House Infernal by Edward Lee (31 page)

She smiled coyly. "Nuns never forget handsome seminarians," she replied. "Not that I'm a nun anymore."

"That's too bad." At once Dan seemed troubled. "This
is Venetia Barlow. She's helping restore the prior house.
Venetia, Diane Elsbeth."

"Nice to meet you," Venetia said, her curiosity already
hair-triggering. This is one of the nuns who fled the prior
house after the murders.

"Venetia is considering the vocation," Dan said.

"I'm glad to hear it." Diane sounded sincere. "It's just
that ... it wasn't for me."

"Why?" Venetia asked too readily. "The murders scared
you off?"

Dan immediately raised a brow, while Diane fell sullen.

"I'm sorry, it's none of my business," Venetia corrected.
"Rumors are usually never true anyway. I apologize."

Diane struggled over a pause. "Rumors?"

Damn. I should never have said anything, Venetia thought.

"The ghost stuff, Tessorio, and all that," Dan said.

The attractive woman idly scuffed her flip-flops on the
pavement. "It's got nothing to so with that dreary prior
house. The reason I quit the Sisterhood is because I'm not
a strong enough servant of God."

"That's a bunch of crap," Dan abruptly disagreed. Then
he winked. "You'll come back."

"I doubt it." The woman's eyes fluttered. "But don't
worry, I'm still a Christian. I still go to church. I've got a
day job and I do this at night. God is good to me."

"I'm glad," Dan said.

Venetia was nearly grinding her teeth. God, I wish she'd
talk about what happened....

"How's Ann doing?" Dan asked.

Diane's expression turned glum. "She's lost."

"No one's ever really lost," Dan offered, but it sounded
feeble.

Then Venetia ventured, "Why do you say she's lost?"

Suddenly the woman looked depressed and exhausted.
"I really don't want to talk about it, but..." She smiled
right at Venetia. "Do you know the story of Jesus and the
Widow's Mite?"

A strange shift of subjects. "Of course. The twelfth
chapter of Mark," " Venetia said at once. "When Jesus was
asking for alms, a destitute widow gave Him her last two
mites-or leptons-the equivalent of half a cent."

Diane's smile beamed. "Exactly," She stuck out a donation can.

"I knew she was still Catholic!" Dan jested.

Venetia put in a twenty-dollar bill, chuckling. Just then
a station wagon pulled up, and a man and his kids got
out, bringing boxes of canned goods.

"It's been good to see you, Dan," Diane said, parting.
"Go with God."

"You too."

Diane's eyes locked on Venetia's. "I'm sure you'll be a
devout nun. Good luck."

Venetia watched her walk away. "Thanks...'

"Well, it happens sometimes," Dan said, leading Venetia toward a drugstore.

"Nuns become disillusioned, sure. But because of murders?"

Dan bought some extension cords. "She'll be back."

But he was obviously perturbed; Venetia saw it at once.
"Where are we going now?" she asked when he crossed
the street away from the car.

He pointed to a low brick building whose sign read ABNEY'S BAR & GRILL.

"Oh, that's right, so you can watch your baseball
game."

He grinned over his shoulder. "Or maybe that's just an
excuse."

"Excuse for what?"

He didn't answer, just led her in.

What a dive, Venetia thought. Low lights and smokethick air drew over a long black bar with cigarette-burned
stools and a jar of pickled pig's feet every yard. Pool tables stretched along the back.

Dan plopped down on a stool.

"Can't we get a booth?" Venetia queried.

"Not unless you want to sit down on a used rubber," he
chuckled. His eyes gestured the handful of broken alcoholics and yahoos sitting around. "As you can see, this
isn't exactly the cocktail lounge at the Four Seasons. There
are more teeth on the floor than there are in the mouths of
the patrons."

Venetia sat, shaking her head at the cynical whimsy.

"Ah, there it is," Dan said of the baseball game on a
high TV. "So, what, the only alcohol you consume is at
Communion?"

Venetia laughed. "I've only been drinking age for a few months. I have a glass of champagne on New Year'sthat's about it."

Two rednecks guffawed at each other near the pool tables.

"I'll take two Wammsport Lagers," Dan told a barkeep
who had to be eighty, and to Venetia: "What do you
want?"

"Coke, please." She frowned when the keep set two
beers before Dan. "That's what I call two-fisted drinking.
You ever thought of seeing a counselor? The priesthood
has a high rate of alcohol abuse."

Dan rolled his eyes. "I worked in the attic today. I'll bet
it was a hundred and twenty degrees. Don't be judgmental. Besides, Christ imbibed, and so did the Apostles."

"Yeah, Dan, but they didn't order beers two at a time."

"I deserve it anyway," he said without looking at her. "I
work hard for God. I mean, come on, I've taken a vow of
celibacy, Venetia. With all that, I don't think God's going
to get too pissed off if I have a couple beers."

"Let's hope not."

A squeal caused turn them to their heads. A trampish
woman at one of the pool tables laughed hoarsely, bantering with the men. She wore raggy but tight jeans and a
loose blouse that made no secret of braless breasts.
"Come on, boys. Who's got the balls to rack 'em?"

"Redneck Central," Dan said.

"Such grace for the impoverished."

"I was only kidding, Venetia." He smirked back and
drained a third of a beer in one sip. "I'm actually grateful
for this wonderful day."

"Really?" she said.

"We got a lot of work done, your father gave us air conditioners and lobster tails, and"-he jabbed at finger at
the TV-"the Sox are up on New York by two. Diane's
right. God is good."

"I think God's a little bit busy to watch baseball."

He shot a wide-eyed look at her. "You don't know that."

Venetia smiled. But when he drained his first glass in two more sips, she had to ask. "Dan, you're drinking like
a longshoreman. What's bothering you?"

"Nothing. I'm just thirsty."

"Baloney. Diane is my guess," she asserted. "It shook
you up to learn that she'd quit."

He stalled, looked at her, then slumped. "Yeah, I guess
you're right. Professional hazard-we both know that.
Some people just can't hack it, and that's a shame."

"It could happen to us, too," Venetia said, "but I'm not
afraid of the possibility."

Another pause, another sip. "Maybe that's the problem. Maybe I am."

Venetia could not think of anything to say. She
watched him decompress in silence, eyeing the TV. She
was about to speak but then Dan's gaze snapped up.
"What a rip-off! The big dumb lummox just hit a threerun homer!"

"It's just a game," she said. "And kind of a silly one at
that. Big men swinging a stick at a ball and then running
around."

"No, no, Venetia. Chicks just don't understand...." He
frowned. "And look at you. You're sitting there with your
soda pop like Mother Teresa-only a million times better
looking-in the middle of a bar. Would you please have a
drink. We're two clerics in the midst of regular people."

Regular people, she mused. "You're really edgy today. I
didn't know men got PMS."

Dan laughed.

"But if it makes you happy..." She ordered a beer. I
guess one won't turn me into a drunk.

The lager was rich and strong; her brows rose over the
first sip. But when she looked again, Dan wasn't watching
the TV, he was looking over toward the pool tables.

More ruckus rose. The loud girl in tight jeans was lining up a shot, and as she did so, the V of her blouse hung
low, affording any man looking a clear view of her bare
breasts.

So that's what he's looking at. The observation depressed some tiny part of her. All day yesterday he was looking at
me ...

"Come on, Jimmy. Put your money where your mouth
is," her raucous voice cackled. "If I drop this shot, you pay
forty for a blow."

Her roughened opponent laughed openly. "You're on,
babe. And if you miss it, I get one for free."

Forty for a-Venetia's concentration tightened.

An explosion of laughter rose when the woman sunk
the shot. "Shee-it," muttered this Jimmy person. He followed the woman out the door, reaching for his wallet.

"Dan, I know I'm pretty naive about some aspects of the
real world," she began, "but is that woman a prostitute?"

The wizened barkeep hacked laughter and walked away.

Venetia's face reddened. But when she looked to Dan
for an answer, she saw that his forehead was in his hand.
"What's wrong?"

"This day is turning to crap real fast." He cleared his
throat. "Yes, that woman is a prostitute ... and I just now
recognized her."

Venetia stared at him.

"It's Ann McGowen," Dan told her. "The second nun
who left the prior house after the murders."

The shock seemed palpable. My God... "Diane wasn't
kidding when she said Ann was'lost."'

"Going from nun to bar-whore is about as lost as you
can get." Dan ordered two more beers.

He knew her, Venetia realized. Probably not well, but
still ... How depressing. She was about to comment on
the second order of beers but then retracted the idea.

Soon the bar got loud. More roughneck crabbers
barged in, bringing boisterous talk and sleazy work- and
drink-worn women. Dan's right. These are the regular people. The reality turned her sullen.

Evidently ban's team was losing; he kept cursing at the
TV. Venetia wasn't sure, but the beer she'd only halfconsumed seemed to be giving her a pleasant buzz. She
began to people-watch, wondering if any of the revelers
believed in God.

"Danny! You're kidding me!"

Venetia turned to see that Ann McGowen had returned
from her illicit rendezvous. Beer-breath gusted with every
word. She'd snuck up behind Dan, was hugging him,
then smacked several wet kisses on his neck.

"Hi, Ann," he said.

"No black shirt and Roman collar. That's a good sign."
Now her hands slid around his chest.

"Oh, don't worry. I'm still a seminarist, just out of uniform today. I've been working at the prior house."

"I heard some new priest took over Whitewood's post,
and there's a crew up there fixing the joint up, picking up
where we left off." Now her hands slid to his waist, practically to his crotch.

Dan introduced her to Venetia.

"Wow, I can tell you're Catholic just by looking at you.
Guess you're my replacement, huh?"

"In a sense," Venetia said. "I'm helping clean up the
prior house for college credits."

Ann McGowen's eyes shot brazenly to Venetia's bosom.
Then she smirked.

This woman does not like me ...

The former nun was whispering too loudly now into
Dan's ear. "You wanna know something? Last year when
you'd come to the prior house every Friday to get Whitewood's invoices, that was about the only thing Diane and
I ever looked forward to."

Dan looked confused. "Why?"

"Why?" she cracked another laugh. "'Cos you were the
only good-looking man we ever got to see!"

"That's ... nice of you to say...

Venetia could only guess that Dan was severely uncomfortable.

Ann whispered lower now. "You're not a priest yet, you
know. Come outside to the car with me," and then one
hand cupped Dan's crotch.

He pulled the hand off immediately. "I've already done
my vows, Ann. Gimme a break."

"Shit. We could have some fun." She gave him a last hug, deliberately pressing her breasts against his back.
But then she pulled off. "Buy me a drink, Danny."

He jigged a hand at the barkeep. "Get her whatever she
wants."

"You're a sweetheart." This time she gave him a wet
kiss on the lips. She ordered a pitcher. "Lemme know if
you change your mind."

"That won't happen, Ann, but I hope you change
yours," he said. "God wants you back."

Ann's drunken expression soured. "Bullshit. God
doesn't give a fuck about me, and he doesn't give a fuck
about you or Little Bo-Peep sitting next to you, or
anyone-"

"You're wrong-"

"But thanks for the pitcher," and then the woman
walked back toward the pool tables.

Dan gulped his third beer. "Jesus."

"Am I being judgmental if I say that's sad?"

"That's really sad, Venetia."

"Why don't you skip the fourth beer," she suggested,
.and let's get back to the prior house."

"It's bottom of the ninth. Just give me three outs."

Venetia knew that, now, he was using the baseball
game as a blinder. Ann McGowen continued to cavort
about the pool tables, rubbing up against any man in
proximity. Several minutes later, though, she walked to
the ladies room.

Venetia waited another minute, then went right in behind her, thinking, This might be a big mistake.

"Oh, the Catholic Cutie Pie," Ann sneered when she
emerged from a stall.

"I-I wanted to ask you something-"

"Bullshit," the woman said. She leaned against the wall
and lit a cigarette. "You think God's gonna give you
brownie points for coming into a bathroom in a redneck
bar and trying to preach to me?"

"I didn't come in here to preach," Venetia said, her
heart rate rising.

"And I'll tell you-since I'm fucking sure you want to know." She blew smoke into Venetia's face. "Sister Patricia and Lottie Jessel were two of the kindest, nicest, and
most faithful people I've ever met in my life, and then
God let some psycho cut their throats. Any God that
could let two women that innocent be murdered is fuckedup. I don't want any part of your God."

"Ann, the evil in the world is our burden. God's got
nothing to do with it." She roused her nerve. "That's the
worst excuse I've ever heard, and a weak, selfish reason to
leave the Church."

Ann's bloodshot eyes leveled. She flicked the cigarette
in the sink, and-