Father Bill seemed to have no awareness of his surroundings. Now was the moment. Hovering just above the floor, I moved behind him with my plate and napkin and silverware. There was barely room to squeeze past.
Kathleen’s eyes widened. Her gaze followed the table service moving a few inches above the floor. She looked stricken.
Father Bill’s face softened. “That’s what I thought.” He moved toward her in a rush, pulled her into his arms, looked down into her face. “You shouldn’t have gone there. Did he try to get you to tell him? What did you say?”
I reached the refrigerator.
Kathleen gave him a quick look, then her eyes veered down, drawn as if by a magnet to the retreating table setting.
I tucked everything out of sight.
She closed her eyes in relief.
G h o s t at Wo r k
“Kathleen.” His voice was suddenly soft. “Don’t be upset. You’re wonderful.” He gently took her chin, lifted her face. Her eyes opened and their gazes met. “It must have been horrible for you, the police chief demanding to know what you talked about and you trying to protect me. I’m sorry you had to go through that. Sorry about everything. But you’re my wonderful brave girl, going to that cabin, staring him down. It was just like Daryl”—his voice was hard—“to try and pry information out of you.”
“He was awful.” Kathleen’s eyes were dark with memory. “But I didn’t say anything about you.”
He loosed his grip, began to pace. “Of course not. I wouldn’t tell you anything about—well, that’s the problem, I can’t tell anyone.
That makes me suspect number one to the police.” Kathleen’s hand clutched at her throat. “You? Bill, I don’t understand.”
He faced her. “It’s simple enough. Daryl and I had a shouting match yesterday morning. Somebody must have heard and told the police. The chief wants to know what happened and why. I can’t tell him. I don’t know what Daryl may have said to anyone else on the vestry. If Daryl hinted at financial laxity, well, I may not be rector here much longer. An audit will show everything’s absolutely as it should be, but if that kind of suspicion is raised, I’m done for. Everybody will think I was going to do something illegal and Daryl called my hand. If anyone has to be above suspicion, it’s a priest.” Kathleen was distraught. “No one can ever say that about you. You’re the most honest man in the world, the most honorable, the kindest, the best.” If she’d had a sword, she would have brandished it.
Suddenly Bill’s face re-formed, alight with laughter. “That’s my girl.”
She was distraught. “It’s crazy for them to suspect you.” He forced a smile. “Don’t worry. Things usually come right. And if they don’t, we’ll have done our best. Now”—he was brisk—“can
Ca ro ly n H a rt
you pack up some of that nice lunch for me? I’m late getting out to the Carson ranch. Juanita’s having a bad day.” Kathleen shivered. “There can’t be anything worse than losing a child. Tell her I put a flower on Josie’s grave yesterday.” It took her only a moment to put together a lunch, fill a thermos with coffee.
Bill took the brown bag, bent, kissed her lightly on the lips, but Kathleen held tight, kissed him with a desperate intensity.
Slowly they moved apart. He reached out to touch her cheek. “It’s okay, honey.” But when he reached the door, he looked back. “I hate it that you had to lie for me. If the chief comes back to you, tell him the truth, Daryl inveigled you to go to the cabin so he could quiz you about me, but you didn’t know a thing. And you don’t. Because”—
his frown was ferocious—“I didn’t like some of the chief ’s questions.
He seemed to think you and Daryl . . . Well, I set him straight there.
I told him you didn’t even like the man, and much more to the point, you’re my wife and you would never dishonor your vows.” Suddenly he was serious again. “I love you, Kathleen.”
“Oh, Bill.” She was in his arms. They clung to each other. Their lips met in a passionate kiss.
I left. Some moments are not meant to be shared.
When Father Bill came outside, striding toward his car, I returned to the kitchen.
Tears were streaming down Kathleen’s face. She stumbled to the table, sank into a chair, sobbing.
I brought a box of tissues, placed it at her elbow.
“. . . feel so awful . . . what would he think if he knew . . . and I went to Raoul’s apartment . . . oh, Bill . . . I’ve got to tell him the truth . . .”
I poked her in the shoulder. “Do you want the chief to arrest him?”
She flung up her head, stared at me—well, in my general vicinity—in horror. “Bill? That can’t happen.”
G h o s t at Wo r k
“It could.” I hated to make her day harder, but it was time to face facts. “The chief is already suspicious of Bill. If you suddenly tell the truth about your visit to Daryl, the red nightgown’s enough to convince the chief that Bill had plenty of reason to shoot Daryl. Don’t change your story.” I handed her some tissues. I retrieved my plate and table setting from their hiding place, settled back at the table.
She swiped at her face. “What if the chief finds out Daryl wanted to fire Mamie? Somebody will know. Somebody,” she said bitterly,
“always knows in Adelaide.”
That was small-town truth baldly stated. Someone always knew.
