The Mephisto Club

She did not return their looks. As the church emptied, she stared straight ahead, stoically focused on the altar. Thinking: It’s late, and I should go home. I don’t know what good can possibly come of staying.

“Hello, Maura.”

She looked up and met Daniel’s gaze. The church was not yet empty. The organist was still packing up her sheet music, and several choir members were still pulling on their coats, yet at that moment Daniel’s attention was so centered on Maura, she might have been the only other person in the room.

“It’s been a long time since you visited,” he said.

“I suppose it has been.”

“Not since August, wasn’t it?”

So you’ve been keeping track, too.

He slid onto the bench beside her. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“It’s Christmas Eve, after all.”

“But you don’t believe.”

“I still enjoy the rituals. The songs.”

“That’s the only reason you came? To sing a few hymns? Chant a few Amens and Thanks be to Gods?”

“I wanted to hear some music. Be around other people.”

“Don’t tell me you’re all alone tonight.”

She gave a shrug, a laugh. “You know me, Daniel. I’m not exactly a party animal.”

“I just thought…I mean, I assumed…”

“What?”

“That you’d be with someone. Especially tonight.”

I am. I’m with you.

They both fell silent as the organist came walking up the aisle, carrying her tote bag of music. “Good night, Father Brophy.”

“Good night, Mrs. Easton. Thank you for the lovely performance.”

“It was a pleasure.” The organist cast a final, probing glance at Maura, then continued toward the exit. They heard the door swing shut, and they were finally alone.

“So why has it been so long?” he asked.

“Well, you know the death business. It never lets up. One of our pathologists had to go into the hospital for back surgery a few weeks ago, and we’ve had to cover for him. It’s been busy, that’s all.”

“You can always pick up the phone and call.”

“Yes, I know.” He could, too, but he never did. Daniel Brophy would never step one foot over the line, and perhaps that was a good thing-she was struggling with enough temptation for them both.

“So how have you been?” she asked.

“You know about Father Roy’s stroke last month? I’ve stepped in as police chaplain.”

“Detective Rizzoli told me.”

“I was at that Dorchester crime scene a few weeks ago. The police officer who was shot. I saw you there.”

“I didn’t see you. You should have said hello.”

“Well, you were busy. Totally focused as usual.” He smiled. “You can look so fierce, Maura. Did you know that?”

She gave a laugh. “Maybe that’s my problem.”

“Problem?”

“I scare men away.”

“You haven’t scared me.”

How could I? She thought. Your heart isn’t available for breaking. Deliberately she glanced at her watch and rose to her feet. “It’s so late, and I’ve already taken up too much of your time.”

“It’s not as if I have any pressing business,” he said as he walked with her toward the exit.

“You have a whole flock of souls to look after. And it is Christmas Eve.”

“You’ll notice I have nowhere else to go tonight, either.”

She paused and turned to face him. They stood alone in the church, breathing in the scents of candle wax and incense, familiar smells that brought back a childhood of other Christmases, other Masses. The days when stepping into a church provoked none of the turmoil she was now feeling. “Good night, Daniel,” she said, turning toward the door.

“Will it be another four months until I see you again?” he called out after her.

“I don’t know.”

“I’ve missed our talks, Maura.”

Again she hesitated, her hand poised to push open the door. “I’ve missed them, too. Maybe that’s why we shouldn’t have them anymore.”

“We haven’t done anything to be ashamed of.”

“Not yet,” she said softly, her gaze not on him, but on the heavy carved door, which stood between her and escape.

“Maura, let’s not leave it like this between us. There’s no reason we can’t maintain some sort of-” He stopped.

Her cell phone was ringing.

She fished it out of her purse. At this hour, a ringing phone could not mean anything good. As she answered the call, she felt Daniel’s eyes on her, felt her own jittery reaction to his gaze.

“Dr. Isles,” she said, her voice unnaturally cool.

“Merry Christmas,” said Detective Jane Rizzoli. “I’m kind of surprised you’re not at home right now. I tried calling there first.”

“I came to midnight Mass.”

“Geez, it’s already one A.M. Isn’t it over yet?”

“Yes, Jane. It’s over, and I’m about to leave,” said Maura, in a tone of voice that cut off any more queries. “What have you got for me?” she asked. Because she already knew that this call was not a simple hello, but a summons.

“Address is two-ten Prescott Street, East Boston. A private residence. Frost and I got here about a half hour ago.”

“Details?”

“We’re looking at one vic, a young woman.”

“Homicide?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“You sound pretty sure of yourself.”

“You’ll see when you get here.”

She disconnected and found Daniel still watching her. But the moment for taking risks, for saying things they both might come to regret, had passed. Death had intervened.

“You have to go to work?”

“I’m covering tonight.” She slipped the phone back into her purse. “Since I don’t have any family in town, I volunteered.”

“On this of all nights?”

“The fact that it’s Christmas doesn’t make much difference to me.”

She buttoned up her coat collar and walked out of the building, into the night. He followed her outside, and as she tramped through freshly fallen snow to her car, he stood watching her from the steps, his white vestments flapping in the wind. Glancing back, she saw him raise his hand in a good-bye wave.

He was still waving as she drove away.