Hail Mary, full of grace,
the Lord is with thee;
blessed art thou amongst women,
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
pray for us sinners,
now and at the hour of our death.
Amen.
It’s dark. He awaits the girls near the corner where they will catch the return bus. It’s nicely away from the main crowd and police presence. He followed Lara to campus this morning, and he waited for her to finish classes. He’s still searching for the right place to take her, the right moment in her schedule, and it’s getting more and more difficult because the MVPD have been sending patrol cars down her street every now and then.
He knows tonight is Lara’s choir night. The papers were also full with the news of Gracie’s funeral service. He wants to see for himself. Following Lara here was worth the risk he took to do it, just to absorb the sheer impact of whathehas wrought. To feel the thrill.
Snatches of female voices carry in the wind—they’re coming. His pulse quickens.
On the bus ride over he dared sit right behind Lara and her new friend. So close he could smell them, could have touched their hair if he wanted. Lara has been nervous of late, hyperconscious of her surroundings, constantly glancing over her shoulder. This, too, is making things challenging. But this evening, engaged in animated conversation with her new friend, she was definitely less observant.
And from his seat behind them he managed to listen to their chatter about the choir, about how they were going to Gracie’s funeral in that big, beautiful cathedral with the burnished wood pews that he himself helped tend and polish in his youth while his mother came for confession and brought victuals for Father. And made him confess, too.
Bless me, Father, I have sinned ... but I didn’t tell Father I’m a peeping Tommy, bad Johnny who likes to watch the girls naked in the school locker room ...
Saint Auburn’s is where he started his vocation—through his volunteer work in the church, polishing the wood.A noble vocation, son...Joseph, father of God himself, was a carpenter. Even Jesus performed the inherited trade before going into His ministry...
The girls are almost at the corner. He steps back into a doorway recessed into the wall, and he stands in shadow, excitement rippling over his skin. Ginny is the other girl’s name. When he learned from their conversation on the bus that Ginny’s father is Detective Maddocks, the one working this case with Detective Pallorino—the man he saw outside Lara’s house the other day—it was as if he was smote by the heavens, a sign.
And a plan—something bigger, something that reaches far beyond the circle of girls whom he needs to save, far more sublime—is fingering its way into his brain. And into his libido. A big, beautiful plan that will involve Ginny Maddocks.
CHAPTER 44
“Yes, I did know Gracie personally,” Father Simon said as he removed his voluminous purple chasuble over his head. He smiled sadly, opened a closet, inserted a hanger into the garment, and hung it on the rail beside similar vestments in red, black, green, and white. “Lorna Drummond requested the violet,” he said, smoothing down his hair that had become ruffled. “She felt the traditional black was too solemn for her Gracie’s service. She wanted to focus rather on atonement and sorrow.”
Angie knew from her family’s past involvement with the faith that each color of the robes reflected different events in the liturgical year. Green was for ordinary Mass. White for occasions of victory, like the resurrection of the Lord Jesus. Red was the color of fire and blood symbolizing the Pentecost, tongues of flame, and blood shed by martyred saints in the name of God. Black was generally for somber masses of the dead.
She and Maddocks stood with the priest inside the sacristy, a room in an annex off the main part of the cathedral where priests’ vestments were traditionally stored along with other church furnishings, sacred vessels, and parish records. Father Simon now stood before them in a classic white alb cinched at the waist with a cincture—a cord that represented chastity. He was surprisingly young-looking and chiseled-handsome, with the build of a triathlete and light hazel eyes. There was a brightness in those eyes and a vitality about him that Angie found sexual, compelling, and at odds with that symbol of celibacy around his waist. She’d bet her ass there were plenty of women in this parish, young and old, who found Father Simon similarly alluring, and perhaps even more so because of the fact he’d sworn off sex—the sins of the flesh—in order to devote his life wholly and completely to God.
What, she wondered, had turned this vital man to the faith? What washisstory?
“Gracie first sought my counsel when she decided to fully recommit to the church,” he said, untying his cincture and unbuttoning and removing the alb to reveal black pants and a black button-down shirt, and yes, definitely a honed body in there. He adjusted his white collar. “From that point onward she never missed a Sunday Mass unless she was gravely ill. And she sang here as part of the college choir.”
“Do you feel that you played a role in saving Gracie, then, Father?” said Maddocks.
Father Simon weighed Maddocks a moment, his eyes going serious. “You mean, did I twist her arm and threaten her with hell and damnation unless she returned to the Catholic faith?”
Maddocks said nothing, just held the man’s gaze.
Father Simon inhaled. “It was Gracie’s will to return to the fold. It was the Lord’s will.” He hung up his alb.
“Did she ever express to you a concern about being followed, stalked, any fears?” Angie said, wondering again why her own family had basically stopped practicing the Catholic faith.
“No,” he said, shutting the closet door.
“Is there anything at all you could tell us that might help us learn more about her?” Angie asked.
