The Stone of Sadness (An Olivia Miller Mystery Book 3) (17 page)

Olivia drove along the quiet country roads of residential Connecticut. The road wound past stately homes with wide expanses of lawn, wooded parcels, and through small villages with quaint stores and cafes. Olivia’s GPS system indicated that the church would be coming up on her right in 4.4 miles. Father Anthony did not know that she was planning to pay him a visit. Olivia felt that surprise would benefit the conversation she hoped to have with the priest. She calculated that Father Anthony would be about sixty-five years old now. She was interested in seeing the man that so many women back in Howland had been gaga over.

Olivia took the turn into the driveway that led up a slight hill past the church and into the parking lot near the rectory. She followed the crushed stone walkway to the front door of the Greek Revival home that was now used to house the priest and conduct church business. She rang the bell and after a few minutes, a grey-haired, stooped woman opened the door.

“Yes, ma’am?” she said brightly.

Olivia chuckled to herself. She couldn’t remember ever being called “ma’am” before and wondered about the woman’s eyesight. “I’d like to speak with Father Anthony if he’s around. I don’t have an appointment.”

“Well, come in, dear. I believe he’s doing paperwork. Let me pop into his office. I’m sure he can see you in just a minute or two.” She indicated an upholstered chair along the foyer wall.

Olivia sat and wondered why so many older women seemed to be the receptionists for church rectories. She wondered if they felt they were doing God’s work which might be beneficial when they went to meet their maker.

Olivia heard footsteps approaching. A tall, dark-haired man with gray showing at the temples offered his hand. Olivia stood and shook with him. The priest’s eyes were deep blue. He had dimples in his cheeks. His smile was warm and welcoming. Olivia could see how he might have charmed a whole town of women when he was young.

“I’m Father Anthony,” he said.

“I’m Olivia Miller. I was wondering if you might have some time to talk.”

“Are you new to town?” The priest ushered her down the hall and into a den with wide windows looking out onto flower gardens. There was a large oak desk in front of the windows and a sitting area to the right next to a fireplace. He and Olivia sat in matching chairs placed on either side of the fireplace.

“No, I don’t live in Connecticut. I was hoping to speak with you about a parish you spent some time at in Massachusetts.”

The priest looked curious. “How can I help you?”

“I’m from Maine, but I attend school in Massachusetts. Right now, I’m house-sitting for my cousin while he is away on business. He lives in Howland.”

The priest didn’t say anything.

“I understand that you were assigned to St. Catherine’s Church in Howland many years ago.”

“I was. I spent just a few years there.”

“You were there when my cousins were murdered. Mary Monahan and her daughter, Kimmy. They attended St. Catherine’s.”

Father Anthony’s face lost its smile. “Yes. I was there then.”

“I’m talking to people who lived in town at the time. Just gathering information. Trying to understand what happened.”

“I see. What can I tell you?”

“You knew Mary?”

“Yes. She was active at the church.”

“What was she like?”

“She was a wonderful person, kind, caring, a loving mother. She was devoted to her kids. She always had time to lend a hand at church. She had good friends.”

“Did you consider yourselves friends?”

“Yes. We were friends. We had great conversations. She was well read. We talked about everything. She had a curious mind.” He paused. Olivia could see tears in his eyes. “The murders hit me hard.” He blinked and cleared his throat. “It still does.”

“Was anyone at the church that day? Did you see anyone around in the afternoon?” Olivia asked.

“Just a girl from the youth group. She was out jogging, passed by the church. She didn’t stay but a few minutes.”

Olivia said, “Reports put Mary at the church between 2pm and 3pm on the day of the murders. Did you see her? Did you notice her car?”

“I was painting the recreation room of the church hall that day. Mary was supposed to come by with some gallons of paint. We miscalculated the amount we needed and she offered to pick some up at the hardware store. She was planning to stay for an hour or so and help me paint.”

“So you
did
see her?”

“No. I had been painting for a couple of hours. It was a huge space and one coat didn’t cover properly. It was a hot day. Humid. Maybe the space wasn’t ventilated enough because I started to feel sick, light-headed from the fumes. I went back to the rectory to get a glass of water and then I went up to my room to change my shirt. It was drenched with sweat. I sat in my chair to finish my water. I just wanted to sit for a minute hoping I would feel better.” He hesitated. “I fell asleep.”

“So Mary stopped at the church hall to drop off the paint,” Olivia said, thinking out loud. “She must have seen that you were in the process of painting. You must have left the paint and rollers and everything in place since you only intended to be in the rectory for a few minutes?”

The priest nodded.

“Mary probably waited a bit for you to come back?” Olivia leaned forward in her chair. “I’m just thinking out loud. Mary probably went to the rectory house and rang the bell to let you know she was there. Did the housekeeper see her?”

“The housekeeper was gone. She left at noon that day. Her husband wasn’t feeling well.”

“What about Father Mike? And the other priest that was there at the time, what was his name?”

“Father Paul Carlson,” the priest said.

“Right,” Olivia said. “Wouldn’t one of them have answered the door?”

“Father Mike and Father Paul had gone to the hospital to visit with a parishioner who was in for surgery. Father Paul was new, so he went along to pay the visit, to get experience doing things like that. Father Mike was his mentor.”

“So you were alone in the rectory?”

“Yes. I didn’t hear the door bell. I don’t know if it rang or not.”

Olivia sat back. “Why wouldn’t Mary have stayed and painted?”

“I don’t know.”

Olivia’s eyes widened. “Maybe she did stay. Maybe someone interrupted her.”

“I don’t know. Possibly,” Father Anthony said.

“How long did you sleep?” Olivia asked.

“I woke up when Mike and Paul returned to the house.”

“Did you go back to the church hall after you woke up? Were the gallons of paint there that Mary was supposed to bring? Had she painted? Did you notice that more painting had been done?”

The priest looked at the floor. “I did go back. The paint was there, so Mary dropped it off. I don’t recall if more of the walls were painted, so maybe not. She probably didn’t do any painting.”

“Okay,” Olivia said. “So she dropped off the paint, probably waited for you to come back to the rec hall. When you didn’t, Mary probably went to the rectory and rang the bell. No one answered. She decided to leave…maybe figuring you had been called away.”

“I guess that sounds right,” Father Anthony said.

“She must have run into the killer right after that,” Olivia said. “According to the timeline.”

The priest’s face was creased with worry or sadness. Olivia couldn’t read the expression. She remembered that the police often will remain quiet so that the person they are speaking with will start talking to fill the silence. Olivia sat quietly and waited. Father Anthony didn’t speak. Olivia was afraid he would end their meeting and she was about to ask something else when he spoke.

“I’ve carried guilt about this since it happened.” His voice was practically a whisper. “If I had just stayed in the church hall, Mary would have stayed too. She wouldn’t have run into the killer. If I hadn’t fallen asleep…” His voice choked on the words.

Olivia knew feelings of guilt and pain.
If only I had done this…if only I knew that…I should have been able to prevent what happened. I should have been there for her. If I had just been there at the right moment I could have changed the course of what happened.
Regrets. If onlys. They were heavy and hard and pulled you down, down.

“It’s not your fault,” Olivia told him softly.

“I know that,” Father Anthony said. “People remind me of that. But somehow, sometimes, it just doesn’t help all that much.”

“I know that feeling.” Olivia nodded. “Did you transfer to the church in California because of the murders?”

“No. The transfer was in the works for some time. We just hadn’t shared it with the congregation. Father Mike felt that the people should have a chance to get to know Father Paul better…have a chance to connect with him before we told them that I was being transferred.”

“So was the transfer assigned to you or did you request it?”

“Oh, no. I didn’t request it. I would have been happy staying in Howland my entire life. But we go where we’re needed.”

“I hate to bring this up, but I need to know,” Olivia said. She met Father Anthony’s eyes. “Please be honest with me.”

“I know what you’re going to ask. I know the gossip.”

“Did you have a relationship with Mary?”

“No. And it was hurtful for people to talk like that. Mary was a good woman who loved her family. She never would have engaged in anything like that.”

Olivia glanced away for a second. “What I’ve heard matches what you say. Mary would never have done that. Forgive me for bringing this up, but the talk I heard was that you wanted a relationship. That you were pressuring her to have a relationship with you.”

Father Anthony’s face reddened. He didn’t answer right away. “I was attracted to her, Olivia. I’ll admit that to you. I’ve never told anyone that before.” He sighed. “I was young. She was a lovely woman in every way. Smart, kind, fun, pretty. I enjoyed being around her. Sometimes I imagined what life would be like if I had chosen a different path, a career outside of the priesthood, with a wife and children. Who doesn’t think about other roads that might have been taken?” He leaned forward. “But I swear to you, I was careful to remain within the bounds of friendship with Mary.”

“Thank you for being honest with me,” Olivia said. “Thank you for answering my questions. I know it was a painful time.” They stood up. “I do appreciate it.”

Father Anthony walked Olivia to her Jeep.

“Mary’s murder…her daughter…it shook the very foundation of my being,” he said as they stepped outside. “My faith suffered. When something like that happens, your vision of the world is altered. One can become cynical, distrustful, hopeless. Ideas of safety, security, justice are destroyed. You ask yourself how horror can befall good people. My transfer to California turned into a blessing in disguise. It helped me to heal. I was assigned to a parish where the senior priest had served in World War II. The things he saw…” Father Anthony shook his head. “We had long, long talks. It took time, but I healed.”

Olivia swallowed the lump in her throat. “So what’s the secret? How did you restore your faith, your feelings about the world?”

“We can’t know why things like this happen. Perhaps there is no reason. Or the reason is hidden from us. As hard as it is to imagine, maybe there is something good that can come from things like this, things far-reaching and long-lasting that we aren’t privy to. There is good in the world, Olivia. I looked for it…and when I found it, I held onto it.”

Olivia nodded. She looked off across the front lawn of the church grounds. It sounded so simple. And, so impossible.

Olivia was chopping vegetables for a vegetarian shepherd’s pie and Lily was pressing against Olivia’s leg hopefully watching for any food item that might slip off the chopping board and into her mouth. Drool was dripping from the corner of her lip. Jackie was staying for dinner after she finished working on the sunroom for the day.

The doorbell rang. Lily barked and checked Olivia’s face to see if she should keep barking or not. “Let’s see who it is, Lily.” Olivia picked up a dish towel and wiped her hands on it as they walked down the hallway to the front door. The heavy oak door was open to let the breeze in through the locked screened door. Olivia could see Father Mike standing on the front porch leaning on his cane. He looked up when he heard their footsteps.

“Olivia!” Father Mike called. “I’m sorry to barge in on you.” His voice had an edge to it.

Olivia unlocked the screen door and opened it wide. “Come in, Father Mike. Is everything okay?”

The priest stepped in. He had a death grip on the cane. His eyes were wide and red. He couldn’t hold back and a torrent of tears cascaded down the valleys of his wrinkled face.

Olivia touched his arm. “What is it? Come sit.” Her voice was thin with worry.

The priest tried to collect himself as he tottered into the living room, Olivia holding tight to his arm. Father Mike half fell onto the sofa. Lily sat down in front of him, her dark eyes searching the old man’s face. He took out his handkerchief and wiped at his tears.

“What’s wrong?” Olivia asked. “What’s happened?”

Father Mike waved his hand and shook his head. “I’m practically sick.” He pressed the back of his head against the sofa.

“Do you want something to drink? Some water?” Olivia asked.

“Olivia, did you know that Kenny, through his lawyer, contacted the police and offered to go in for a DNA test?”

Olivia’s eyes went wide. “No, I didn’t know. He did?”

“The lawyer just called me. The police have taken Kenny into custody for the murders of Mary and Kimmy.” The words caught in a sob. “The preliminary testing showed that his DNA matched the DNA in the semen collected at the crime scene.” He wheezed and clutched the top of his cane with both of his hands. “The complete test results won’t be back for a few weeks but the police have probable cause to arrest.”

“But.” Olivia’s head was spinning. “There has to be a mistake.”

Father Mike’s eyes held Olivia’s.

“How can it be? It has to be a mistake,” she said again. She stared at Father Mike.

“Why did he take the test?” Father Mike asked. “Why?”