All the Dead Fathers (35 page)

*   *   *

Michael told Kirsten he'd missed several weeks of AA meetings before falling off the wagon that night in the janitor's room, and he realized how much he still depended on those meetings. Then, shaken by the deaths of Habi and Anthony Ernest, he felt guilty and more frightened than ever. He developed a craving for alcohol stronger than he'd felt in years, and insisted on going to his meeting that Monday night. One of Cuffs's hand-picked men drove, saw him to the door, and said he'd be waiting just outside.

But Debra obviously knew about the AA meetings, too, and when Michael came out it was Debra who met him. She bound and gagged him and laid him in her van beside the coffinlike box she was keeping Dugan in. She drove all night to her place in Michigan, obviously thinking she'd set up an encounter with Kirsten on her own terms. Cuffs's man was found in the morning, dead of a single gunshot wound to the head.

Of course, Michael blamed himself for that death, too. Cuffs, though, once he'd gotten off the heavy meds and was somewhat lucid, brushed Michael's guilt aside. He said it was clearly “
my
man's screwup.” He insisted it was never the fault of the “protectee,” who was assumed from the start to be “a dumb shit who doesn't know his or her ass from a crack in the plaster.” Kirsten appreciated the gender-inclusive language, but thought Cuffs seemed more upset about it being
his
man who made the mistake than about the man's being dead.

Regarding Debra's death, Carlo had a lawyer and was keeping his mouth shut. Kirsten kept her own version of that particular part a little vague and, it appearing that Debra had been the crazed priest killer, no charges were contemplated. And Polly Morelli? Though deprived of his chance at Debra, he seemed satisfied with the outcome and granted amnesty to Kirsten and—so far at least—to Carlo, too. Kirsten had a feeling, though, that her name had been added to Polly's Rolodex.

*   *   *

What with doctors and hospitals and police and FBI agents, she and Dugan had little time to think, let alone communicate. She finally let him talk her into going to Bermuda, thinking they'd lie on the beach and she'd tell him about Florida. But a tropical storm kept hanging around out there and finally, the day before they were scheduled to leave, they had to cancel.

“Good,” Kirsten said, “because I have a new client who—”

“Nope,” Dugan said, “Mollie set up a substitute trip.”

So now they were on a plane—in first class, since how often did they go anywhere?—to Charlotte, North Carolina. From there they'd drive to Asheville and this resort hotel Dugan knew about, with a great pool. The flight attendant confiscated their unfinished martinis because they were about to take off. “Not bad, huh?” Dugan said. “I just wish it was a longer flight, because—”

“I have something to tell you,” Kirsten said. They were in the last row of first class, and the seats right in front of them were empty. No one would hear. “It's important and it can't wait, because I'm scared.”

“Sure,” he said. “Go ahead.” As though he hadn't really heard her.

“I should have told you long ago. When I think how close we are, and yet there's this one thing I haven't shared with you and … I don't know…”

“Yeah, well, whatever.” The plane roared down the runway. He settled into the comfortable seat, leaned his head back, closed his eyes. “Go ahead,” he said. “Shoot.”

“Dammit, Dugan, if you fall asleep I will kill you. And after that, I'll divorce you. And … and I'm starting to cry.”

Which didn't exactly make sense, but Dugan seemed finally to get the picture, and he sat up and listened. And she told him about Florida.

*   *   *

“Well,” he said, when she finished. “Jesus.”

By then they were well on their way to Charlotte, and Kirsten felt short of breath. She busied herself with folding over the corners of the little napkin that had come with her drink. “Tell me,” she said, “what are you thinking right now?”

“Thinking? Well … three things, actually. One, I love you. Two…” He paused, then said, “Two, I always knew you'd tell me, sooner or later.”

“You mean you
knew
? How could you have possibly known?”

“Well, I didn't know what it
was
, but I knew there was
something
. You'd start … and then never finish. Now I know how dumb I was not to have
made
you finish. Because obviously not telling just made it get bigger and more important than it was.” He stopped. “I mean, it was a big deal, you know, and I'm not trying to downplay it, but—”

“It's
still
a big deal,” she said. “The doctor's not sure, but it
could
have something to do with why we're not getting pregnant.”

“Maybe.” He nodded. “Or it could be my sperm count is low. Which is, of course, completely beyond possibility.”

“Right,” she said. “Completely. So what's number three?”

“Three? Oh … well, that goes back to when Michael admitted what he did. We were both disgusted and angry, but I never understood why you made such a big deal specifically about his never
telling
you about it.”

“That's because you didn't know how I'd been taken advantage of by that creep in Florida. It just seemed so dishonest of Michael to hide from me the fact that he'd done something similar, to another young girl.”

“Right, I get it now. But … what
you
hid from
me
—running off and getting involved, the pregnancy, the abortion—it was all … well … at least you had the excuse of being young and stupid. Or … I mean … naïve. And you weren't able to tell me for all these years? So how the hell could Michael—a priest, for God's sake—how could he tell you about the much more shameful thing
he
did? Ever.”

“I guess … guess you're right. He and I aren't so different, really.” She nodded, and felt a little shift in her mind, or her heart … or somewhere. “I can forgive him for not telling me.” She closed her eyes, then opened them. “And as for what he
did?
No one could ever excuse it, but when you think about it, he'd been locked away in the seminary half his life. He must have been as immature as I was—even if he was older. And he was drinking, too, and got in way over his head. It was terribly wrong, but I think I can forgive him even that. Or
almost.
More than before, anyway.”

“Uh-huh.” Dugan seemed unimpressed.

“I
will
forgive him,” she said, “because I
want
to. I want my uncle back.”

“Yeah? Well, not me,” Dugan said. “But that's okay, too. It'll have to be.” He pushed the button above his head. “And hey … maybe someday I'll be able to tell you my own secret … the sordid details about how Debra got close enough to kidnap me.”

“What? What are you—”

“Maybe
some
day, when I'm ready.” He grinned. “But for now, I'm having another martini.”

“You do that,” she said. “Maybe it'll boost your sperm count.”

 

ALSO BY DAVID J. WALKER

M
ALACHY
F
OLEY
M
YSTERIES

Fixed in His Folly

Half the Truth

Applaud the Hollow Ghost

No Show of Remorse

W
ILD
O
NION,
L
TD.,
M
YSTERIES

A Ticket to Die For

A Beer at a Bawdy House

The End of Emerald Woods

ALL THE DEAD FATHERS.
Copyright © 2005 by David J. Walker. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

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First Edition: April 2005

eISBN 9781466872257

First eBook edition: April 2014