somebody-one or more of the Delvecchio kids? — either to kill Frank Morris or cause him to take his own life … that scenario, Koesler had long since concluded, was nothing more than the pipe dream of an elderly pastor with an extremely active imagination.
All the i’s were dotted. All the t’s were crossed. There couldn’t be anymore to this story.
Could there?
30
Father Koesler hoped the party and light conversation would lift his spirits. After what had gone on in the basement, he needed this convivial gathering.
He knew he had won. But he wished there didn’t have to be a loser. He abhorred confrontation and avoided it whenever possible.
This evening it simply hadn’t been feasible. He was resolved that Zack Tully be pastor of St. Joe’s. All the more so when he’d realized that Zack had become Delvecchio’s sacrificial lamb as the means to get back at Koesler.
And Koesler deeply regretted having to dredge up all the unpleasantness of the past. But there was no avoiding it; it was a continuum.
He promised himself that once settled in retirement, he would try to mend his shredded relationship with Vince Delvecchio.
“This is excellent soup, Mary,” Anne Marie Tully said.
“Indeed, yes,” echoed Wanda Koznicki. “You’ve got to give us the recipe.”
Mary O’Connor chuckled. “Better yet, I’ll give you the address of the caterers who made it.”
The two officers’ wives looked at each other and laughed. “You not only could, you
“Say,” Zoo Tully said to his brother, “that bishop we met on our way in: Is he the one you told us was giving you a hard time about something?”
“Uh-huh,” Father Tully affirmed.
“Well,” the lieutenant pressed, “did it work out okay? You gonna be pastor here, and our neighbor as well?”
Father Tully had no clue how the meeting between Koesler and Delvecchio had gone. The bishop’s departure had coincided with the arrival of the guests. Tully hadn’t had any opportunity to quiz Koesler.
Now, with the question on the table, as it were, Tully looked inquiringly at Koesler, who smiled and nodded reassuringly.
“I guess,” Tully said to his brother, “it all worked out. I’m going to be your neighbor. And,” he added quickly, “your pastor. Somehow I’ve got to get you in the fold.”
“Good luck,” Anne Marie said.
Soup course finished, Mary O’Connor was clearing away the bowls.
“And how about yourself, Father,” Inspector Koznicki asked Koesler, “have you firmed up your retirement plans? You will continue living here, I assume.”
“No.” Koesler shook his head. “No in answer to both questions. Much as I would like to stay here-inertia being so basic a part of my life-the diocese prefers that a Senior Priest move on. It makes sense to clear the old guard out and let the new pastor do things his way without some parishioner appealing a decision to one or the other. No whipsawing.
“But,” he continued, “I don’t have any firm plans for after retirement. Not even where I’m going to live. So”- he turned to Zack-“I hope our hew pastor will tolerate me a little while longer.”
The two priests, smiling, inclined their heads in a mutual bow.
“The future for me,” Koesler said, after a moment’s thought, “is kind of exciting, I think. There’s just all sorts of things opening up. I could go back to school, travel, baby-sit parishes, see if they want me to teach in the seminary, take in some theater-I haven’t done much of that lately … Or,” he added, “all of the above.”
“Or,” Lieutenant Tully suggested, “you might continue solving crimes.” He turned to the inspector as if for affirmation, then back to Koesler. “We can use all the help we can get.
“And,” he added, “though I didn’t think so when we first met, I’ve got to admit: You’ve got a knack for it.”
Everyone laughed.
“This is funny,” Inspector Koznicki said, “but the other evening we were watching a rerun of that detective series, “Diagnosis Murder,” where Dick Van Dyke plays a physician who is a consultant to the local police department. And”-he smiled at Koesler-“I thought of you.”
Koesler’s brow knitted; he looked at his longtime friend. “That thought never entered my mind. But”-he grinned-“as James Bond says, Never say never.”
The party was doing the trick. Father Koesler was feeling increasingly relaxed.
Bishop Vincent Delvecchio was feeling increasingly distressed as he drove north on Woodward Avenue toward his parish.
He never should have agreed to tonight’s meeting with Bob Koesler. To all appearances, Bob was feeling fine; whereas he himself was under the weather, to say the very least.
Vince could not recall a headache ever afflicting him as agonizingly as this one was. Undoubtedly, that argument with Bob had worsened his condition.
Even compromised as he was by that horrible pain, he’d done pretty well in the thrust and parry with Bob- until it came to the matter of Tally’s taking the Oath and Profession.
Vincent knew that Cardinal Boyle did not much like him. That was evidenced when he was about to deny Church burial to Hackett’s wife. Boyle had come down on him pretty hard.
Clever of Bob to bring up that incident! Vince’s demand that Tully take the Oath publicly would look silly in the context of Vince’s having turned down Fred Haun’s proposal for a similar public ceremony. Added to which was Pete Jackson’s flat-out refusal to swear-an unfortunate precedent. Boyle would never support his bishop when he heard all that.
How had Bob found out about Hackett?
It must’ve been Joe McCarthy.
McCarthy and Jackson! True, the Church needed priests, but if Vince were an ordinary, his priests would know they would be disciplined. Priest shortage or not!
Bob was wrong in citing Beth and Tully as means to get even with Tony and him. That was because Bob didn’t trust in providence as Vince did. Beth and Tully had been sent to Vincent by God to make His will done on earth as it is in heaven. It was cruel of Bob to think otherwise.
Ohhh! The pain in Vince’s head forced a moan from his lips. After all, why shouldn’t God provide Vince a special measure of Divine Providence? He had passed the test with that Olivier woman. And besides the woman, Bob was the only one who knew about Vince’s major temptation.
The pain was becoming close to unbearable. It brought to mind his mother. Perhaps he should join his suffering with that of Christ, as Bob claimed his mother had.
She couldn’t have done that … not without confiding in Vince. No, it was crystal clear what she’d intended to use the morphine for. God may not have granted the miracle cure he’d prayed for, but God surely was not going to let Mother condemn herself to hell as a result of the greatest evil.
If anyone on earth, anyone in all of history, understood what Vincent had to do, it was Mother.
He was driving a steady fifty mph, the official speed limit on this section of Woodward’s boulevard. He would keep the law even though he yearned to be home in bed coping with all this pain.
He thought again of Bob Koesler. He may have won this confrontation, but there would be others. Vince would even the score. He would triumph for God.
Bob probably was enjoying himself tonight. But even though he was retiring, there would be a way to get at him. If nothing else, Vince could depend on Divine Providence.
