“You mean, Mr. Grooms wasn’t lucid enough to consent to the baptism at the time?”
Father Moore’s gray eyes gazed at her almost too steadily. “In hisConfessions, Saint Augustine affirmed that mentally incapacitated people should be baptized. As a priest, it was my duty to ensure that he was able to enter heaven.”
“No offense intended; I’m just trying to get a better understanding of Grooms’s mental state. So, you hiked out to Solitary Lake about three years ago?”
“Yes.”
“With Mrs. Brooksfield?”
“Yes. She brought me up there.”
“Anything in the cabin that seemed unusual or out of place?”
“Plenty. You’ll have to narrow it down.”
“Discounting the sculptures, I mean. We’re trying to establish if something was taken.”
“It was full of junk as far as I could tell,” Father Moore said. He checked an imaginary watch on his wrist.
“Do you know how Mr. Grooms made a living?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea.”
“What is your relationship with Margie Brooksfield?”
“Margie is an angel. A truly devout and devoted mother and wife.”
Cash took a moment to consult her notes. “Mother and wife. Anything else?” As she said it, she realized there was a note of irritation in her voice, which she tried to cover up with a smile. She wouldn’t allow this man to get under her skin.
“Being a good mother and wife should be enough for any woman in this world,” he said.
She thought she saw his gaze drift to her bare ring finger. She fumbled with her notepad, looking for the next question.
The priest turned to Colcord. “I’m sure, as sheriff, you know just how crime can be traced back to the home. The breakdown of the family.”
Cash cast a rather pointed glance in Colcord’s direction, and Colcord shifted awkwardly. He didn’t respond, looking a little bit like a man caught between a rock and a hard place.
“Father Moore, if we could stay on subject here?” Cash said. She took a deep breath, trying to even out her voice. “How long have you known Margie Brooksfield? Is she a member of your congregation?”
Father Moore’s eyes drifted once more to Cash’s face, but he never quite met her own gaze. His eyes seemed to be fixed above, on her forehead.
“I’ve known Margie all her life, and her parents before that. Most of the good people of Burns are Catholics.” He paused. “Are you Catholic, Agent Cash?”
She felt like she was being goaded—or was that perhaps her overly sensitive feelings about the church? She could never be sure, her thoughts were so complicated. “That’s irrelevant,” Cash said, trying to keep her voice neutral. “We’re investigating a homicide, and if you don’t mind, our role is to ask the questions, not yours.”
The ends of Father Moore’s mouth curved upward in a knowing smile, and he leaned back in his chair.
Cash tried to ease her breathing, feeling a little hot under her collar. “Was Grooms ever married?” she asked.
“I know very little about Mr. Grooms. I understand the son took care of his father until his passing. He was agood Catholic.”He spoke the last sentence rather pointedly.
“How was their relationship?”
“I honestly don’t know. I think Samuel was embarrassed of his father, given his alcoholism and mental illness. Samuel never married, had no children.”
“How large is your parish?”
“Out of the three hundred and fifty-three residents of Burns, Colorado, about two hundred and ninety attend Mass on Sundays.”
