’t find him,” Blake said glumly. “They went to his apartment and he wasn’t there. The last person to see him was his roommate last night at the bar.”

  “They’ll find him,” Michael said, starting up the steps toward the side door. “He’s probably sleeping it off somewhere.”

  “Yeah.”

  Michael looked up in surprise as the door above him opened suddenly and a priest appeared. He was dressed in black slacks and button down shirt, the white collar stark amidst all the black, and he looked just as startled to see Michael.

  “Hold on, Blake,” Michael murmured. “Hello. Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “Not at all. Can I help?” the priest asked with a smile.

  “I’m with the two women meeting Father Angelo,” said Michael, reaching the top of the steps. “I had to take a call, so I told them I’d meet them inside.”

  “Ah! I appreciate that. Many don’t think to keep their phones out of the sanctuary,” the priest said cheerfully. He held the door open for Michael. “They’re in the front, near the altar.”

  “Thank you,” Michael said, grabbing the door.

  “My pleasure. Have a good day.”

  The priest started down the steps.

  “You too, Father.”

  Michael watched the priest descend and lifted his phone back to his ear.

  “Let me call you back when I’m done here,” he said. “I’m about to go inside and I guess they frown on phones in the church.”

  “No problem. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Michael hung up and stepped into the dark, cool antechamber. The smell of incense assaulted him as the door closed behind him and he looked around. A tall statue of a benevolent-looking man dressed in robes looked down over rows of candles with a kneeler in front of them. He shook his head and moved across the small room toward the larger sanctuary beyond.

  Rows of gleaming pews stretched in either direction and Michael looked around in surprise. The church was huge. The pews were divided into four sections divided by a wide walkway, two sections in the front half of the church and the other two in the back half. A wide center aisle ran from the front entrance all the way down to the altar. Across from him, suspended above the left side of the church like an old-style box seat at a playhouse, was an organ loft. He raised an eyebrow in surprise. Not many small town churches had organ lofts. At least, not where he came from.

  The lighting was muted and the cavernous sanctuary was quiet; every step he took echoing around the space. Angela and Joanne stood before the altar with a tall priest who was graying at the temples. He was dressed in the same black slacks and shirt as the priest Michael had just passed.

  “Oh, Michael!” Angela caught sight of him and waved him forward. “Come give your opinion.”

  Michael strode down a side aisle along the right side, passing confessional booths on his way, and crossed to where the threesome stood. As he approached, the priest smiled at him and nodded in greeting.

  “Good afternoon,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m Monsignor Fanucci. Everyone calls me Father Angelo. I’ll be saying the mass tomorrow.”

  “Hello, Father,” Michael shook his hand firmly. “Michael O’Reilly. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “We were just trying to decide where we’ll be seated,” Joanne told him. “I think the left side, but Father Angelo seems to think the right is better.”

  Michael blinked and glanced at the Monsignor. He thought he detected a glint of amusement in the older man’s gray eyes.

  “Umm...” Michael turned to face the two lines of pews stretching endlessly to the back of the church. “There doesn’t seem to be much difference between the two,” he ventured. “Why do you think the left is better?”

  “Because everyone will be coming from the right,” Angela explained. “Joanne thinks it will aid in the flow of traffic if we’re on the other side.”

  “You have to realize that mourners will want to pay their respects to you,” Father Angelo interjected calmly. “They will simply walk over, then have to come back again to go to their seats. It will create more of a bottleneck. I’ve officiated many large funerals, unfortunately, and have seen it happen.”

  Michael looked at the women.

  “Makes sense,” he said. “Why is everyone coming from the right?”

  “John will be laid out in that antechamber you just came through,” Joanne said. “So they will come from that direction.”

  Michael stared at her.

  “Why is he going to be laid out in there?”

  The two women stared back at him.

  “So people can say goodbye, of course,” said Joanne.

  “Isn’t that what the viewing tonight is for?”

  Father Angelo fell into a sudden coughing fit.

  “Well, yes,” Joanne said, glancing at the Monsignor, “but it seems only fair to give anyone who doesn’t come tonight the opportunity to...see him one last time.”

  Michael felt a dull throb starting in his temple.

  “I see.”

  “Of course, if you don’t have him laid out in there, we could position the coffin here, in front of the altar,” Father Angelo suggested, clearing his throat. “You can still have the casket open if you prefer. If we position him here, the mourners can come down the right, pay their respects, then move up the center to their seats. We’ve had great success with that flow.”

  “Have him...right here?” Joanne asked, motioning to the center before the steps leading up to the altar. “Is there room?”

  “Oh yes! And they can offer you their condolences as they walk up the center aisle. At that point, it doesn’t matter which side you’re on, so if you prefer the left, you can be on the left.”

  Michael glanced at the priest and breathed a silent sigh of relief that the older man was taking over the discussion. He turned to look up at the altar. A large statue of the crucified Jesus dominated the back wall. To the right of the altar, a door was ajar. It appeared to lead into a back room, probably for the priests. To the left was another room, encased in windows with curtains. Michael looked at it thoughtfully. What was it?

  “...if you think that would be best. Don’t you agree, Michael?”

  Joanne’s voice pulled him reluctantly back to the conversation.

  “Absolutely,” he said promptly, turning back to the group.

  Father Angelo’s eyes lit with laughter and Michael knew the priest was fully aware Michael had absolutely no idea what he had just agreed with.

  “That’s settled,” Angela said cheerfully. “I think Alina and Stephanie should be in the front pew with you, Joanne. Don’t you agree? After all, they probably knew him the best out of all of us. I can be in the second pew, with Michael and Blake.”

  “Yes, I don’t see any reason that wouldn’t be appropriate,” Joanne agreed. “How is Alina? This must have been such a shock to her. John said she was back. I was hoping...well, it doesn’t matter now.”

  Michael’s eyebrows raised into his forehead of their own accord and he turned away to continue looking at the strange off-chamber with the curtains.

  “The Mother’s Room,” Father Angelo said at his elbow.

  Michael glan
ced at him in surprise and the priest grinned.

  “I make my living observing people and what moves them,” the older man told him. “You’re wondering what that room is. It is for mothers with infants so they can attend mass and not disturb the other parishioners.”

  “Do babies disturb?” Michael asked.

  “When they’re unhappy, yes. It is the nature of us all, I’m afraid.”

  “Huh.” Michael turned back to look at the expanse of pews. “It’s a beautiful church.”

  “We are very blessed here,” Father Angelo agreed, turning to look out over the sanctuary with Michael. “You’re Irish? What parish do you attend?”

  “Oh, I live in DC,” Michael said. “I was raised in Brooklyn.”

  “Ah, Brooklyn. I served in a little parish there when I was first ordained. St. Michael’s.”

  “I was in St. Matthew’s,” Michael said. “My parents are still there.”

  “Do you get back to Brooklyn often?”

  “Fairly often, when work allows.”

  “And what kind of work do you do?”

  “I’m in the Secret Service.”

  “Ah, another Federal agent,” Father Angelo nodded and smiled. “I should have known. You have the bearing of a military man. Have you served?”

  “Marines.”

  “I thought so. Thank you for your service. Did you know John from work?”

  “In a way,” Michael murmured. “We had a mutual friend: Alina.”

  “Oh yes! I’ll be glad to see her again, even if it is under these circumstances.”

  Michael looked at him in surprise.

  “You know her?”

  Father Angelo smiled.

  “Yes, of course. She attended the school here,” he said. “She helped with the retreats after she went on to high school. I spoke with her a few days before she joined the Navy. I haven’t seen her since. Joanne told me she is back in Jersey.”

  “Yes,” said Michael. “She travels quite a bit.”

  “So I’ve heard. I’m glad she’s made a place for herself in this world. There was a time when she was very lost.”

  “When Dave died?” It was Father Angelo’s turn to look surprised and Michael grinned. “I served with Dave. I was there the day he died. That’s how I met her. I promised Dave...well, it doesn’t matter.”

  “That was a tragedy,” Father Angelo said. “War is such a terrible thing. It tears so many lives apart.”

  “Monsignor, would it be possible to have the organ play tomorrow?” Joanne called from where she and Angela had moved farther down the wide center aisle toward the middle of the church. “John loved that organ when he was a boy.”

  “Unfortunately, the pipes are being cleaned and restored, so that’s not possible,” Father Angelo replied, moving toward the two women. “However, we can feed organ music through the sound system. Do you have a particular hymn in mind?”

  Michael watched as the priest joined the two women, then turned to gaze slowly around the whole church. It was far too large to cover all the entrances and exits effectively tomorrow. If he had a few weeks to plan, he might be able to come up with something to ensure Alina’s safety, but with less than twenty-four hours, it was impossible.

  He shook his head and turned to follow the priest. The only thing they had on their side was that the majority of the attendees were Federal agents and would be carrying firearms. It would be suicide for anyone to come into the funeral with the intent to hit Viper. The odds would be heavily against them.

  Unfortunately, Michael knew that odds didn’t have much to do with it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kyle Anthony March slid into the driver’s seat of his rental sedan, and pulled the white plastic collar off, tossing it onto the passenger’s seat. He stared at the back of the church thoughtfully for a moment, then started the engine and pulled out of his parking spot in the shade of a large old maple tree.

  It had been a simple matter to find where the funeral for the man in the hospital was being held. All he’d had to do was pour through the obituaries from the past week until he found the one for Special Agent John Smithe. He’d struck gold with yesterday’s Courier Post.

  Agent Stephanie Walker hadn’t led him to Viper yet, but he was becoming more and more convinced she would. After watching her for the past two days, he’d managed to learn quite a bit. For one thing, the man staying with her was also an FBI agent, and an ex-military man to boot. That complicated matters, but didn’t make them impossible. He would just have to be cautious. There was also the other woman who showed up last night. She was another complication he hadn’t expected. He had thought she was going to stay at the already crowded apartment, but then a Ford F150 showed up. While the man was inside, Kyle ran the plates and discovered Michael O’Reilly was also an ex-Marine, and a Secret Service agent. Kyle was too experienced a hunter to discount so many Federal agents under one roof. Something was going on, and somehow he’d managed to land himself right in the middle of it when he took the job to kill John Smithe.

  He shook his head as he pulled out of the parking lot onto the sleepy, deserted backstreet behind the church. If it was just the FBI agents, that would be one thing. John was an FBI agent, so it was only natural Kyle would run into many of them in his search for Viper. Now, however, a Secret Service Agent was in the mix, and that was something Kyle didn’t like. Not only was Michael O’Reilly an unknown factor, but he was another connection to Washington. With Blake Hanover that made two people connected to the capital, and that was two too many.

  Kyle rolled to a stop at the sign at the end of the street, looked to his left, and pulled onto the town’s main road. He had to learn why someone wanted John Smithe dead enough to hire him. That was the key. That would tell him why so many Federal agents were suddenly involved, and why two of them were from Washington. It would also tell him why Viper was part of it. If he knew that, he had a chance.

  If he could find out what John was hiding, he’d know who wanted him dead.

  And Kyle knew just where to start.

  Stephanie stared at Angela in disbelief.

  “What do you mean you don’t know where she is?!”

  Angela shrugged and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

  “She wasn’t at the house when we got back this afternoon, and she still wasn’t there when we left,” she said. “She didn’t leave a note or anything. I tried calling, no answer.”

  “So help me, if she doesn’t show up, I’ll never speak to her again!” Stephanie exclaimed furiously. She swung around to face Michael. “Do you know anything about this?”

  Michael raised his eyebrows.

  “About where she is? No.”

  Stephanie made a sound strongly reminiscent of a growl and dug into her purse for her phone, pulling it out a second later.

  “I’m calling her,” she announced.

  “Good luck with that,” Angela muttered, turning to walk up the sidewalk to the funeral home. “We’ve already tried.”

  Michael glanced at Stephanie, then turned to follow Angela. When they had arrived a few moments before, the small parking lot for the funeral home was already filled. While he drove around looking for the closest spot on a side street, Angela called to tell Stephanie they were looking for parking. When they finally walked up the road to the funeral home, she was waiting on the sidewalk for them.

  “Does she really think Lina won’t come?” he asked Angela under his breath.

  Angela glanced up at him.

  “I don’t know,” she said, glancing back at Stephanie. “Maybe. To be honest, I think she’s upset she hasn’t seen her since she got back. I mean, let’s be honest, Alina isn’t acting like herself.”

  Michael was silent as they mounted the steps to the wrap-around porch of the funeral home. If Alina didn’t come to the viewing, Damon would have his head for letting her roam free while someone wanted her dead. He suppressed a sigh. And if he hadn’t accompanied Angela all day, Viper would have had h
is head. Either way, he didn’t come out on top.

  “Son of a...” Stephanie's exclamation followed them and they both turned to watch as she stalked up the sidewalk after them. “She’s not answering.”

  “I told you,” said Angela. “Relax. She’ll come. We bought an outfit especially for it.”

  That caught Stephanie's attention and made her pause.

  “You did?” she asked. “You mean, you actually got her out shopping?”

  “Yes, on Saturday. We got an outfit for tonight and one for tomorrow. I told her she had appearances to keep up.”

  “Appearances?” Michael repeated. “What appearances?”

  Angela looked at him.

  “She’s John’s ex-fiancé. Everyone knows it. She can’t show up looking like a scrub.”

  “Oh, please tell me you told her that,” he murmured, his eyes dancing.

  Stephanie grinned behind Angela’s back, amused with him.

  “Of course I did.”

  Angela sailed through the front door with that statement and Michael looked at Stephanie. After a second, they both chuckled.

  “God, I wish I could have seen it,” he said.

  “You and me both,” she agreed. “If that’s what she had to hear for a whole shopping trip, I suddenly understand Alina’s reluctance to come. Good Lord.”

  Michael held open the door and waited as Stephanie went through before following her in. The outer door opened into a large square hallway. A round mahogany table was in the center, dominated by a huge vase filled with cream roses and assorted ferns and greenery. Laid on the table were piles of memorial cards bearing a photo of John. A small crowd milled around the hallway, speaking in low voices and greeting acquaintances.

  “He’s laid out in the front room, through here,” said Stephanie, moving around Angela and motioning to a set of open double-doors on the right.

  “Are Joanne and Bill in there?” Angela asked, swiping up a memorial card as she passed the table. “How are they holding up?”

  “They seem fine. As fine as they can be, anyway.”

  Michael followed the two women into the front room and glanced around. This room was filled with people. All in varying shades of black and gray, they looked like a rainy day. A receiving line wrapped around the outer edge of the room, leading back to the open coffin. Chairs were arranged in rows in the center of the room and a few mourners who already paid their respects were seated, talking together in low voices. Others milled around, nodding to people they knew and looking appropriately somber.