Mixed Messages (A Malone Mystery) (11 page)

Then, one night his sergeant came into the bar and sat down on a stool next to him.

“How’s it going, Bernie?” he’d asked.

“Doin’ okay,” he replied. “You wanna drink? I’ll buy ya one.”

“No. No thanks. I gave that up a few years ago.”

“How come?” Bernie asked.

“I had a problem with the booze.
I lost everything because of it.
My wife left me, took my three kids. It was a bad
time. Then,
one night,
my partner and I were on a stakeout over
-
the
-
Rhine, supposed to watch for any
illegal activity at this warehouse and I was, let’s just say, not at my best;
actually,
I had the hangover from hell. We were sitting there and, all of a sudden, this guy comes running out with a gun. My partner jumps out of the car and, of course, I should’ve been right behind him,
watching
his back, but I wasn’t. I was too slow responding, thanks to the hangover. My partner got shot and almost died. I don’t know. After that, I kind of took it as a sign that maybe I’d better lay off the
sauce
. I started seeing a counselor who, by the way, is available to any cop, and I kicked it. I haven’t had a drink since and, you know what, I don’t even want one.”

That night changed Bernie’s life. He got to thinking about the Korean soldiers he’d shot in the war and the fact that, as a police officer,
some day,
he might have to kill in the line of duty. Those were unavoidable; he had protected and served his country and, now, he was protecting and serving the citizens of his city. However, if someone were shot or, God forbid, died because of his negligence, he didn’t think he could deal with that. He decided that the drinking had to stop. He’d been thankful every day of his life since then.

Thanks to the decision to quit drinking, he’d had a long and distinguished career, first as a patrol officer and, several years later, he received a well
deserved promotion to detective. The department sent him to Washington, DC to study fingerprinting and he worked in the fingerprint division until he retired from the force. Shortly after he began collecting his pension, the department created a civilian position in fingerprinting and he’d spent many years doing the exact same job and being paid handsomely
for it.
Now, he collected two pensions.

He’d never married. He wasn’t a saint; he’d been with other women through the years but no one had ever touched his heart the way
his
one true
love
had
many, many years ago
.
Sadly, that hadn’t worked out.
Anyway, h
e
’d
always considered himself married to the job.

He
had
lived in the same second floor apartment for the past thirty some years simply because, whenever he considered looking for a first floor apartment
somewhere,
which would be a lot easier for him with his bad leg, he looked around at all the stuff he’d accumulated over the years and the idea of moving seemed overwhelming. Besides, he liked being able to see what was going on up and down the street and, from a security standpoint, the second floor was much
safer
, he told himself.

This place could use a little
sprucing
up though, he decided.
He looked around the room
at the drab walls and discolored venetian blinds
.
A new coat of paint on the walls might do wonders
and maybe some new blinds, he thought. I’m sure these are original to the building.
This carpet could stand to be replaced too or, at the least, professional
ly
cleaned.

Yeah, but good luck trying to get the owner to spend a dime; the man was as cheap as they came. It took an act of Congress to get him to fix something that was broken in the apartment and, even then, he always tried to do the work himself.
“
After all,
”
he made a point of saying every time, “
it cost
s
money to bring in a professional.
”
You’d think he’d take a little more pride in his building
, Bernie thought,
but that seems to be the way of the world today
:
do as little as you can and make as much money as you can.
Oh well, I’ve lived with it this long; I guess I can live with it a little longer.

He
glanced down at
the scrap of paper
with
Ann’s phone number
written on it.
I’ll
just
have to keep trying to get in touch with her, he thought.
It would be so good to see them all again.
I hope David has already realized that he has a
drinking
problem and has gotten help
.
He
looked
out the window
and watched
the
wind whipping through the treetops
.
David
has such a nice family; I’d hate to see him throw it all away.
I hope he realizes how fortunate he is.
I
t’s not much fun, being all alone.

He didn’t want to interfere in something that was really none of his business but, h
e
decided, if he
ever
saw signs that David was still in trouble, he’d have a little
man
to
man
talk with him.
He still had his Big Book, the “Bible” from Alcoholics Anonymous, which he’d picked up years ago at his first AA meeting. It might come in handy, he thought.
Maybe, like his sergeant, he could help to make a difference
in someone’s life
.

He
picked up the remote control from the table next to him and flipped through the stations, looking for the local news.
He believed that
it was important for a person
to stay informed
of what was going on in the world
,
even if the news was depressing. Mostly, though, h
e wanted to see if there were any updates on the Westwood Strangler
, the monster who was murdering women in their own homes
.

He thought about Ann and hoped she was being careful
, the way he’d always
cautioned
her to be
. In t
oday’s
world,
it didn’t pay to be careless
.
He
took a sip of his
Diet
C
oke
and sighed.
Yes, he thought
,
for the second time that day,
life
was
a lot simpler when I was young.

Chapter
1
3

FATHER ANDREW SAT AT HIS DESK
, flipping through the pages of his appointment book
.
There was only one appointment penciled in for today, an eleven o’clock with Ann Kern, the daughter-in-law of his
housekeeper
, Louise
.
He hoped the interview
with her
went
well because
he wanted to fill the part-time position as quickly as possible.
The ad had been running in the
Western Hills Press
for over a month and he’d had several responses.
Unfortunately, none of them was even worth considering.

He couldn’t believe some of the people who had applied for the job.
Didn’t anyone have common sense anymore? he wondered.
What part of ‘this is a job at a church’ didn’t they get?
He recalled one young woman in particular who had come to see him, a bleached blonde wearing a
tight,
purple dress so short that it barely covered the necessities. When she’d sat down across from him
and crossed her legs
, it was a good thing the desk blocked his view. However, when she’d removed her jacket and leaned forward, he’d gotten an unrestricted
look at
the upper half of her body. How inappropriate
!

Looks like a tornado hit this desk, he thought, looking down at the sheets of paper that were
scattered all
across
the top of his desk
.
I need to straighten this mess up
.
He gathered several sheets together and separated them into neat stacks
.
That’s good enough for now, he decided
.
I detest paperwork
!
That’s why I need a secretary, he thought, someone to handle all the minor details that will free me to do what I need to do.

He glanced at the wall clock directly across from his desk and saw that it was ten till eleven
.
Time enough to glance at the paper, he decided
.
He picked up the
Cincinnati Enquirer
, quickly scanning the pages
.
On page six, an article caught his eye
:
another priest in the news for sexually abusing a young boy
.
He refused to read the article; the thought sickened him
.
He wadded up the newspaper and tossed it in the
trashcan
.

To abuse a child is an atrocity! he thought
.
Everyone has sexual urges and impure thoughts
.
Only the naïve believe otherwise
.
Wouldn’t his parishioners be surprised if they knew the thoughts he sometimes had
?
But there are other ways of dealing with those urges, those impulses that, at times, could be relentless and almost overpowering
.

For some, strenuous exercise or a cold shower got them through; others needed to take more drastic measures
.
Many people believe that the way priests live is unnatural;
that
man was not meant to be celibate
.
Quite possibly, they were right
.
It didn’t matter though because unless or until The Church changed its views, that was just the way things were
.

He barely heard the sound as Ann knocked timidly on the door to his office
.
He pushed his desk chair back, stood up and
went
to the door
.
“Come in, Ann,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand
.
She’s nervous, he thought, feeling the dampness on the palm of her hand.

As she entered the room, Ann looked up at the priest
.
“Thank you for taking the time to see me today, Father.”

The priest smiled. “It’s nice to see you. Have a seat.” He motioned for her to sit in a straight
back chair across from his desk
.
He sat back down and folded his hands in his lap
, examin
ing
the woman across from him
.
She was dressed conservatively in an ivory turtleneck and a pair of brown dress slacks. Her hair
was
a natural shade of brown and she didn’t appear to be wearing much, if any, makeup.
He watched as she fidgeted in her chair
.
“So, you’re interested in the secretarial job,” he said.

“Yes,”
she
said
.
She looked directly into his eyes and said, “Father, I’ll be honest
.
I don’t have much experience
.
I haven’t worked in almost ten years, since before my daughter, Danielle, was born
.
I’m afraid I’m
more than
a little rusty.”

He
laughed
.
“Well, believe me, Ann, this is not a difficult job
.
Answering the
phone, filing, that sort of thing
.
What
kind of work did you do
?”

“I was a secretary for an insurance agency
.
It was a really busy office but I truly enjoyed the work
.
That’s where I met David, my husband.”

“Well, if you handled a fast
paced job like that, you’ll certainly have no problem handling this
.
By the way, how is David
?
I haven’t seen him in church lately.”

She
glanced
down at her hands and began pulling the leather strap of her purse back and
forth through her fingers
.
“Not so good, Father,” she said.